Later.
Finding Natasha wasn't hard - she was already on the staff of the legal department of Stark Industries, which meant that her documents, including her "registration" and actual address of residence, were in the company's HR department database. Well, and then it was a matter of technique and Tony's admin account.
The "super spy" lived in a rented apartment in one of the residential areas of Los Angeles, it was as easy to get into her apartment as it was to Stark, although, I must give credit to Miss Romanoff and SHIELD as a whole, they managed to stuff the apartment with all sorts of spy equipment. Sensors, cameras, sensors and other equipment for monitoring uninvited guests and providing them with the proper level of hospitality. The girl herself slept peacefully with the sleep of a completely innocent lamb. Or a completely shameless bastard, as a shameless bastard I claim!
What can I say about her, watching her without the embellishment of makeup and contorted eyes? Young Scarlett Johansson is young Scarlett Johansson. Against the background of the absolute majority of locals, she is truly a beauty, although I would not say that she is to my taste. To "clear my conscience", I still decided to look at her memory just in case, what if we have an embedded double agent here? I wanted to believe that people were not recruited for the Soviet super-soldier program by advertisement, I mean, purely logically, the issue of loyalty should have been even more important than the health and initial training of the candidate. In other words, I would not want to accidentally send a sincere patriot and ideological follower of Stirlitz to the compost heap. I really liked such people, but... alas, the truth turned out to be much more unsightly and prosaic. Corrupt scum is a state of mind. It was an honor to belong to the "Office", it gave a huge social status, and at the same time guarantees of a well-fed future, and the dirty work in intelligence did not spoil this picture at all, rather the opposite: trips abroad, elite parties, chic dresses, expensive drinks, rich and powerful men, whom she could twist as she wanted... Everything was fine with her, until a series of accidents and failures followed, ending with a generous offer from the enemy of a bigger pack of cookies and a jar of sweeter jam. She did not hesitate for too long and sold out with great pleasure. Conscience... did not bother her. Being a good actress and actress, Natasha knew how to sincerely believe in each of her roles, and here the role was also very convenient and comfortable from the point of view of self-justification: all the failures, problems, accidents turned out to be (were quickly declared) deliberate machinations of the "inhuman regime", a rich imagination added colors to the new legend - and now the selfish traitor and scum turns in her own eyes into a victim unfairly offended by the "bad state", who had the right to act as she did. Just innocent self-hypnosis to relieve stress, and no fraud, so to speak. True, the lady did not take into account that the "new employers" are not your usual "bloody KGB", for some reason looking for volunteers and patriots for their projects, and she is not Captain America. In general, she was given cookies and jam, of course, but she also had to smell the whip. There was informing former colleagues about the joy with which she sold out, and strict control over her activities, including constant surveillance, and the classic blood binding, and not just any blood, but former comrades, in a word, they worked to glory. So a bunch of surveillance equipment was stuck in not only to track guests, but also to keep an eye on Natasha herself.
Well, girl, I gave you a chance.
A short pulse of the Force, and the spy's brain turns into chopped up mush - magical telekinesis is, of course, not a molecular atomizer, like Jean Gray's in the third film, but it's also good for something. A couple more minutes of work - and all this fancy machinery goes into a loop, stopping the recording and retransmitting the same thing - a peacefully sleeping Romanov. And then I carefully and thoroughly collected all the spy's personal belongings, made the bed and hoisted a small "desktop" Soviet flag on it, so to speak, as a small gift for Fury and his team. Now let him run around, worry, spend SHIELD resources in search of unknown red saboteurs, maybe he won't have time for Stark.
As for the body… finding the Shadow Path in the city was easy. Walking along it with a load was a little harder, but not as exhausting as the first experience. In short, I doubt anyone will ever find it in the dark, lifeless fields of Svartalfheim…
The next day, closer to midday.
The hassle with Natasha and the subsequent transportation of the body to the path of shadows and beyond took up the rest of the night and part of the daylight hours. I finished it quickly, considering that in normal space from Midgard to Svartalfheim is about five hundred light years. And yet, by the time I returned to Stark's mansion, Tony did not look too cheerful. I mean, the genius engineer had already opened his eyes, but his whole appearance literally screamed about a severe hangover, which was greatly enhanced by the greenish swill in the glass, which he choked on with a gloomy look. Even though I tried to conduct the session of studying his memory as gently as possible, my intervention was still noticeable for his worn-out body.
I didn't see much point in postponing our conversation. No, I could have waited another day or two or week, until the guy was thoroughly supported, and comrade Vanko would have put his two cents into Tony's problems, but why torment a good man in vain? Stark had already fully realized the complexity of his situation, and there was no point in driving him to complete despair in order to gain more attention; I was not some Fury, after all. And an inventor driven to the brink of collapse could start to do things that he himself would later be ashamed of - and that was an indicator.
The open shirt did not hide the famous reactor in his chest, around which one could already see with the naked eye swollen and blackened veins - a side effect of radiation and his other ailments. By the way, that new substance that he supposedly discovered in the future of this movie universe... I doubt that it could become a "harmless analogue of palladium", since nuclear fusion remains nuclear fusion with all the consequences, but a reactor on a new core could well give a wider puncture into the dimension of Living Light. Actually, I already had a couple of ideas about what exactly this core should be. I will need to experiment with neutronium, or, as it is called in Asgard, the "core of stars", as well as Uru metal mined on Nidavellir, I even have the latter with me - all my armor is made of it. Oh well, these are all details, it's time to go on stage.
"It looks like it's started..." the man said into the void, looking at the blood analyzer, which showed 51% intoxication.
"I wouldn't be so categorical," I drop the illusion, already sitting down on the comfortable couch right behind Stark. Or rather, I dropped one illusion and cast another one — I didn't want to leave traces for the security systems that SHIELD could hack.
To his credit, he didn't flinch, jump, or turn around abruptly at the sound of the voice, although he tensed up considerably—look how his back straightened and stiffened.
- What? - Tony slowly turned around. - Who are you?
- My name is Loki. And I can help you with your problem, - I smile modestly. And now I need to play with the cane. What do you mean "no cane"? And what are the illusions for? So we happily play with the cane pulled out of thin air. Alas, my only viewer pretended to see this ten times a day. That is, he didn't react at all.
- What are you talking about? - Stark began to quickly button his shirt, professionally pulling a carefree expression onto his face. - I don't have any problems, do you?
"There are a couple," I answer in the same tone. "But let's get back to the question of your imminent death, Mr. Stark. And by the way, you're not planning to leave gracefully, blowing yourself up in the lab or, for example, crashing in the upcoming race in Monaco? It's not that I don't understand the fear of a painful fading away in your bed, but dying in the presence of a beloved woman, without even explaining yourself to her, is a bad plan."
- Ah... - Stark clearly lost his train of thought. - What woman are we talking about?
- So unhappy, so twitchy, but so devotedly protecting your wild head for ten years in a row.
- Ah, Pepper... - Tony impulsively covered his mouth with his hand, hiding the smile that had involuntarily appeared, and quickly looked away. Did it seem to me or did he suddenly feel ashamed?
- So, getting back to the topic, are you interested in healing or have you already made your final decision?
- Hey! I wasn't planning on committing suicide! - the indignation is quite credible, there were no such plans yet, which is good news.
- Well, that's great! - I clapped my hands happily. - So, the thought of passing on the suit or its simplified analogue to Rhodey didn't cross your mind either? Well, and to sort out things there, like a will transferring all property rights to Pepper.
"I…" Stark waved his hand in the air in a gesture of choosing his words, but then turned the gesture into an accusatory finger pointing at me. "How do you know all this?"
- I am God.
"Um…" He closed his eyes, tasting the sound, smacking his lips. "God… Loki?"
- Right on target.
- Is this a joke?
- Depending on how you look at it, I, for example, find it very amusing that a person with one foot in the grave will not answer that he wants to live, but keeps diverting the conversation, - twirling my cane, I tilt my head to the side. - Admit it, are you a masochist?
"The term 'common sense of caution' is more appropriate here," Stark took another sip of his swill and winced in pain.
- You carry a nuclear reactor in your chest and personally fly in a tin can to the Middle East to shoot militants, how do you even know the word "caution"? - I feign sincere amazement.
"My mother told me about it when I was a child," Tony was a little embarrassed, but he didn't mince words.
- Okay, okay, - I raise my hands in a protective gesture, - our cautious one. Are you going to get treatment or what? It's not like I'm in a hurry, but in about three hours Miss Potts will be breaking in here, and then before the healing you'll have to explain yourself to her, because I won't do that.
"What are you going to do?" Tony asked somewhat automatically, his eyes widening slightly in an obvious attempt to imagine the picture I had drawn in his mind.
"Most likely, tasting the contents of your bar and inserting provocative remarks in the right places," I answered with the most honest look.
- Hmm-m-m, - the "genius, playboy and philanthropist" narrowed his eyes. - Can I give an example?
- Why haven't you gotten married yet?
- Um... - the man even somehow lively gained a couple of health and energy points, while remaining seated. And then he switched the topic, trying to give himself an extremely businesslike look: - I would like to know the price of the question!
"Well, the price won't be high," I folded the index finger and thumb of my right hand into a pinch, leaving a gap of about a centimeter, showing how insignificant the fee would be, "still, it will even be a pleasure for me to help perhaps my best adept and follower."
- Adept? Follower? - the engineer did not understand.
- Hey, I'm the God of Jokes and Magic, and you're great at both. That speech in the Senate with dunking everyone around you in your waste, that was great! I even felt sorry for Hammer. A little.
"Okay," the man rubbed the bridge of his nose, "I understood the jokes, but what does magic have to do with it?"
– You see, my slightly paranoid adept, the concept of "technology" was born in human society due to the fact that people do not perceive reality beyond three-dimensional space. Within the framework of Asgard, there is no fundamental division into physical and magical laws of existence, as well as their opposition to each other, and therefore all areas of knowledge are called "magic". Your ancestors gave this term a tint of inexplicability due to their ignorance, but in fact, its correct translation in terms modern to you would be precisely "science", although in a much broader sense. I mean, the field of knowledge there is not limited to just physical three-dimensional space. Thus, in the terminology modern to you, I am the God of Science and am responsible for design activity to exactly the same extent as for various mystical aspects of existence. So with your genius in the field of invention, you also enter my diocese, so to speak.
- Okay... Let's say you really are God, - we somehow switched to "you" on our own, although in English there is no distinction between "you" and "you", but by the intonation and the very style of constructing phrases you can always tell when the dialogue is "official" and when it is already becoming more personal. It's not that Tony was very bothered by officialdom before, but nevertheless the fact itself made me happy, - what do you want for your help? The construction of a temple?
- Hmm, - I thought. - The idea is not bad, but no. A hundred years ago it would have been a good joke, but in modern society religion is treated much more simply, and it will not cause the same effect in the Christian world, - I allow myself a slight dreamy smile, dedicated to the image drawn by my imagination. - However, - I return to reality, - you almost guessed. I want you to become my Priest!
"A priest?" Stark asked.
- Well, yes, a priest, - I confirm. - The high priest, to be precise.
- And what should the priest of Loki do?
- Well, - I scratched my chin, - to make fun of those around you, to make those in power periodically gnaw their shields from impotent rage, to stylishly shock the public, especially mocking all sorts of tendencies that are destructive to society, like degenerate tolerance with its quotas on racial and gender characteristics in cinema. Well, and some little things there: to love good drinks, beautiful women, good music, in a word, not to deny yourself anything. Just no sodomy!.. and drugs! I don't like that. In the end, what kind of rational being are you if you yourself cannot make your life colorful enough and are forced to rely on a chemical surrogate?
"So…" Stark paused, shaking his finger at me again, though this time he was holding his glass with the same hand. "I'm supposed to do everything I usually do?"
- That's the point! - I smile contentedly at the man. - You are my natural-born priest!
- That's it? That's all you need?
- Well... yes. I am God, I am not very interested in any of your green pieces of paper or yellow circles. If you thought I would ask for your suit, then I don't need it either, and if I really need it, I will create it myself.
"So you're going to create it?" he raised an eyebrow.
- Easy! Although I admit - the design is good. I already have a dozen ideas on how to improve it in interesting directions, but we have gone off topic again. So, Anthony Stark, do you agree to become my priest and follow the covenants of Loki, voiced to you by God personally?
"I agree," the engineer answered after a moment's thought. It was clear that he still didn't fully believe it, but from his point of view, he had nothing to lose, so why not "yes"? Besides, he really had nothing to lose.
- Heard! - At the same time I cast a sleep spell on my new priest.
So, let's start by converting the fragments into something harmless and extracting them, then we'll remove the heavy metals and help the cells renew themselves. We should also remove the reactor, but... I guess I won't. It's too long to mess around with restoring flesh and bones in its place, and there's no need, it's easier to completely heal the body, and then the energy of the Living Light itself will maintain it in a standard state. If you remove the other negative factors, then it will be enough to cure radiation sickness.
Two hours later. Tony Stark.
- Oh... what strange dreams I've had... about Gods appearing to me, or maybe with beauties on the beach, but no way... - the engineer rose from his chair and glanced at his watch. - Damn, - Pepper could appear any minute, and she didn't need to see one man-made pattern on his skin.
Having dressed frantically, Stark put his finger to the scanner needle with a familiar movement.
"Blood intoxication level 0%," the device displayed.
- What? - the billionaire put his finger again.
"Blood intoxication level 0%," the device obediently repeated.
Tony frantically unbuttoned his shirt, tearing off buttons, and… did not see the now familiar pattern of black veins.
- Jarvis!
- Yes, sir?
- What happened to me the last two hours?
- You passed out right in your chair, sir, and then slept peacefully all this time until you woke up with words about strange dreams.
– Did I talk to anyone before this?
- No, sir. First you complained about a hangover, which you shouldn't have had, since you hadn't had anything to drink the night before, then you said "it looks like it's starting," and just fell asleep.
"So… it turns out that God really visited me?" the inventor grabbed his disheveled head.
"I don't know, sir, perhaps it was just a dream."
"Then how do you explain it?" Stark held up the blood analyzer.
- The level of blood intoxication is 0%... Amazing, sir! I have no explanation for this! But I recommend that you undergo a full examination.
"By the way, me too," Tony heard a familiar voice from behind him, "otherwise curiosity will ruin all your nerves," Loki said, saluting him with a square glass of amber liquid.
"Jarvis…" Tony said slowly, hypnotizing the smiling face of the guest in the short coat, "is there anyone next to me?"
- No, sir. You are alone. And I want to note that such questions can be a sign of certain health problems.
"My butler can't see you?" Stark turned to the long-haired brunette, who had already settled down on the same sofa as a couple of hours ago, without listening to the computer.
"No," Loki confirmed, taking a sip of his drink.
- Why?
- I don't want him to see me.
"…I see," Tony stood up and resolutely headed towards the bar.
"Sir, who are you speaking to?" Jarvis made his presence known again.
"I suppose... God be with you," the billionaire replied, already filling a glass from the bottle that was just standing on the table.
- A very original start to the day...
- Silence! - the inventor cut his butler off and turned to his guest. - So... what now? - the taste of whiskey filled his mouth, driving some of the tension out of his head.
- Since you are now my official high priest, I am supposed to give you some parting words... - his interlocutor shrugged with a strange emotion on his face. - But since we both know that there is no better way to tempt a person to do something wrong than to forbid him to do it, we will do without boring commandments! So, - Loki took a sip, - first of all, I inform you: a certain black man with one eye and an inflated ego keeps something left over from your father. I did not go into details, but it seems that Howard calculated the structure of a substance capable of becoming an ideal core for your reactor, but at one time he was unable to synthesize it. In general, all the clues and indications of the place where everything is hidden are with Fury, there should also be a fatherly video message for you there. Also: there is a chance that at the upcoming races in Monaco, an ill-wisher will be waiting for you, thirsty for your blood. What sets him apart from the others is that he was able to replicate your reactor and make a weapon based on it. His name is Ivan Vanko, I think. Dig into the archives - his father worked with yours, and they developed the principle of the cold nuclear fusion reactor together, I don't know in what proportion. But Ivan is sure that Howard stole the technology from his father, after which he set him up and got him expelled from the country so as not to share. So, what else?.. - Loki thought, playing with his fingers on the glass. - Oh yeah, take care of the security system, otherwise SHIELD is hovering around you very actively. Fury, of course, is a dumb guy, but stubborn, and he really wants to get your technology, ideally - together with you, who are infinitely indebted to him, but this is also possible.
Loki finished speaking and began to study his face with undisguised pleasure, enjoying the last sips of the drink. And it's not that he couldn't hold Tony's face, but he didn't even think about it. It must be admitted that they dumped too much information on him for his mind, which was unaccustomed to new impressions. The billionaire couldn't even remember the last time he found himself in a situation for which he was completely unprepared, either morally or informationally. Even the hated meetings with the board of directors, with all their intensity, did not bring any new discoveries, because he knew even the most difficult agenda in advance, and here…
"Okay, Pepper's already in the house, I won't disturb you," the guest stood up, having finished the last drops of whiskey.
"Where are you going now?" Stark asked, not at all what he wanted, although he himself had not yet managed to understand what exactly he wanted.
- To classes.
- Lessons?
"I'm currently working part-time as a history teacher at a private college," Loki smiled disconcertingly. "It's very funny, if you want to know, but the details will be later," the empty glass landed on the table with a weighty sound. "So, I've warned you – now it's up to you. Maybe I'll drop by for the birthday, bye," Tony was clapped on the shoulder, and the visitor's figure disappeared into the golden-green shimmer…
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