<div class="floatleft">(http://www.papaya.pe/imagenes/noticias/2/230/cobie-smulders614-15369.jpg)</div><br/><br/><hr/><br/><span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 12pt;"><span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: georgia;"><strong>Name:</strong> Maria Hill<br/><strong>Title:</strong> Director of S.H.E.I.L.D. <br/><strong>Location:</strong> Private office<br/><strong>Time:</strong> 4:55 PM EST<br/><strong>Tags:</strong> Loki</span></span><br/><hr/><br/>One wall of the office was almost made of a sheer glass, a webbed pattern of beams made for support. Her "office" did funny things to a person. A superiority complex was being berthed inside of the Director's mind. With every passing moment she felt even more important than before. The office was three rooms, a private bath, a private sleeping quarters, and the lounge sized office that sat in-between them. It felt like a four-star hotel, and Maria suddenly understood why Nick Fury felt 'his ears pop', when he came up here. But Maria didn't buckle under the weight. She heard music where none was played. She felt deserving of this position. She felt like she was better than Fury. She felt like the whole world was on her side.<br/><br/>Maria was dripping with water, her clothing mostly cast aside. the first thing she had done after Rutherford let her be was shower. Ms. Hill didn't feel particularly dirty, or in need of a bath. The porcelain and marble had called to her. It was the right thing to do at the time. Afterward, though, she had stopped herself in the process of redressing, suddenly sure that she no longer belonged in a typical uniform. For, her clothing was the same as Rutherfords, and every other cadet that was marching up and down the ship. She had gotten as far as her under-garments. It was a surreal feeling, one that caused her to prance out of the bathroom without a care to cover up. She had commanded the computer to lock her office. She was aware enough to sustain her privacy.<br/><br/>In a black sports bra, and wet hair; with her hands curving on the bottom of her hips, Maria looked out of her office, to the side her new desk. Her eyes were smiling, squinted with precise determination.<br/><br/>She wondered where Fury had gotten that black coat. She wanted one. It almost felt like she was waiting for Fury to come and give her the number of a tailor. The shower had been a baptism of sorts, and The new Director of S.H.E.I.L.D. was too stubborn to put on her old clothes.<br/><br/>Still in a surreal space of egotistical limbo, Maria felt a tingle in the back of her neck. She suddenly felt another person in the room, spinning both directions, she saw no one. Now wandering from her desk, Maria was in a constant pose. She edged her way toward the door that led to her bed, mostly just to be moving. She was alone. 'I'm sure of it,' she thought. For there wasn't a sound, or a shape in the lights. She was alone, "Hello?" She called into every well lit corner, feeling insane for the time being: walking mindlessly through a government office, afraid of a ghost in her wet underwear.