“Are you stupid?!” Cy exploded when Loki muttered that his family wouldn’t care if he died. “Your family would have been devastated! What’s wrong with you? What kinda idiot thinks their family doesn’t give a damn if they’re hurting or not?” She barely stopped herself from smacking him in the head, possibly more than once. Anybody who’d lost family would have been appalled—no matter what, family was family, and leaving somebody to die just didn’t fly. Frowning fiercely at him, Cy plopped down in a chair near Anna and crossed her arms. 

Her own family was the world to her—Cy’s dad, Leon, was a security chief at a museum. Her mom Syl was a cook in a chain restaurant. The extended family was enormous, since both of Cy’s parents had four siblings, all of whom also had spouses and children. The Scheiffer clan stretched from one side of the US to the other, and where one was in trouble, there were likely three or four cousins nearby who were willing to help. 

Agent Wilson managed to convince Loki to lie still so the medics could work. They were efficient and there were a lot of them. Within twenty minutes the God of Mischief was treated, bandaged, and well on the way to recovering from his wounds. Now that he was stable, Cy slapped him on his uninjured shoulder. She was still miffed he’d thought his family should leave him to his fate, and she let him know with a glare that could have turned steel to pudding. Returning to her chair, she folded her arms across her chest and looked at Agent Wilson. “Should we wait to ask about HYDRA?” 

Wilson, apparently too curious to wait, inquired about the escape. Loki gave a bare-bones description of the jailbreak. After a moment of silence, Cy, gawking at him, spoke. “So you busted out, beaten to hell and half-dead, and [i]ran[/i] here? [i]Whaaaaaat[/i]?”