Religion has never been a concern for Yelena. There are forces and higher powers at play, oh yes, she has seen them. Met a few, shook their hands. Watched on the news and out her window as they battled it out over disputes far, far above her pay grade. Once, she’d even stepped inside one, let the cold expanse of the void seep under her skin. A dozen-odd weeks had elapsed since, and a too-dark room still sent dread crawling up her spine.
But believing in those things is a matter of empirical evidence. Thor exists; portals splice together the universes; the sun rises and sets each day. All true, even if the particulars test the bounds of her comprehension. Seeing is believing, after all.
But right now, Yelena isn’t quite sure she trusts her eyes. She edges toward the crater bisecting the highway. Smoke curls off the asphalt. Her bike—knocked clean onto the shoulder by the impact wave—sputters behind her. If this is an alien invasion, she thinks, I’m quitting.
It’s not. Maybe. The body curled in the broken road looks suspiciously human. Except no human could survive falling from—wherever they fell. Yelena peers up at the sky. Wide and empty.
Yelena steps back, ready to flee the scene, when the body moves. A shift, a groan. She almost jumps out of her skin.
“What the hell are—you’re alive?”
one angelic fall for @breakrooms
