HEIDELBERG, GERMANY

The pager went off again about an hour ago, to which I know is a subtle code for 'you're late'.

I'm sure that if you were to check my track record, it wouldn't be the first time, but I'd say I generally reserve inconvenience for the people that deserve it. Fortunately, the city finally came into view a few moments ago. Thus, I suppose I should let the pilot go back to his job.

Luckily, it was at that moment that the familiar hot rush started up my spine, my eyes closing and succumbing to the pleasure of it as I clutched the head of hair between my legs.

Fucking finally.

Seemingly encouraged by the hum of satisfaction that left me, he tightens the grip he has on my waist as he buries his face deeper into me — sucking me like I were his fountain of youth. I almost laughed, but his tongue hit exactly where it needed to before any other sound could leave me other than a gasping breath.

Suddenly, his hands abandoned me only to seize me a second later, gripping my thighs and securing them over his shoulders, giving him greater access and, eventually, sending me right over the edge. 

"Fuck, that's it." I tensed around him so he wouldn't dare move and I threw my head back, riding the high out for as long as I could grasp it.

It wasn't euphoria, and I was still on Earth, but, nonetheless, it felt good enough. 

Unfortunately, as quickly as it came, it left. For a moment, I felt like punching something, but I knew from the start that I would only climb so high.

My breath began to even out, and I had every intention of laying there with my eyes closed until we landed, hoping he'd get the hint that his job is done and leave me alone. Honestly, I think it's due time he got behind the controls to do the one he got paid for. Yet, as I descended to meet that hopeful silence, I heard the sure evidence of his presence.

With an inaudible sigh, I cracked an eye to see the disheveled pilot below me, catching his breath and looking back up at me with a beaming grin on his face. I have no idea what he's waiting for, but I have half the mind to recognize that he is, indeed, the safe way to the ground.

With a convincing smile, I reached down and pat his head.

Through a gust of breath, laced with a bit of disbelief it seems, he shook his head at me. "You are..."

"Ready to land," I mused, hoping that I was just charming enough that he'd comply.

Perhaps I was too charming because he laughs instead. "Divine is the underwhelming word." He tenderly holds my leg and begins kissing down to the ankle, his lips curving into a smile on my skin. "I suppose I've been a bit distracted."

Grabbing the pager, I acknowledged him with a hum before sitting up straight and checking the status. "Hardly your fault. I think I've gotten a bit greedy with the service."

His laugh was more distant this time as I couldn't necessarily find my interest. "I'll service you for as long as you'd like," he whispers, his lips affections starting up my leg again. "Have me off the clock."

Fortunately for him, the amount of rage that I've been trained to hide through just the tap of my finger should have me institutionalized.

"Mm," I hum again, distracted. "Very tempting, Steve."

"Scott."

God, I really would love to be the nicest person in the world, but I sincerely just don't have the time. I set the pager down to confront him again only to see him raising himself a bit, his clear target on my lips. In a second, I brought my heel to his chest and began to slowly ease him away, my eyes, and the pleasant curve of my lips coaxing him away from the sting of rejection. "Those parachutes are starting to look more favorable by the second."

Either I'm a fucking comedian today or he got off more than I did because it seems he just can't stop laughing. "Okay, okay, I get the hint."

Hint? It seems he wouldn't know a hint if it shot him in the foot. Yet I'm not going to argue. By thanks to some incredible force, he finally gets up, first looking out the window to gauge our location. "I'd say arrival in ten, Ms. Matthers."

I smiled my thank you until he retreated into the cockpit. Honestly, it had gotten a bit exhausting that I couldn't keep it any longer. Similarly, I decided it a good time to retire Sophia Matthers. From the number of times that man moaned the name, the otherwise reliable alias has lost its charm.

I haven't been able to wash up much from the last few hours, the slash on my cheek from the previous night included, so I didn't intend on wasting any free minutes I had. Luckily, I assume the standard dress of Safiya Natalle as a second uniform for these situations exactly. It only took half the time for me to bear my identity back again as the real ray of sunshine they will be expecting.

Black shirt, black jeans, black coat, black-tinted sunglasses, and a pair of black heels.

I recorded my location to the pager as we landed and as soon as I felt the resolute jolt to stop, I didn't waste a second. However, I had only made it to the ladder when the pilot was still insistent on wasting a lot of my own.

He called out her name which was close enough and smiled, approaching me as if I had mistakenly forgotten to say goodbye. As he closed the distance between us, he was actually confident enough to brush a strand of hair from my face.

Unfortunately for him, we've landed, and I've changed back.

"I'll wait for you here," he professed, "and once you've taken care of your business, I'll take you anywhere you'd like."

A consequence of my nature in normalcy is that I'm more keen to details, quick to pick up on anything that people like to hide, as opposed to my free time when I didn't care so much to notice the obvious silver band around his ring finger.

I tilted my head to the side. "That's very sweet, except you'd be there, though, Sam."

"Scott!"

Unfortunately, my patience for him has entirely run out. I groaned under my breath as I took out my gun and shot him in his second brain.

I'm sure he's done a great thing once that he since hasn't shut up about, and maybe I'll ponder my regrets later, but for now, he's a bit too underwhelming for me to stick around. Not wasting any more time, I walked down the ladder and to the sports car waiting for me a few feet away.

Although my visits back are rare and far along, Heidelberg never seems to change.

Granted, it's a quiet, charming city, filled with people who tend to like it that way and an agency who ensures it. Yet I could anticipate it's overcast feeling before the plane even descended under the last partitioning cloud, in the same sentiments that give Seattle it's charm and London its intellect. And in days like this, seemingly just after heavy rain, the streets glisten with the warm light from the homes above it.

Resting comfortably between a pacific river and a few mountains protecting it's back, it's exactly picture-perfect, incontestably beautiful, and during these winter months, it's quite the fantasy. Thus, naturally, it's not so much a surprise to also be home to the headquarters of the C.I.A.'s best-kept secret.

The D.A.R.K. division, or the Defense Against Regiment Knowledge, has been based out of Heidelberg for as long as I've been an agent. A group of only six people doesn't necessarily warrant this much space, but when those agents are highly intelligent, enhanced fugitives that are considered weapons of mass destruction, any room will start to feel a bit crowded. I can understand why we're tucked away in the middle of nowhere, but I'll never complain. When you're wanted in over a hundred countries, I could imagine some places far worse.

Although I'm rarely here on favorable circumstances, the drive through these narrow streets is always rather serene. Perhaps I've grown a bit fond of it here. Or maybe, more rationally, I know it's quite a rarity to be able to see the city in the daytime, even if it is in its last moments. As we ensure Heidelberg never sees what it shouldn't, I suppose it's for good reason that the night has always met me here. But how much harm could I really do right now?

I imagine there can't be much of a difference from when the sun is down despite my fascination, especially seeing how quickly the lights turn on at the soonest threat of darkness. But I suppose it's in that way, how they don't have that same fascination with me, that makes it a completely different world.

Sometimes, I wonder if they ever bother themselves with the questions of how they can live so comfortably. I wonder if they ever look up to the mountains and suspect anything within them. I wonder what it feels like to live in a place so perfect that you know, yourself, there is a bit of ignorance to do with it.

It's painful, truly, to think how easily I could corrupt their peace. Even more so, it's disturbing to ruminate over who they think their Gods are. Imagine knowing us, the criminals, as the ones you put your blind trust in, who you sacrifice your control over to for your protection. How dejecting is it to know that the only prayers we hear are the unspoken ones that they won't admit, where we know full well that the sight of us would bring their illusion of civilization crashing down. God knows they wouldn't survive it.

It's that willful submission to ignorance that will make anyone susceptible to the tyrants I love to hate, so prone to men that want to play god. And yet, always despite that, it seems they never want to know what the darkness carries until they have to.

For a moment, however brief, I dare to think about what has to be that good that you'd give up all of your control for it.

But it's just as quick that a question becomes a death wish, and I focus on the road before me. I know the moment I touch the ground, I'll bring the night. And in our unspoken truce, they won't see me, and I won't ruin them.

Heidelberg is what it is. A fantasy.

Nonetheless, the consequences of my job are very much real. Pressed for time, I skipped my usual scenic route and drove straight to the outskirts of the city, to the mountains.

My car began to alert me as I neared the specific mountain in question, and with the press of a  button on the dashboard, the side of the mountain separates into two panels and slides open, allowing me to drive inside.

As a stark contrast to the outside, the interior hosts one of the most high tech systems this planet has to offer. The initial surroundings are practically pitch black with the exception of the runway for the car, lined with lighted sensors that drive it without my help to where it's needed.  It took only a moment for it to be parked and for the doors to open, allowing me to be on my way.

Navigating the cavernous basement yourself, however, is another story. The floor below me luckily lights with each step I make, making my presence known in otherwise impenetrable darkness. Although the way my heels echo throughout the cave could be an indication alone.

Based on memory, I find the elevator in a generously small amount of time. Though when I press the button, the elevator isn't the only thing that hums to life. To my surprise, the mountain entry doors open again, and in comes another car.

Relief actually flooded me as it turns out I'm not the only one holding them up. I thought it only right to lean against the elevator doors to keep them open, waiting for whoever I need to shower with my immense gratitude.

I heard her before I could see her.

"Well, this isn't dangerous at all." Drew's voice carried throughout the cave, dripping with sarcasm as she approached. "The two of us under the same roof."

I couldn't help but grin. "Vincent must really hate someone."

"Seriously," she mused, coming into the light of the elevator. Wherever she'd come from must have been rough. Her usual well kept, brown hair was cut short, banged, and died blonde. Her clothes were tight, but tattered. Frankly, she looks straight out of interrogation.

"Damn." I waited until we were both in the elevator to get a better look at her. "Where the hell are you coming back from?"

"Moscow. You can't tell?" She lifted her sunglasses and bangs in one sweep, showing off a bruise and her blatant hangover. "You?"

I frowned. "Egypt. Underwhelming."

"And now you have to come back here. Tough streak."

A bit of a laugh escaped through a breath. "Surprisingly, Heidelberg isn't at the bottom of my list."

"Ah," She grinned, glancing at me from the corner of her eye. "Is the storybook land starting to grow on you?"

I rolled my eyes. "I think I've come back one too many times. It's getting too familiar."

"Starting to feel like home?"

"God, If I ever say that, you may as well put me down."

"Seriously."

Our amusement faded into a comfortable silence between us as we waited for our floor. Neither of us needs to speak. In fact, it's unspoken that there's nothing really more to say to each other past the superficial.

The formation of D.A.R.K. is to assemble the most competent and versatile individuals in the espionage world, but to assemble a group like that inevitably comes with consequences.

We are those six consequences.

I'm sure that if we weren't so useful, we'd probably be dead. Outside the protection of the United States, the bounties on our heads would be way too much for one person to handle alone, and that's exactly how they persuaded us in. So, yes, we're reliable for the most part. Reformed? The jury cried. What I'll never understand is why they actually enhanced us, why they would want us to live any longer. I suppose it's anyone's funeral but mine.

Though despite the differences between us, the one thing we have learned to understand is that it's easier, safer, to have our relationships shallow and our acquaintances loose. Honestly, we mainly interact with each other more for practice than anything. I don't really know anything about Drew, nor does she I. We all have our own reasons for being here, our thing. And it's because of that the majority of our missions are solo. Respectively, we turn a blind eye.

A few moments later, the doors open on the floor of our conference room, revealing instead another one of the consequences stepping out of the other elevator, unbuttoning his suit. Myles.

Ever the Italian gentleman, he smirked at us before looking us up and down, taking smooth, confident steps into the main hall to meet us as we came out ourselves. He hummed under his breath for a moment, evidently, amused. "I definitely took the wrong elevator."

Drew laughed at that. "He's gonna be pissed at us."

"And what ever will they do?" Myles played with her. "Wait, most likely."

Rolling my eyes earned me his attention, only for his grin to fall straight. Myles tsked and took a step forwards me, his thumb smoothing over the new scar on my cheek. "What's this? You don't get hit."

I frowned. "Let me live it down. It's nothing in comparison."

His grin quickly found him again. "I'm sure I'll see them all in hell one day."

"Let's go."

It did take us longer than I remembered to walk down the hallway until the conference room came into view, but it's always worth it. With it's floor to ceiling windows overlooking the small city and it's expansive, yet sleek control center, it does all look very Bond, I'll admit.

Seated at the large conference table already were Abel and Ania, both quiet as they directed our attention to the figure standing at the windows, his back to us.

Vincent Newman, former C.I.A. Operatives Supervisor and S.H.I.E.L.D associate, currently the director of D.A.R.K. Also, currently brooding over our tardiness.

We all looked at each other in efforts to decide who would speak first, but Abel tapping out within the first second, followed by an impromptu 'not it' game. But it's now, when we're all together, that the absence of something, or rather someone, is blaringly obvious.

Ignoring everyone else, I cleared my throat. "Vincent, where's—"

"Ah, Safiya. It's nice to hear your voice," Vincent drawled dramatically. "Even nicer for you to show up."

I groaned. "I apologize. In our defense, however, you're calling us from all parts of the world."

He didn't respond. He only took a breath deep and long enough that it prompted the rest of us to comply and take a seat.

"We don't have much time, so I'll make it quick."

I watched the corner of Myles's mouth curl up and I knew what was coming before it did. "Funny. That's exactly what this pretty little waitress told me last night."

"Spare us today, Myles, will you?" Vincent snaps, making it awfully clear that he has not slept well — if at all — the past few days. It's unlike him to be so on edge. Vincent is known for his renowned composure, even and especially in high-pressure situations. It almost always allows him to entertain our banter.

Instead, his head hung low as if he were trying to find his next words somewhere written on the floor. If I didn't know him any better, it would look like he was trying to find a hole to crawl into.

"This mission will only happen if the vote is unanimous," he starts, his back still to us. "If you choose to move forward, you will no longer work with the C.I.A., but become their priority bounty hit. Traitors to the United States. You know how capable you are. They know how capable you are. If even one of us were to go rogue, that protocol would be the same as it would to a nuclear bomb. Do you understand?"

Our silence spoke much too loud.

"All of your aliases will be burned. If you use one of them, it will be tracked. If they find you, you will be killed." Vincent finally turns to the room and starts his way towards us, his steps suddenly quick and purposeful as if he had, at last, convinced himself into the cause. "We'll make this easy. You all need to ghost yourselves the second you walk out of these doors. On record, on the streets...wipe yourselves clean. Your birth name will be your identity from here on out. That comes with the weight of all you've done before D.A.R.K., do you understand that, completely? To every country that thought you dead, you are now their most wanted alive."

From up close, I could now see the unbridled conflict in his eyes, making them wild.

Reluctantly, Drew speaks for the room. "You're doing an awful job at persuading us."

"That's precisely the point." Vincent clears his throat, letting a few ceremonious seconds pass us by as if in that time the truth of what he wants to say would appear to us clear as day.

Abel draws in a breath as if to speak, decides against it twice, but then eventually pushes out enough air. "So I'm out of a job?"

Low, muffled laughs and weakly hidden grins spanned the table like we were school children watching a movie on our changing bodies.

Vincent closed his eyes and took a deep breath before turning his back to us again. At that point, I couldn't blame him. At the very least, a group as perceptive as us could note the tension within him, and perhaps the significance of what he's building to hadn't hit us until we realized just how it has changed him.

As he walked back to his original podium, the windows were quick to silhouette his frame, wrapping him with the snowy, mountainous village below us. The bitter silence he brought upon the room was just as cold as the winter outside. And although that bitterness carried to his tone when he finally chose to speak again, I knew to hear for more. Like him, his words are never one dimensional. They were also sincere, and dare I sense apologetic.

"The D.A.R.K. division will have to be dismantled," he eventually spoke with clear authority. "There will be no contact between any of you afterward if you care about each other's safety. None. You will be on the run for the remainder of your life, do you truly get that? More than a hundred years..."

My eyebrows pinched together before Ania leaned forward. "Vincent—"

"This will be your last mission," he snaps, turning around once more and addressing the table as if he were speaking to us each individually, "and it pains me that I know you have already accepted it the moment you walked in this doors."

I saw it, then, as he considered us all with despair in his eyes. Of all wonders, he was concerned. For us.

The next few moments were rather intimate and not necessarily expected. For it was true, of course, that we answer every page, we vote to take every mission, and we complete them without fault. I suppose it's easy to get things done when everyone around you goes in with the same acceptance that they may not come back out.

D.A.R.K. has been a beautiful con that we have somehow pulled off, bringing together six broken people and giving their revenge plots legality. Although we may not know each other so explicitly, there has never been a more rare chance to be with people who compliment your delusion so wonderfully, to find people who personify a bit of darkness and appreciate the same in you.

Losing that...well, it would be like losing a veil. An illusion of reality.

That's not necessarily something I can afford to lose.

I force the next thought that comes through my head out of my mouth. "Vincent, what exactly is the mission?"

He sighs lowly as if the question weren't inevitable and I had just requested the world of him. Perhaps, in this case, the truth would take away the world we've built.

"We took something," he admitted. "A cosmic power too strong for earth and whose full potential is still unknown."

Expectantly, we all straighten up in our seats and our eyes get a little brighter. Our job requires us to know of everything going on in the world. From grass-root conspiracy organizations to the behavior of a dictator's inner circle, but our knowledge of anything cosmic or extraterrestrial is limited. It wasn't until a few years ago when we became aware of other races inhabited in entirely different worlds.

Thor Odinson, of Asgard — what a pleasure to look at — was the first and last experience with our exploration into other realms. We work with S.H.I.E.L.D. quite frequently, but that had been the only time they asked for our involvement with any extraterrestrial help. Of course, that hasn't stopped us from secretly keeping tabs on what they have been doing since then.

Vincent places his hands on the table and leans forward, fully engaging with us. "As you know, S.H.I.E.L.D. has been holding the Tesseract in their facility in New Mexico. Two days ago, we received word that it has started to act up."

"Act up?" Drew raises her eyebrows and comes to cross her arms over her chest. "Is there even anyone that knows how to fix something like that?"

Vincent shakes his head. "No. It was vulnerable, and that was as much of a concern as it was opportunistic."

As if that word alone could paralyze me completely, I froze in place, my mind reeling to connect the dots. My eyes shot to Vincent only to find him already staring back at me expectantly.

"Where is he?" I whisper, only to be met with the intense darkening of his eyes. Soon enough, the rest of the room became hyper-aware of the empty seat at the table because I felt all eyes turn to me.

Without wavering my attention, I stand up and place my hands on the table, repeating myself more slowly. "Where is he?"

Void of any expression, a clear avoidance tactic that he himself had taught us, Vincent kept his gaze. "I sent Neal to siphon and collect a portion of its power and he is bringing it back to us."

In a blink, the others jump up, and the room erupts with accusatory yelling. A string of 'You didn't''s and 'Why the fuck''s could be heard faintly behind my own thoughts. Clearly, it only takes a few seconds for a room full of assassins to take out their weapons and start shooting, so as I came back to myself, I wasn't surprised to see all of their guns raised to eye level, more instinctively than with any intent to pull a trigger.

"Listen!" Vincent's voice boomed through the room before all of the guns veer in his direction. "He already has it and is meeting us tonight. He is safe and transport is going smoothly."

Ania slams her hands on the table with her gun still strong in hand. "You stole from S.H.I.E.L.D. and violated our terms with the C.I.A. all in a few hours without consulting any of us on whether or not it's a good idea."

"That's fucking valid." Abel repositions his hand on the gun. "Unless the Tesseract completely erupts in the next few minutes, we have max three hours until they notice and we have to pack up our shit and go under."

I composed myself before turning towards him again. "Why do we need some of that power? What's the reason?"

"We were given information that tells us there has been another cosmic being, other than Thor, that has come down through the tesseract or has used its power to do so. This happened just after it had been acting up, so luckily Neal had gotten what he needed before anything got crazy. But that information was not given to me by any officials. It came from a friend. Therefore, for some unknown and irrational reason, the C.I.A. did not clear their most capable division intervention."

Slowly, each of them placed their gun down on the table, willing themselves to have a conversation.

"This other being..." Drew inquired, "is there a tie between them and Thor?"

As a shock to all, there was a grinning twitch to Vincent's lips before he reached under the table and grabbed a file, throwing it down before us. "Loki Odinson, Prince of Asgard, Brother of Thor, thought to be dead until, well, a few hours ago. Fitting that he is also notoriously known as the God of Mischief, Chaos, and Lies."

Without my conscious consent, my eyes darkened and a smirk threatened my lips. I couldn't help it. This was a god. An actual God. And as if Vincent knew that all I craved now was to be told the God's greatest sins, he locked eyes with me once more as he read his crimes.

"All I've been given is that he was on Earth for only a minute before he killed everyone in the research room except two...two of which he stunned and seemingly mind-controlled. And, to top it all off, he took the Tesseract with him."

Subtly, I bit down on my lip, attempting to push away the intrigue. "What's the behavioral analysis?" I ask. "Is he just psychotic or does he have a plan in place?"

"I'd argue either is a bit psychotic," Myles adds, "but I think that begs the greater question that I would like to have answered. What is he doing here?"

Vincent sighs. "That is precisely why I'd rather we have the security of the Tesseract's power. I do not have a good feeling about this. My contacts at S.H.I.E.L.D. have all of a sudden been sworn to secrecy, and it makes no sense for us to be shut out."

"Mind control..." Drew thinks aloud. "Is he building an army? Is this a war?"

Abel scoffs. "Do they think we'd switch over or something? Aid him? Nothing in our past shows that kind of precedent. Honestly, it shows the opposite."

Vincent shakes his head. "I think they're more worried about what would happen if any of you were to be mind-controlled. That's game over."

"Let's contemplate a war, then." Myles starts to pace the length of the table. "This is, literally, what we do. As their own handbook defines us, we are tasked with the disintegration and complete termination of pernicious foreign regimes before any act of war, genocide, or general oppressive ruling."

"Yes, but, I've gone a bit rogue," Vincent reasons. "Their handbook also states that the consequences for conspiracy, the intent to mislead, or any act of a renegade will result in immediate termination of the division, agents, and consulting superiors; As if the division had never existed. That means no evidence left of our existence — this division and our own."

A fit of silence looms over the room as we contemplate what to say. The most unnerving, however, is Vincent's pace. For the first time, our leader is unprepared.

"I had Neal use the power we have to locate where the Tesseract is now," Vincent adds. "There's a group mind about it, so we have that advantage. It will seek out other parts of itself and keep that connection." He puts his hand up to interrupt our mouths opening to ask. "It's in Stuttgart. And as unpredictable as it is, that power has no loyalties, so in the meantime, I intend to take that power and make a few weapons for us out of it."

Myles begins to grow visibly restless, his innate anger bleeding through his charming armor. "So what's the plan? We go find the Tesseract and take it back?"

A few seconds pass. "Precisely."

It's as if Vincent had thrown a match to gasoline. The room erupts again in a roar.

"Idiots!" Myles yells. We're idiots!"

Rolling my eyes, I took the gun from my belt and shot twice at the ceiling, thankfully receiving the silence afterward that I was looking for.

I've never known a time where Vincen't judgment hadn't been reliable. I wouldn't want to find myself on the opposing side of his intuition. I'll most likely lose.

Taking a deep breath, Vincent spares a thankful glance to me before turning to us all, sincerely leaning forward. "All of you can walk away. As of now, I have all the responsibility. As far as they know, you are all off on your separate missions." He was quiet for a beat longer, taking time to look us all in the eyes. "You all deserve to live full lives, the ones you have been robbed of long before this group. Don't make the wrong decision here."

Perhaps I should be concerned with how quickly I came to my decision, and yet, by looking around, it was clear that we must have all experienced a little too much tragedy, a little too much loss, for there were no qualms in facing this. In the end, what is there to fear about death? For a life as guilty as mine, it's possibly the easiest, most forgiving thing I will ever know.

That's why I had no worries about throwing in my gun. "What's one more country on the list that wants me dead?"

Drew grinned at me before giving a deep, dramatic sigh, throwing in her own gun next to mine. "Bury me somewhere nice. Maybe Japan or Italy."

Expectantly, the rest of the table threw in their guns to the middle of the table just in front of Vincent, each surrendering their fate into his plan.

He closed his eyes for a moment and tapped the table twice to which we have come to know as his own signature for a 'thank you', and an 'I'm sorry'.

"Safiya takes the lead on this," Vincent states, opening his eyes again. "As you all know, these people are her specialty."

I tried to contain the gleam in my eye as I reached for the file, but before I could immerse myself, Abel, the most recent and distant member, furrows his eyebrows.

"You've worked with actual Gods before?"

I couldn't tear my eyes away from the information in front of me to warrant Abel a better response than a distracted whisper. "Never." 

As a distant concern, I heard someone ask, "You think that's what he's going for? You think he's Safiya's kind of ruler?"

And in response, I thought I heard Vincent laugh. "I think he's one of a kind."

... ... ...

We had been strategizing all day, throwing ourselves into work and avoiding the looming fact that after tonight, we will essentially be nonexistent.

I thought I would be used to the idea by now of being on the run, but I can start to feel the difference in these circumstances, why Vincent is more uneasy than usual. Something about these consequences feels infinite.

"We need someone on the inside. We can't go in blindly." Myles started getting visibly frustrated a few hours ago and has since only escalated. Understandably so, I guess.

"We know what the tesseract looks like and its location. What more do we need?" Drew snaps.

"What more do we nee—so much more! We don't know what this God is capable of, how many people he has with him, what they want...should I go on?"

"We've worked with less than a location. We will be fine."

At that, Myles storms out of the room in a rage.

I took a note from him and walked out as well to take a breather, leaving the rest to fight over whose idea is more wrong. Hours of working off of uncertainty and hypotheticals have sincerely driven us mental.

Luckily, I find a room just off of the main hallway and lock myself in it, acquainting myself with the darkness for answers.

If I were honest with myself, I know where to find them, or at least a measure to which we could use. It's only a phone call away, but that recipient might not be the biggest fan of me right now.

With a groan, I bite the bullet and take out my phone, pressing my first speed dial. Yet, as the ringing stops, she cuts me off before I even get a chance to speak.

"You bitch."

"Surprise," I drawl, a grin breaking out on my face.

"You said you'd be gone a month. It's been three. Do you know how bored I've been?"

A voice, male, probably in his late forties, stages a cough that I could hear in the background. She acknowledges him before I could.

"Hey," she snaps, "can you give us a second?"

My eyebrows pinch together, now thoroughly amused. "Are you working right now, or in the middle of a session?"

She lowers her voice to a sorry excuse for a whisper, one drenched with sarcasm. "I am tied up and everything, but not in the good way. I'm in an Interrogation, I think. If you could even call it that—"

The cough finally finds his voice and comes to his defense. "I'm so sorry to break up this personal call, but you said this would give us the answers we need?"

She gives off a loud sigh and I hear the phone drop to the floor. "Saf, hold on a sec."

Holding on, I decided to take a seat against the wall, pursing my lips and looking around aimlessly as I listen to the grunts and groans begin to pick up on the other side of the phone.

I'd say there are probably four other men being taken out rather quickly, and to amuse myself, I start to time how many of my fingernails I can pick at before she moves on to the next.

Unfortunately, I wasn't able to examine my last three before Natasha picks up the phone again. "I swear I was beginning to forget what your voice sounded like."

A full smile claimed my lips this time. "Then you're due a serenade."

"Please, spare me," she scoffs, letting a few empty seconds pass between us. "I'll be disappointed if this isn't about the tesseract."

"Mm, of course, I have no idea what you're talking about," I mused.

"Of course."

"But," I added, "if something of that nature were to be a problem, could you think of any reason why D.A.R.K. wouldn't be granted intervention?"

"Are we saying that taking energy from the tesseract isn't interference?"

Well, shit.

Slowly, I composed myself. "They know?"

"No, not yet. I assumed you had something to do with it, though. I was just filled in about an hour ago, and I'm on my way to S.H.I.E.L.D. now to meet with Fury."

My eyebrows furrowed together as I heard a bit of reluctance in her voice. It's taken many years to be able to decipher between the micro-changes in Natasha's tone, and now, I can hear that she's keeping something back. I was about to voice my concern before she started again. "Saf, how much do you know?"

"Aside from a quick summary of the God, not much."

That silence came again, but I didn't let her have it. "What happened?" I pressed. "Nat—"

"Barton has been compromised," she spits out. "The S.H.I.E.L.D. agent that's with Loki...it's Clint."

Fuck.

If I hadn't been interested before, I'm now hell-bent.

Clint Barton is amongst the only two people in this world that I trust. If not just for his innate goodness, he helped me escape the grips of a corrupt government that turned me into their personal hitwoman years ago.

In fact, it was on that very day, on a mission for Israeli intelligence, that I met them both. Frankly, I was sent to kill Natasha as she was running from the grasps of the KGB, but it turns out I wasn't the only one. S.H.I.E.L.D. had sent Clint to do the very same, and by ways I still can't even comprehend, all three of us had left together that day, alive.

For years after, Natasha, Clint, and I fought off members of the KGB and Mossad, cleaning ourselves of any of our opposition. It was a dark time, undoubtedly, filled with bloodshed that has bonded us eternally. Thus, I reserve my trust for them and them alone.

After fulfilling our personal vendettas together, S.H.I.E.L.D. and D.A.R.K. had sought out Nat and I, the rogues, at the same time. Our specialized skills were more attractive to one over the other, but the fact that I needed to be presumed dead from Israeli Intelligence also probably played a big part in that decision.

And although we still do some missions together when our divisions grant interference, we now tend to stick to drunken movie nights to avoid any more bloodthirsty benders.

Needless to say, Clint has dealt with worse. I've seen it.

I closed my eyes and reigned myself in. "You're telling me that Clint is just that infatuated with him?"

"He's enslaved, taken over, mind-controlled, whatever the hell you want to call it by power from a different entity. Something similar to the Tesseract. I only know that much." Nat sighs, taking a second to calm down. "Where are you?"

"Germany."

Despite herself, she gives a quick laugh from the other end. "That was quick. So I'll be seeing you soon?"

"If I'm any good at staying alive, then hopefully not," I reasoned, letting any amusement die off as soon as it came. "D.A.R.K. will be terminated for this. It's our last act before we have to go under."

She didn't have to dwell on my words. She knew what it meant. In her silence, she voiced her discretion.

"Fury is putting together a team over here," She starts, "I have a feeling this is a lot greater than we all think, and we aren't looking too perfect on our end."

There was a moment of silence between us as we digested what was to come, and how the stakes had risen to heights unknown.

"Saf," Nat eventually whispers, cutting into the silence with a tone I can read all too well, "keep me updated."

In translation, that meant I'm allowed to die yet.

And if I get close to it, I'll meet a string of Russian curses.

"Same here," I told her before pocketing the phone.

With at least a bit of solid information, I had the confidence to go back out to the raging group and give them anything at all. But to my surprise, there was no fighting, no noise, and no one holding anyone else at gunpoint. It seems Vincent had intervened and placed an armful of dress wear on the table between us all, seemingly fit for a night out.

As I walked in, he gave me a glance and a slight smile. "Suit up. We leave in 10."