Prologue

Max was late. Well, not late yet, but she was definitely running behind for work that morning, and if she didn't get her ass in gear, the nine-twenty bus was going to whizz past the stop in front of her apartment, not caring whether she was on it or not.

Although she didn't typically work Saturdays, she offered to come in and help with a new shipment of Sharps Rifles, which needed to be catalogued and cleaned properly before they could go up on display. Most people would complain about being dragged in to work on a weekend, but to Max, this job was barely considered work.

She had only been in New York City for just under a year, and it already felt like she had a job that was going to be her end-all career. After almost flying through her last year of her post-graduate degree, Max applied for an entry-level position at a Civil War museum in Manhattan. A part of her had done it so she could tick it off her list—she never expected to actually get an interview. The museum was run by a Vietnam vet and his wife, and although it was only two blocks away from the Museum Mile on Fifth Avenue, it actually did a pretty steady amount of business. However, it was small, which meant that Max did a lot of work for a horrible pay because her boss didn't see the need to have two people doing the same thing she did. There were ten employees total, and somehow they managed to set up amazing displays with authentic artefacts open to the general public.

With Nolan and Elisa—and their beautiful daughter Noelle—already living in Brooklyn, the move from Vermont to New York actually felt somewhat natural. Pat was looking for a roommate to help cover her pricey rent, and it was almost an unspoken decision that she would move back in with the woman who had been her closest friend since childhood. Besides, she wasn't moving alone. Garret graduated St. Judith's music program at the same time she did, and within two weeks he had a job lined up at a producer's studio in Manhattan. So, despite the fact she was finally leaving her state for the first time ever, it definitely wasn't daunting: almost all of her important people were already there to help her with the transition.

Pat had already left for work that morning. Somehow, the woman had landed a job at the Met and had been working there in bliss for the last two years. Max dreamed of getting out into a bigger, grander museum, but she was partial toward the Civil War Era, and she was allowed to handle each and every weapon that waltzed through the front door: she definitely wasn't about to complain.

Running a comb through her hair, which trailed half-way down her back—it was time for a cut soon—Max scrambled around her somewhat messy apartment to gather everything. It wasn't like she needed to take a lot with her, since it technically wasn't a work day, but she couldn't find her bus pass, and if she couldn't find that, she wasn't getting on the bus anyway.

Not that she couldn't walk… It would take her a good thirty-five minutes to get to the museum from her place, and with May heating up faster than anyone anticipated, it was thirty-five minutes she would have rather spent inside. Her phone started to shriek from her purse just as she rummaged through the mess of mail on the table by the door. Frowning, she scuttled back to grab it, shoving her hand in her purse as she pulled her pencil skirt down—it had a tendency to ride up (which was mortifying when she had to walk to work), but it made her waist look magnificent.

When she saw her brother's name flash across the screen, she almost didn't answer. She had precisely seven minutes to find her pass and get down to the bus, and she wasn't particularly in the mood for a chat. However, he rarely called her this early unless that was something on his mind, so she tapped the answer button and held the phone up to her ear, keeping it there with her shoulder.

"Morning, brother dear," she sang, continuing to look under and around things for her bright purple pass. The apartment she shared with Pat was bigger than the one in Masonville, but it was long and narrow. The kitchen and living room were a shared space, though quite roomy indeed, and there was a narrow hallway that led back to the three bedrooms. She wasn't sure why Patricia even needed three bedrooms to begin with, but they were able to cover them with their combined assets. Currently, the spare room was an office that converted into a guest bedroom when they had visitors or drunken overnight guests.

"Are you on the train yet?"

Nolan sounded more serious than she would have expected, which put a dampener on her chipper mood.

"I forgot to tell you," she started, leaning down to reach behind a couch cushion, "but I'm not leaving until tomorrow. Glenn gave me Monday and Tuesday off, so I can still watch Noelle. Mom will just have to—"

"Max," he said sharply. She wrinkled her nose at the crumbs that stuck to her fingers—they really needed to clean behind the cushions. "I told you to leave this morning."

"Would you relax?" she snapped, wiping the crumbs on her pale pink blouse (which was a mistake) and darting into the kitchen area. "I can still take Nolie—"

"I don't care about that," he told her. Her attention drifted away from the conversation when she spotted something purple near the sink. "I… My bosses think something is going to happen today and they just… I want you to go take the train now."

"What's the big deal then?" She snatched up her bus pass; four minutes to go.

"It's classified."

"Boo." Her brother had used that excuse on her so many times since he started working for Captain fucking America, and she was sick of it. Most of the time, he liked to dangle juicy tidbits about national security in front of her, and then walk away like he hadn't said anything at all. He really was pretty terrible at that aspect of his job. "Did you seriously call me now to do this?"

"Max, I'm serious."

"Look, I promised I would help with a new shipment today," she insisted firmly. "Everyone else went home for the weekend, and I feel bad leaving Glenn and Maxine to handle everything by themselves."

"Fuck those two—"

"Rude." She forced her feet into her kitten heels, and then slung her purse onto her shoulder. Despite the fact it wasn't a work day, her bosses were crazy about the way their employees dressed: anytime they were on the clock, it was business attire.

"Max, can you just—"

"If it will make you feel better, I'll grab the four-thirty train out," she offered, slamming the door behind her and locking it quickly. She spotted a neighbour of hers rushing for the elevator, probably in a panic to catch the same bus, and she jogged after him. "Can you just tell me what the problem is?"

"I wish I could, but it's a matter of national security—"

"Okay, okay, whatever," she said. She felt like she should have taken him more seriously, but every single "national security threat" he alluded to never amounted to anything that she noticed. Sometimes, Max wondered if he did it because his job was actually really boring.

"Get out earlier if you can, Max."

"I'm going into the elevator, so I might lose you," she told him, squeezing in between the doors just in time. The building's elevators were notorious for not opening, even if you put your hand out to stop them, so it was a bit a stressful situation to catch them. However, it glided smoothly down from her apartment on the eighth floor, and before she knew it, she was on the ground. Nolan's voice cut in and out in the process, and she boosted the volume on her phone as she darted out into the lobby. "Nolan?"

"Max, are you there?"

"Oh, shit," she broke into a run when she saw her bus slowing to a stop in front of her building. "My bus is here… I'll call you later!"

"Max!"

She hung up and body-checked her way through the front doors, breathlessly making it onto the bus just in time. After showing the driver her pass, she found an empty seat next to an older man, slightly embarrassed that she was so incredibly out of shape. She stuffed her pass into her purse and ran a hand through her hair, hoping it wasn't too messy. The bus bounced along the busy street, stopping a few more times to let workers on.

For most of the ride, she felt as though someone was watching her. She glanced over her shoulder, frowning as she surveyed the rest of the passengers. Most were busy with phones or music players, while the odd man or woman in a suit had a newspaper out. It wasn't until she glanced at the man next to her that she flinched: the man was openly gawking at her, unblinking and still. Max tried to offer a smile, but when the man continued to stare at her with eyes so blue that they were actually unnerving, she opted to stand elsewhere.

Grasping a nearby handle, she rolled her eyes and tried to fix her gaze elsewhere.

Loki knew change was coming. It had been some time since he was physically tortured. He would have thought that his body would be beyond saving at this point, but for the last few weeks he had only endured mental terror, and it was hardly as bad as it had been in the past. Once, he thought that his captors had grown tired of him and had perhaps moved on to better prey. However, when he was hauled out of his dark cell that day, he knew that everything was about to change.

He was taken down winding corridors so twisted that it was dizzying. In the end, he was thrown into a room with better lighting than he had been in for ages, and there was a table of fine delicacies that made his painfully empty stomach turn over and over on itself. He couldn't eat much, naturally, but the few mouthfuls of warm, cooked meat he did take were exquisite. Unfortunately, they also made him nauseous, but it was worth the discomfort for proper food. Aside from the table, there was a mirror that stretched between the crooked ceiling and the floor, and Loki tried to open the door a few times when he was alone, but that seemed to do no good.

When someone finally returned, it was no longer a Chitauri guardsman, but a human woman. She was aged and bent, hobbling into the room with such slowness that it was almost painful. Loki stood upright, spying two guards standing on the other side of the door, and then glared down his nose at the woman. However, the closer he looked, the more he realized that she may have appeared to be a humanoid, but there was something with the droop of her skin that indicated she was anything but.

"Stand in front of this mirror."

He hadn't heard a human's tongue speak for what felt like an eternity, and for a moment he simply stared at her. When she repeated the command, however, he sensed that it would not bode well for him to disobey. So, he did as he was told, standing in front of the mirror but not looking at his reflection. He knew he would look thin. He knew his cheeks would be gaunt and his eyes encased in dark circles. He knew he would be a shell of the man he once was—physically, at least—and therefore he had no desire to see it for himself.

Then she started to undress him. Again, Loki was stunned. He had been in the same clothes since he arrived. They were bloodied and disgusting and ruined, but no one saw fit to provide him with anything else. He almost wished they had offered him a bath rather than food, but he held his tongue. Since it had been some time since he was physically assaulted by anyone, he was actually able to stand for the duration of the wardrobe change, though his eyes were heavy and he was eager to settle back down by the table of food.

The woman said nothing else. She held him up when he stumbled on one foot, and once he was dressed fully again, she started to pin the clothing. When he glanced down, he realized he was in an outfit similar to the one he had worn when he led the Chitauri army the first time around: a heavy leather vest over a thin shirt, black trousers and shoes, and a green cape for the theatricality of it all.

The door creaked open a second time, and Loki turned his head slowly to observe the tall, broad man who sauntered in. It was another human, and while the skin seemed to fit better, Loki saw the eyes as a giveaway.

"How are we feeling today, Loki?"

Clad in what appeared to be an expensive suit, the man smiled a brilliant smile—teeth all straight and white and well-maintained. Loki said nothing in response, but merely continued to stare at him, hoping the deadened look in his eye would be unnerving. The new arrival, however, seemed to hardly notice. Instead, he seemed to be fixated on Loki's hair.

"You can do something about that, right?"

"Hmm." Loki winced when the woman reached up and ran her thin fingers through his tangled locks, which were in desperate need of a brushing. "I might need to cut it."

"Just make sure he's presentable—"

"I know what I'm doing."

Loki held back his smirk, pleased with the way the woman managed to make the man grind his teeth together.

"We haven't met before," the fellow started, sauntering around and standing in front of him. When they were face to face, Loki realized he was a hint taller than the human body-suit, and had he still had his strength, he certainly would have been able to dominate the new arrival. "On Earth, my name is Carl."

Loki scoffed noisily: it was the best he could do in the given circumstances.

"I'm going to be quick with you," Carl told him. "We need to get you looking a little sharper before we begin." Loki arched an eyebrow, and Carl grinned, the corners of his lips curling upward in a manner that was almost animalistic. "It's time for us to take Earth… There's enough of my kind there to hold the planet until reinforcements arrive, and seeing as its inhabitants are slowly depleting its natural resources anyway, we figured now would be the best time to strike."

"I'm thrilled for you," Loki croaked, which managed to make the being laugh and clap him on the shoulder. He winced, but he had certainly endured worse.

"I'm glad, because you're going to be leading the parade," Carl insisted, and Loki twitched when the woman accidentally stabbed him with one of her needles. He glanced down at her, but she seemed not to notice her blunder.

"I don't—"

"But you do," Carl continued, turning around to appraise himself in the mirror. He licked a finger and ran it over each eyebrow, pleased with the result. "You see, you kind of carved a niche for yourself on the planet the last time you led an invasion, and we want to stay true to the genre."

"That's not entirely the right wording—"

"So, we cut a deal with your Chitauri overlords," the man purred, smoothing a hand down the front of his suit. "In exchange for you, they get some big island all to themselves… I think the humans call it Madagascar… anyway." The man whirled back and smiled. "You get to lead the uprising… We're tossing you right back into your old stomping ground in Manhattan. We're going to take the biggest cities and work our way outward."

"That's original of you," he managed, his voice cutting out as Carl laughed again.

"When it ain't broke, don't fix it," he mused, "or whatever the humans say. You see, we'd like to keep our presence on the down-low until we've conquered… To the rest of the world, it looks like you are back for vengeance with a new army of loyal humans, and the odd Chitauri warrior here and there, I guess."

Loki blinked slowly, studying the way his new outfit clung to his skinny wrists. "I have no interest in taking over Earth—"

"No, but here's the thing," Carl whispered, stepping very close to address him. "If you do it, you'll be our king… You won't really have power, but you'll be a king. If you don't, it's back in the pit for you with your old friends."

He stiffened when the creature ran a hand down his front, stopping at the metallic detailing in his shirt.

"Doesn't this feel better?" Carl asked, an eyebrow arching upward. "Naturally, the choice is yours… but you know the conditions." He swatted at the woman by Loki's ankles, who glared up at the pair. "Come, let's give our would-be king some time to think it over…"

He then patted Loki's cheek, which made him reel back violently. Eyes wide, nostrils flaring, Loki almost doubled over at the pain, but he managed only to duck his head: that damn tooth.

"I mean, what's to think over?" Carl mused, ushering the woman out of the room. "Enjoy the spread, my friend."

Loki watched them leave, his limbs trembling as the pain eased away. His eyes then flickered up to the mirror, and before he realized it, he was hurling silverware at his reflection, shattering the mirror in an uproar.

AUTHOR'S NOTES:

HELLO AND WELCOME. So, this is the start of the sequel to The Sky is Falling. If you haven't read the first story, I'm not going to be patient and explain what's happening. Don't know why you would read a sequel without reading the original, but I've had readers do it in the past and then question my plot decisions that reflect things that have happened in the first story. So. I just. No.

I kept a lot of the prologue purposefully obtuse. The first chapter is going to start on the same day in the story, and I kind of just wanted to give a teaser and provide some necessary info now that may slow the pace for the first chapter down. However, I also didn't want this to be some big information dump, so I preferred to do two scenes rather than pages upon pages explaining what's been happening over the last two years. Yup. It's been just over two years since Loki was taken, and life goes on!

I'm just so excited to be here! I've been going over the plot for this story since last November, and I'm just so thrilled that so many other people are going to continue on with me. Just like the last story, I'm going to aim to do an update every week, or every other week, if time permits. Sometimes it will be longer between chapters, but you can always check my tumblr (a link to which is on my FF homepage) for fanfiction updates about what I'm working on.

Can't wait to get started! Brownies and feels tissues for everyone!