Chapter Text
“So… What exactly are you here for?”
“I am here in protest of your security teams, Agger.”
“What of them?”
“I have heard reports of them beating citizens until they are left with broken bones and bloody noses, when they have done nothing but protest peacefully.”
“Really? You’re here about some alleged brutality on my part? Don’t you have, I don’t know, a Frost Giant to smack around?”
“Do not play coy with me, Agger. I know what your company has done in other places. The abductions, the destruction. T’Challa has spoken to me on how your mines have destroyed entire villages in South Sudan. It is only the laws that New York possesses which has stifled your crimes here. I am here to prevent any further violence.”
“Look, Thunderlips, I can’t say that I’m necessarily denying or acknowledging any of that nonsense you’ve said. But, and here’s the kicker, I don’t care about this. All I want is money, money, some more money, and maybe some good publicity to sweeten the deal. The profits from oil, manufacturing, medicine, are just too good, blondy!”
Thor frowns at Dario’s disregard and uncaring words, knowing that he would need to take a different approach to deal with the egoist. He's had practice with Stark, so this one shouldn't be too hard.
“Besides, I’ve got too many people working for me. I probably couldn’t even reach the guys responsible for this if I wanted to. Didn’t you see the amount of people I’ve got on the 1st floor alone?”
“Aye. That I do not deny, Agger. Workers. Followers. Cronies. Henchman. I know that you have an abundance of them. I would say that you are in abundance of most things. Fame. Allies. Enemies. Those are all bought–or created–by your greed and wealth.”
Dario shrugs, still sitting in his armchair.
“However, Agger, I would wager all of Asgard’s treasures that I possess one thing you can never have.”
“Do you, Thunder God? If it’s that precious hammer you’re talking about, I have Uru samples in my lab as we speak!”
“Nay, Agger. What no money can ever purchase, you see–” The Thunderer points his hammer towards the window, beckoning the tycoon to come closer. “–Is true faith.”
Outside, tens of floors below, Dario sees it. A crowd (big enough to populate his Roxx-home complex, Dario quickly thinks) surrounds Roxxon Plaza, chanting words and phrases that Dario unfortunately could not care less about. They are all held back by the force field that Dario built into the plaza a year ago, so it’s not like they can ever reach him.
“Great, another protest against me. How terrifying. You do know this is just a regular day for Roxxon, yes?”
“Perhaps it is. Yet, have you seen what they’re protesting against? Or rather, for?”
Dario rolls his eyes and stoops over to take a better look at the protesters. Yes, there are the usual suspects. Hippies, college students, and people carrying pictures of–
“Thor!?”
This does it for Dario. While he may not care for simple protests, What he does care about is publicity. And what the protesters are doing right now? They’re stealing his spotlight.
“Why do they have pictures of you, you damned blonde!”
“As I said, Agger. Faith. In centuries past, I was worshipped by the Norse simply because we were intertwined. Their myths were my adventures. My deeds were their legends. In recent times, however, amidst the many beliefs and gods and religions that now exist, some people have made their way to me. Worshippers, if you may. I have seen half a dozen temples dedicated to me in this city alone.”
“Those idiots! Who would want a dumb, brutish god who swings hammers all day? A god who doesn’t do god things!”
“I have never known how humans choose their beliefs. Nor why they have them at all. I do have a hypothetis, though. If that’s what you call such an assumption?”
“Hypothesis, it’s hypothesis. Learn Greek.”
“Then I shall ask Heracles to renew my skills. Nonetheless, I suppose that I am simply more… present. Unlike other gods, who seem distant or even non-existent at times, I am here. I am seen. I am there to fight for humanity when no other god can. Perhaps that is why they are choosing me, Agger. For when they pray to Thor…”
Thor raises Mjolnir above his head, electricity crackling all over his body and scorching the wooden floor beneath his feet. The air grows tense as winds howl overhead. The sky darkens, and raindrops fall. Finally, a searing bolt of energy splits the sky open.
“Thunder answers.”
A bolt of lightning breaks through Roxxon Plaza’s energy shield, frying every circuit and electronic device within the massive building complex. The crowd below cheers as Dario fumes at the god in front of him. Dario cannot do anything, physically or legally. How is he supposed to hurt a being who can lift continents and crack mountains? How is he going to sue someone who lives in another dimension? Those are questions that his board of directors would like answered, Dario thinks.
“I must bid farewell now, Agger. My work here is done, my hand is laid bare, and I am needed elsewhere. You would do well to tread lightly. Never make the mistake of harming a follower of mine ever again, lest you incur Mjolnir’s wrath.”
The last sentence was spoken in a cold tone by Thor, complete with an unnerving steely gaze. Dario felt his heart beat just a little faster at Thor’s words, something unusual for a man usually in control of things.
“Oh, and I think your building needs repairing.”
As Thor walks out the room, Dario takes a moment to recuperate. Even if this meeting cost him millions in broken equipment, at least he isn’t coming out empty-handed. He straightens himself up, walks over to his desk, and grabs an old phone. He dials a number he hasn’t called in years and puts the phone on speaker.
“Yes, it’s me, Dario. I’m glad to say that project M.I.N.O.T.A.U.R. will restart operations effective immediately. Yes, yes, I’ve found it. I’ve found our newest target.”
Hundreds of miles away, Thor lands in a snowy town of just a few thousand people. It’s closer to the North Pole than even most Norse settlements back in the day, but he pays no mind to the cold. He’s been to the deepest parts of space and the frozen lands of Jotunheim, after all. Thor looks at the nearby signs, large and green and partially covered by snow. Kotzebue, it says.
“Enough sightseeing.” says Thor silently. He fervently swings Mjolnir before soaring to the sky, pushing through clouds and hailstorms to gain a vantage point of the town. He listens and waits for his name to be uttered, hoping to help whoever was in need of aid. He spends minutes hovering in the sky, slowly wondering if he had simply imagined the initial plea. Or worse, if he was in the wrong place.
Just then, Thor hears it. Someone utters his name. Thor. Thor, who shall bring thunder and fury to helm.
The Thunderer descends from the sky in a heartbeat, following the desperate cries to the forested side of Kotzebue. He reels in Mjolnir just enough to land smoothly on the ground, though the asphalt beneath his feet still cracks under the pressure. Thor swings his head to the right and sees a gut-wrenching sight. Two masked men, covered in black clothing, standing over a boy. The child is bloodied but still alive, and his eyes are a bloodshot red. The men are carrying a baseball bat and a gun, respectively. Both weapons are pointed at Thor.
“Hail the Thunderer! Our Lord has come to witness the purge!”
Thor’s heart sinks. This is not the same voice who cried out his name. They are not his followers.
While Thor was young, he had allowed the Vikings to enact many things, some of which were violent and cruel. He should have known better then, to never allow baseless violence between humans. Thor was supposed to be better.
Now, he is all the wiser, the past decade on Earth having shaped him into a better god than a thousand years of battle have. The rage in Thor’s heart burns like a bonfire, and as Mjolnir sparks to life, the injured boy knows Thor will not stand for this.
The sky splits open as a hail of thunder rains down upon the town, striking and burning and lighting up the darkened sky. The masked assailants drop the boy and run for cover, but Thor is too fast. He covers the distance and grabs both men with a single hand, lifting them above the ground.
“Why?”
Even amidst the rolling thunder, Thor’s voice is the loudest of all. It cuts through the clamour of the storm like an executioner’s blade, sending fear and regret into the masked men’s hearts. They stare wildly into the raging god’s eyes, afraid that if they move even an inch, the sky would smite them next.
Thor knows why they are afraid. This is not their version of Thor. The Thor they praise is a senseless, debased berserker who believes only in strength. Their version of the Thunderer has little in common besides the name, lightning, and hammer to the one that stands before them.
Thor drops them to the ground, letting them scurry off into the woods without their weapons. He quickly walks to the boy, who is sitting on the ground in relief. Thor hears a creaking sound that accompanies the boy’s every breath, perhaps a broken rib or two. In the end, he is glad that the boy is alive.
Not long after, a police car pulls up to the scene of the crime. The officers are surprised to see a boy and Thor together, with the first officer thinking that he was just a man in a costume. Though by the time his partner pointed out the 7-foot tall wall of muscle and armor had a crackling hammer and glowing eyes, the officer realized his mistake.
“Officers, I came to the boy while he was assailed by two men. His cries called to me for help. I regret that I did not see their faces. Masked, they were.”
“Oh, well, darn it. Sorry, Mr. Thor, but it looks like you’ve met the group of local brigands.”
“Brigands? In this age?”
“Well–” snaps up the other officer while tending to the boy’s wounds. “More like bigots, Mr. Thor. They’re what you would call very opinionated people.”
“What kinds of opinions would they have, officer… Ludlow?”
“They’re white supremacists, annoying and as punchable as any of them. They’ve raided a store or two, but they’ve never actually done anything violent up until now.”
“Th-thank you for saving me, Mr. Thor.” says the boy, the cuts on his face making it painful to speak.
“He really prayed to you, didn’t he?” asks the male officer. His partner shoots a look at him, but he just shrugs it off.
“Aye. Please bring him to a safer place, I would like to confront these brigands myself.”
The night is silent, surprisingly so, given the sudden storm that previously accompanied Thor’s rage. News of the Thunderer’s arrival spreads fast, but the local police convince everyone to stay indoors. The night is silent, save for the prayers for Thor.
The next day, the townspeople wake up to a shocking sight. Near the forest, 20 men lay piled up in a ditch, their guns and bats broken next to it. Standing watch over them is Thor Odinson, who reeks of sulfur and brimstone. His cape is torn, his skin bruised, and his armor scorched. The townspeople wonder where Thor had gone, or who could have done that to him. Their questions are answered by his warm smile, followed by a gush of air as the god lifts off into the sky.