♤Magical Entertainment♤《 Loki X OC 》

~ A Golden Melody ~

"General Westwood! Welcome to Louisiana!" The fit man in his fifties stepped out of the booming helicopter and into the pouring rain, greeted by the saluting of his old friend. He smiled.

"Hills! It's been too long, my friend." Hills grinned as he shook Westwood's hand.

"It has, hasn't it? C'mon, let's go inside before we drown out here. We have so much to talk about." A guard opened the door, and they stepped inside the large facility. Once inside, the younger of the two led his mentor through the winding hallways.

"I heard you've made a breakthrough in your research?" Westwood asked after the necessary small talk had been dealt with.

"Yes, I think we have finally cracked the code in the mutation." Colonel Hills showed him into a large room with agents and scientists swarming around them like bees in a hive. They stood in a security room filled with computers and monitors tracking everything from heartbeats to brainwaves. On the other side of a one-way mirror was a sterile surgical room with a terrified young boy strapped to a sturdy chair in the middle. Hills explained the process, the different chemicals, and their effects.

"We finally have an answer to the siren they stole from us," he finished. Westwood nodded. He couldn't say he understood half of what his friend had just told him, but he wouldn't tell him that.

"How sure are we?" He asked instead.

"Enough. What do you say, old man? Shall we give it a whirl?"

"You read my mind." The younger walked up to the desk and spoke into a microphone.

"Ready to test Project 54 in one minute." The people around them took up their positions and took out various notepads and devices. One by one, they declared their stations checked and ready for the experiment. Everything was in order. Now they were simply waiting for Hills' go-ahead, and he was just about to give it when, suddenly, his radio crackled to life.

"Colonel, we have a situation in sector six." The Colonel's mood visibly sunk with the words. Muttering something about incompetent idiots and terrible timing, he jerked the radio from his waistband.

"What situation?" No response. "Private. What situation?" Nothing. Hills sent a look to Westwood, who could do nothing but look confused. "Private. Com in! What is the situation?" Static.

"Pull up the security feed of sector six, now!" Westwood barked at one of the agents. Within two seconds, they had grainy images of a large storage room and a few hallways. Everyone supposed to stand guard sat slumped against walls or lay on the ground, no one moving a muscle.

"What's going on?" Hills yelled, making the young man flinch.

"I don't know, sir."

"Can you reverse the footage?" Westwood demanded. The agent pushed a button and the time stamp reversed. At first, nothing happened. Then all the agents and guards were at their stations, awake and alert. Nothing out of the ordinary. The agent pressed play. They watched for just a moment before the men seemed to fall into a trance. They lowered their weapons and slowly sunk to the floor like they slowly fell asleep. Then a woman in black armor strode past the camera in the storage room. She didn't spare a glance at the camera or even the armed men around her, just walking past them in long strides. They followed her as she walked through the many corridors, incapacitating everyone she came across without so much as lifting a finger. The agent managed to pause the feed just as her face became visible. Hills suddenly became ghostly white.

"What is it? Do you know the bitch?" Westwood shook his friend. Hills turned to his friend and that haunted look on his features sent a deep chill of dread down the General's spine.

"We have to get out of here. Now." Then he seemed to remember the world. His expression grew hard, and his tone with it. "Cancel the test. Take what you can and wipe the drives. I need immediate evacuation. Move, your poor sons of bitches, move."

"Hills, who is that?" Westwood had his hand on his gun now as the people around them scrambled to follow orders. Who was this woman? Why was his usually so collected friend deathly terrified of her? Suddenly, a barely audible hum halted all commotion in the room. The General spared a look to his friend, but Hills just stood there, as if frozen in place. The hum slowly grew audible; a hauntingly beautiful melody he couldn't distinguish. Finally, the Colonel seemed to snap out of his trance. He pulled out a drawer and tore up a packet of high tec earplugs. He tossed Westwood a pair and put a pair in his ears. Suddenly, a scientist inside the room with the subject sunk to the floor. Then another inside the observation room. The melody slowly became louder and louder, closer and closer. It seemed to echo in the empty hallways and only grow more beautiful with every breath. His ears clung to every note, never wanting it to end. He wanted to sit down. Why was he so tired all of a sudden? A nap couldn't hurt, surely? His shoulder was shaken so hard he swore it had been dislocated.

"What?" He snapped. It was Hills. How dare he disturb the beauty of the song? His friend shoved the plugs into the older man's ears. Westwood wanted to rip them out. Wanted to hear the song again, but then his head seemed to clear. What happened? Hills had written something on his phone and held it out for him to read.

Peitho. The siren. Get out. Now.

The Colonel shoved a few hard drives into his pockets as Westwood looked around. All the computers were wiped and the people around them, those who hadn't gotten a pair of plugs in time, were dropping like flies. Even in the silence of the devices in his ears, he could feel the power vibrate in his bones. He looked at the boy on the other side of the glass, but the boy's dark eyes weren't there. Instead, a pair of glowing yellow eyes met him so close he almost fell backward. The terrifying feeling of losing control of his limbs took over. Hills fell next to him. His eyes were that same unnerving yellow. Westwood landed on the cold floor. Everyone seemed to look at him with those menacing eyes. His head was growing heavy and his thoughts slow. He slapped himself across the face to try and snap himself out of the trance. How could the melody affect him when he couldn't even hear it? He forced himself up again and stumbled toward the emergency exit. Almost there. His knees buckled again, refusing to hold his weight. Almost there. The door swung open with such force it slammed against the wall behind him. He didn't turn around. Almost there. Something grabbed hold of his leg and pulled him away from his escape. A foot turned him over, and he couldn't fight it no matter how much he tried. His vision was growing hazy and he couldn't make out any details on the intruder, only the yellow light sparkling with malice and terror and a crystal clear voice, loud and powerful enough to shatter his eardrums, echoed through his nerves and bones as his mind grew blank, his joints went limp, and his vision failed him:

Sleep well, General