laevisilaufeyson (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
laevisilaufeyson) wrote2012-12-29 12:49 am
laevisilaufeyson) wrote2012-12-29 12:49 am
Entry tags:
okay, follow me down; come on, you can trust me now || for greenisnteasy
Time passes as time normally does: not nearly as quietly as it appears on the surface to do. It's difficult to tell from the inside of a cell, glorified or no. Difficult to tell when one's mind is elsewhere, on other things, marrying two noble and not so very disparate academic pursuits for one's own edification and, depending entirely upon one's perspective, possibly for the greater good.
Loki could've told them if asked, though, that it would inevitably have come to this. If not in this crisis, then in another like it. It's all the same.
Only a few points are salient. The timing, for instance. 03:12, on the dot. Late enough that the facility's being run by skeleton crew, that the first response is insufficient, too tired and too surprised to be of any use.
If the sudden and sickening lurch of the ground weren't enough to wake the rest, then the blastwave and the opening of gunfire ought to do it, but they'll be too late. Too much ground has already been lost. That much is immediately apparent to anyone who can sense the gaping hole in the facility's physical defenses.
It's only five minutes later that the electricity goes out – and somewhere, deep in the belly of the fortress, something wakes up. Something that's glutted itself on the power running along thick cables embedded in concrete walls and lain in wait. Something big, and oh, would that it were angry. Would that it were only that, and not the cold and conscienceless construct that it is. Machines don't get angry. They only do what they've been told to do, mindless, uncaring, and this one has been sent to tear this place to rubble.
The great shape shifts and pounds at the concrete deep, deep down and the floor below Loki's feet shudders. If this is who he suspects, then he knows what more it will want. What any big thing made for smashing would want: backup, preferably from the most unlikely of places.
Thus the third salient point: the sound. The horrific sound, that awful nails-on-chalkboard screech – something about the frequency sets Loki's mind on fire, and he knows it must be just as bad for the rest, all these other creatures swarming about.
There's one though, one in particular. The target. Why not? It's what Loki would've done.
It's what Loki did.
And now he's going to stop it, if he can. He's going to get Bruce Banner out of here, as far as he can. Wide open spaces and nobody for miles, just in case, just to be safe. A land he knows well. A place to hide and to plan.
The first step is to get moving.
Loki could've told them if asked, though, that it would inevitably have come to this. If not in this crisis, then in another like it. It's all the same.
Only a few points are salient. The timing, for instance. 03:12, on the dot. Late enough that the facility's being run by skeleton crew, that the first response is insufficient, too tired and too surprised to be of any use.
If the sudden and sickening lurch of the ground weren't enough to wake the rest, then the blastwave and the opening of gunfire ought to do it, but they'll be too late. Too much ground has already been lost. That much is immediately apparent to anyone who can sense the gaping hole in the facility's physical defenses.
It's only five minutes later that the electricity goes out – and somewhere, deep in the belly of the fortress, something wakes up. Something that's glutted itself on the power running along thick cables embedded in concrete walls and lain in wait. Something big, and oh, would that it were angry. Would that it were only that, and not the cold and conscienceless construct that it is. Machines don't get angry. They only do what they've been told to do, mindless, uncaring, and this one has been sent to tear this place to rubble.
The great shape shifts and pounds at the concrete deep, deep down and the floor below Loki's feet shudders. If this is who he suspects, then he knows what more it will want. What any big thing made for smashing would want: backup, preferably from the most unlikely of places.
Thus the third salient point: the sound. The horrific sound, that awful nails-on-chalkboard screech – something about the frequency sets Loki's mind on fire, and he knows it must be just as bad for the rest, all these other creatures swarming about.
There's one though, one in particular. The target. Why not? It's what Loki would've done.
It's what Loki did.
And now he's going to stop it, if he can. He's going to get Bruce Banner out of here, as far as he can. Wide open spaces and nobody for miles, just in case, just to be safe. A land he knows well. A place to hide and to plan.
The first step is to get moving.