Mr. Sinister stepped out of the lift and onto the holding cell level. This part of the base was normally well lit, filled with an antiseptic white glare from the many lights and an atmosphere of implacable strength. Beyond the plasteel walls, however, lay the hard vacuum and pitiless sunlight of high orbit.
Today, the lights had been dimmed, giving everything an evil look, something only enhanced by the caped and be-horned figure that brooded silently in front of a particular cell.
“Savoring the irony,” Loki replied. “The last time my brother and I were in a prison, our roles were quite reversed.”
“We weren’t able to move the hammer, you know. We had to leave it behind.”
“Of course you did. No doubt it is quite safe where it is, since only the worthy can move it. Not that I expect even the good Captain there could budge Mjolnir—at heart, he’s still simply a boy from Brooklyn. He lacks a certain… arrogance.”
“Hmm. You’re missing one—I don’t see the woman here.”
“Natasha? No, it’s so unfortunate how fragile these humans are. We left her for dead.”
Mr. Sinister pondered the precise phrasing that the Asgardian had used.
Deep within the structure of a certain skyscraper, one of many that stood in the Manhattan skyline, a horde of small, furry figures scurried and labored…