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❛ ᴇᴡᴛʀᴛᴡ​​​​​​​​​​. ❜ ° . ༄
- ͙۪۪˚   ▎❛ 𝐅𝐈𝐅𝐓𝐄𝐄𝐍 ❜   ▎˚ ͙۪۪̥◌
»»————- ꒰ᴛʜɪs ɪs ᴡʜʏ
ɪ ᴅᴏɴ'ᴛ sᴏᴄɪᴀʟɪᴢᴇ ꒱


❝ MOST OF US LIVE
BECAUSE WE'RE CLEVER,
RESOURCEFUL & DETERMINED ❞

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"Is she awake?"

"I don't know—"

"Poke her."

Jimin grunted at the uncomfortable sensation in her side, repeated and annoying. She lifted her hand to half-heartedly slap it away, still disoriented and very much in pain. Pruning is not fun.

She was vaguely aware of other presences nearby, though she couldn't even wake enough to protect herself against them. She was entirely vulnerable and at their mercy. The discomfort returned, more acutely than before. It was enough to bring her out of the pleasant darkness that threatened to consume her and she grunted, her eyes still shut. Through gritted teeth, she ground out, "will-you-stop?"

The poking immediately ceased as the young voice exclaimed, "holy—"

"Language."

"Really?"

Jimin finally opened her eyes— and immediately wished she hadn't.

She wasn't ready for the headache that greeted her upon waking. Maybe she could pretend to still be asleep?

"She's awake!" the young voice sounded annoyingly close to her ear.

The Asian woman sighed and tried to focus on the figures before her. A part of her wondered if she'd never left the circus since it seemed she'd stepped into one of those rooms that had mirrors that distorted your image in apparently hilarious forms. (She'd never understood that humor.)

She stared at the dark-haired figures around her with various hair lengths, heights, ages and clothing styles. They all had one thing in common: they were. . . her.

One of the younger ones, possibly early teens, was crouched right in front of her, dark eyes studying the new arrival's expression closely. "Do you think she's. . . us?"

"No," Jimin said firmly. "Absolutely not. No, no, no, no. I've been through too much shit—"

"Language!"

"Shut up," she snapped in return before continuing: "already to deal with this. Nope, this is not happening. It's probably still effects of the pruning, or—"

She was cut off by eerily familiar laughter as the group around her chuckled.

"It's not the pruning," the too-close younger version said.

Jimin glowered at— her? "Back off. Have you ever heard of personal space?"

The teen shrugged and stood. "It's been awhile since a new one's arrived."

The Asian woman tucked her legs so they were crossed and straightened, a familiar, comforting position that stopped her head from exploding. She stared at the collection of. . . hers? (Was there a plural form for a group of yourself?) in abject horror. "This is not real."

The 'language' her gave her an unimpressed look. "Surely you can tell this isn't a lie? If you're really one of us?"

(Unfortunately, Jimin knew she— the other her? (God, this was going to give her a headache) — was right.)

The truth was undeniable: she knew her face better than anyone.

The teen nudged her curiously with a sneakered foot as if Jimin was a dead animal. "Why're you here?"

She didn't get an answer. Instead, Jimin was still trying to process the new situation, looking around at the group wide-eyed as she tried to wrestle her instinctive urge to run. To try to anchor herself, the brunette decided to take in her surroundings instead.

It was some sort of underground hideout, small but clean and very, very sparse. The few items in the room were ratty and well-worn and included a couch, Christmas lights that weren't lit up, what looked like shelves from IKEA and an assortment of knickknacks that littered them that Jimin recognized from her life. "What is this place?"

One version of her— this one in a military uniform whose rank was displayed on a pin that rested against her chest— answered, "B.A.S.E."

"That's an acronym right?"

'Language' her scoffed. "Well, at least you're not entirely stupid."

"Yes," the Byong replied. "It stands for Barricade And Safety Establishment. I founded it."

A harsh, prehistoric sound came from the corner of the white room and— with more than just unwillingness— Jimin turned her head in the direction. Immediately, she felt as if she'd been doused in cold water. "Is that—"

"Us as a crane," teenage her supplied. "And yes, Byong did create B.A.S.E., however much you hate it," she told the bird.

God, this was a nightmare. What she wouldn't give for a Loki right now— or anyone that wasn't her.

"So. . . you're all. . . me?"

"Or you're us," the teenager smirked.

"Right," the Asian woman said. "That makes perfect sense. Absolutely. Wonderful. Where are we?"

"I've already told you—"

"Beyond B.A.S.E."

The Jimins— excluding her— exchanged looks as the official spoke, "we believe it's The Void, the end the T.V.A. says the Time-Keepers are still writing."

"And the T.V.A. sent you all here because. . .?"

"Different reasons," teen her shrugged. "I didn't hesitate in the shooting practice. She," here, she gestured to military-her. "Never went to S.H.E.I.L.D." Then she indicated a twenty-something Jimin. "She saved Katrina from the ceiling. Et cetera, et cetera."

"Okay," the original Jimin said faintly. "Sure, that makes sense. Are we the only ones here?" A thought of only her for company for eons made her sick to her stomach.

The crane screeched, almost as if in amusement as Byong answered, "God, no. And speaking of god—"

"They're like 바퀴벌레 (bakwibeolle) [cockroaches] ," the twenty-something her interrupted, her tone filled with annoyance. "If you go outside you step on a Loki."

The name made Jimin freeze as she focused on the new information. Loki?

The teen noticed her interest. "Oh yeah, there's a shit—"

"Language!"

"—load of them. They get pruned the most."

The Asian woman wondered if her version of Loki had been pruned after she had. Was he alive? What was it that he'd said— Lokis were good at surviving?

"Where can we find them?"

Byong stared at her as if she'd gone mad. "You want to find a Loki?"

"Why not?"

"Besides the fact that they're 멍청이들 (meongcheong-ideul) [assholes] —"

"Language!"

The teen rolled her eyes. "You can't go out or you'll die."

Jimin frowned. "But you said there were others."

"Listen," Byong said.

The brunette quieted as she concentrated, trying to hear what she needed to. There. A low rumble reverberated through the enforced walls and her eyes widened. "What's that?"

"A multidimensional being," Byong informed her authoritatively. "The enemy. It does not deserve a name."

"The Lokis have. Named it, I mean," the teen cut her off. "They call it Alioth."

"Because that makes sense," twenty-something her added mockingly. "Name it after a star in the Big Dipper as if that has any relevance."

"In any case," 'Language' her continued, "it's best not to test your luck with it. Being pruned isn't the end but that certainly is."

Jimin frowned. "I still don't understand how there are so many of you— me? If the cloud makes lunch out of those that are pruned—"

"You've forgotten," the military official spoke up, "that 아버님 (abeonim) [Father] was intent on teaching us self-preservation. We were not to be any more heroic than the next person but smart enough to survive should catastrophe befall us. A few of us have gotten caught, that's true, but most of us live because we're clever, resourceful and determined."

"What about our hesitation?"

"Those are the ones the cloud got."

"Right," she said purposefully as she stood. "Unfortunately, I have a god to find—"

"He'll be fine," teen her said with a shrug. "He's a Loki."

"Even if they know how to survive, they'll get pulled into chaos," Jimin countered. "It's their nature—"

"We aren't supposed to interact with them," Byong interrupted her sternly. "At least not for a long periods of time. Our very natures are opposite and you know what they say about that—"

"Please," the Asian woman scoffed. "There's no threat of anything like that or have you forgotten?"

"I haven't," the military woman's voice was softer than it had been.

"Then you know I'm— we're— still recovering. There won't be anyone for a long, long time."

The official still didn't look convinced, but she nodded anyway. "Very well."

"So I can go look for him?"

"We won't stop you," Byong said with a nod, "but if you leave you can't come back. One of the reasons we've survived is because no one knows we're here."

"I don't plan on staying here forever," Jimin announced. "Well, this has been. . . interesting and enforces the reason why I don't socialize. I'll be on my way now."

"Wait!" She turned to face the teen. "I'll help you find him."

"What?" Byong demanded.

"Absolutely not," 'Language' her ordered.

"I'm just as old as all of you," teen-her argued, her eyes falling on the bird, "and I'm taking her. You guys never fed her anyway."

"You know—"

"I can't come back, yeah, I know," came the sassy retort.

"If you're sure. . ." 'Language' her started, clearly the most hesitant of the group.

"Positive. I've always wanted adventure," the teenager said brightly. Never one for emotional or drawn-out goodbyes, she turned to the slightly bemused older woman. "Ready?"

✧✧✧

When they— Jimin, teenage Jimin and Crane-Jimin— exited the underground B.A.S.E., they entered a world of destruction and chaos. "God, it's like they've been here already."

"This isn't because of the Lokis," teen her replied. "This is Alioth."

"Great," the Asian woman pronounced flatly.

As they made their way out of the rubble, Jimin realized with a jolt what they'd been underneath— STARK tower, the place where she'd last been (in the proper timeline, anyway.) It had been oddly bare for such an extravagant man but she supposed that he didn't pay much attention to his basement. At least that explained the strength of the walls. The younger girl found an abandoned vehicle nearby— oddly, a beaten up Amazon Prime delivery truck.

"You're driving," the teenager said, though that didn't stop her from getting into the front seat and hotwiring the car, her knowledge of how to do so going unexplained.

Jimin slid into the seat of she left and pressed her foot on the gas, the familiarity soothing her somewhat.

✧✧✧

"What's he really like?"

The teen's question pulled Jimin out of her focused concentration. "What?"

"Loki. What's he really like? Byong always made him out to be evil but if you're going to look for him then he can't be all that bad," she reasoned.

"He's. . . complicated. He did kill eighty people in two days and tried to take over the world but. . . there's more to him than that. He's not a good person by any means but he's not entirely bad either. At least, my version of him isn't," the Asian woman answered thoughtfully.

A smile twitched at the teen's lips, "you like him."

"What? No way! He's a pain in the ass— would you stop laughing?"

"You're an awful liar," the teen chuckled.

"I'm not," Jimin huffed. "I'm not even remotely interested in anyone—"

"Because you've sworn off love, right?" the girl asked. "The version of us that saved Katrina told me about her and what that did for. . . our, well—" she gestured to her head.

The brunette sighed, the mood dampening somewhat. "She's the only one I've ever loved."

"You can love more than one person," the teenager remarked.

"What do you know about love?"

She shrugged. "Nothing, really. Just the stories I've heard from— well, us."

A soft, rare smile pulled at Jimin's lips as her gaze stayed trained on the road, the breeze from the broken windows ruffling their hair. She could almost convince herself it was a normal road trip, that the younger version of her was just her sister, that the crane was a dog sticking it's head out of the window.

For some reason, she thought of Loki.

Even if the god did get on her nerves, he didn't hate her for calling out the truth like her coworkers did with her blunt honesty. He was clever and sharp and very, very irritating. Still, she— well, she wouldn't say missed, but she noticed his absence more than she thought she would.

Byong's words echoed in her head about the warning that she and Loki weren't supposed to interact and her promise that it would never turn. . . into anything else.

"Hey, what's that?"

At the girl's words, Jimin pulled out of her thoughts and looked ahead where— was that a cluster of people?

She slammed on the breaks and the teenager jolted forward with a yelp.

"We should be careful," Jimin warned. "We don't know what those Lokis are like."

They climbed out of the car and waited.

Eventually, the Lokis went down the hole one by one until they disappeared and closed the latch. Jimin stepped forward. "Come on."

The teenager caught her wrist. "Should we really walk into a den of Lokis?"

The agent shrugged. "What choice do we have? We either definitely die here or possibly die there."

She gave a curt nod before approaching the hatch cautiously, the crane trailing after them comically. Together, the two humans hauled open the metal lid to see a ladder vanishing into the depths below. "Great. Just great."

With a sigh, she began to climb into the hole, only to be stopped again. "What about her?" the girl asked, pointing to the crane. "She can't do ladders."

Jimin gave the pair the stink eye before climbing out again to secure the bird under her arm. "If I fall because of this thing. . ."

Luckily, she didn't. The crane was surprisingly well-behaved and sat docilely against her. The teenager followed her shortly after.

The brunette stepped off the final rung to the cacophony of arguing that issued from the many figures in the small space. Their voices stacked on top of each other, one trying to out do the rest as they argued about who betrayed who. Jimin's patience— normally quite abundant— disappeared completely. She dropped the crane.

"What the hell is going on?" Her voice cut above them, sharp and controlled as she called order to the chaos.