Mischief on Midgard

Remember

Another drawback of this much weaker mortal body was that it required that Loki sleep...

Of course, Loki's original body also demanded that he rest, but not nearly to the same extent as his altered state. He used to be able to stay awake for days on end, and his mind would remain just as sharp. Since his forced alteration, Loki found that he needed to sleep every day for at least six to eight hours, or else his mind would grow foggy and unfocused. That was something he could not afford, especially not now when he had a masked man out there looking for him.

This had led to the most annoying thing that he'd ever encountered; Loki couldn't sleep. He needed to, now more than ever before in his life. Yet such slumbering bliss was being denied to him.

He twisted and turned about in his in bed, each movement causing his entire body to protest. Cold sweat ran down his back, and a pained moan escaped his lips as he tried to push away the lingering sensation of a hand around his throat. The memory of that man's robotic arm hoisting him into the air, squeezing the life out of him, would not leave him. Again and again, the memory replayed in his mind, and each time Loki was powerless against him... helpless...

He growled and rolled onto his back, his hand reaching out above him as he tried to summon his magic to him. Once again, nothing happened. His magic wasn't just denied to him, it just... wasn't there.

At least the last time Loki had faced such a threat, he had still had his magic and strength available to him. He had still been able to fight back! The last time...

A time where another cold, cyborg arm had held his throat painfully tight. That one had belonged to a blue-skinned, female alien with eyes dark as the vastness of space itself.

"Most days... I feel nothing," Nebula had said in a voice void of emotion. "Do you know what I have to do to feel anything? Anything at all?"

Loki had smirked at her, ignoring the hand holding his throat. He had the strength of an Asgardian. Her strength, though significant enough to hold him, was not enough to prevent him from speaking.

"Oh, please, my dear do regale me with your tale," he said sarcastically as if they were having a friendly conversation over tea.

Nebula's eyes remained blank, her expression practically as robotic as the arm that held him. She tilted her head as she looked at him, for all the world looking like a curious bird that might peck his eyes out.

"As I grew, Thanos took my body away from me. Piece by piece. Part by part. It was so painful at first. Then I got used to the pain. I could longer feel it searing through my body. No," she said calmly, her free hand passing over Loki's face, almost... lovingly. "I have to see others experience pain now, even if the pain is merely a fraction of what I felt. I feel something when I see it. Do you understand? I can feel... Ah, but Father has been very nice to me today. Father has given me a pretty new toy to play with."

Loki had jerked his head forward, biting viciously into the hand touching him. Despite drawing blood, Nebula didn't move, didn't even so much as flinch. In fact, she looked disappointed. As Loki let go and spat away her blood, she tilted her head the other way and looked over the injury. Her grip had not flagged in the slightest.

"I should have felt something from that," Nebula observed with a seemingly sorrowful sigh. "I did not feel a thing. Again. I had hoped one of your strength would allow me to feel pain again."

"Sister, dear," another alien spoke up, this one male and looking even stranger. The male had no nose and thin white hair falling down to his shoulders. "We mustn't be rude to our guest."