Chapter Seventy-Two: The Thunder God Captured

Jane Foster gazed at the last rays of the setting sun, her voice hollow and bereft as she watched the direction in which the convoy had disappeared.
“It’s all gone. All of it. Years of research, vanished.”
Daisy echoed her despair, “They even took my laptop.”
“What about the backup files?” Professor Selvig inquired.
Jane couldn’t muster any enthusiasm. “Those are gone too. All of them. Even the backups of the backups—they took everything. They were incredibly thorough.”
Daisy continued to complain, “I’d just downloaded thirty songs, and now they’re gone too.”
“Can you stop talking about your laptop?” Jane’s frustration was mounting; at a time like this, how could Daisy be so oblivious? She turned to the professor. “Who are these people?”
Professor Selvig’s face was somber. “I once had a friend who studied gamma rays. After he got involved with them, I never heard from him again.”
But Jane barely registered what Selvig was saying.
“They can’t treat us like this. I’m going to get our data back,” Jane declared, refusing to just sit by.
Selvig was clearly anxious; he had always looked after Jane, their relationship more like father and daughter than colleagues.
“Wait a moment,” he said. “Let me contact a friend of mine. He’s had dealings with SHIELD. Maybe he’ll know what to do.”
But Jane ignored him and turned away.
She quickly sought out Thor, who was buying a horse at the pet store, and together they set off, traveling fifty kilometers west.
When they arrived, Thor devised a plan to sneak in, asking Jane to wait outside.
But he was discovered by agents almost immediately, and what began as stealth quickly turned into a direct assault.
The agents were professionals, but Thor, having lived for fifteen hundred years and possessing an abundance of combat experience and sheer physical power, rampaged through them like an unstoppable bull.
Hawkeye stood above with his bow in hand, aiming at Thor.
“Shall I take care of him, or do you want to send in more men to try and take him alive?”
Earlier that day, Michael had predicted Thor would show up, and now, to no one’s surprise, he had.
“Let’s wait a little longer,” came the reply. “I want to see what he’s after.”
The weather seemed to mirror Thor’s emotions as rain began to fall.
With Coulson’s covert assistance, Thor finally reached his hammer.
In the pouring rain, Thor stretched out his hand toward his beloved hammer.
If he could lift it, he could return to Asgard.
With excitement, he reached for Mjolnir.

But at this moment, he was not yet worthy.
Thor believed this was his father’s will—Odin still refused to forgive him. The realization left Thor utterly despondent.
He knelt in defeat, letting out a howl of rage and sorrow, so lost that he barely noticed the agents binding him.
Michael cast a glance at the captured Thor and said to Coulson, “Draw some blood samples, tissue, and a bit of hair.”
“All of his hair?”
“No, just a few strands from his head.”
With that, Michael walked away.
He had no interest in standing in the rain with Coulson. After a hot shower, he began studying Thor’s blood.
The next day, Coulson confronted the shattered Thor.
He was loath to admit that gods might truly exist, and the things Thor had said were all well-known myths. Who could believe such tales?
No one.
It was utterly preposterous.
Coulson decided to interrogate him properly.
“You made my men look like cheap security guards. That stings. To my knowledge, only someone with elite training can do what you did. Why won’t you tell me where you trained?”
“Pakistan, Chechnya, Afghanistan.”
“No, you seem more like a mercenary to me.”
“Who hired you? There are plenty of organizations that would want someone like you.”
“Who are you?”
No matter what Coulson asked, Thor remained unmoved.
The reason was simple: Thor still couldn’t grasp what an “agent” was, nor could he understand what Coulson wanted from him.
Their conversation was like two ships passing in the night.
Besides, the God of Thunder had little interest in speaking to what he considered a lowly mortal, leaving Coulson to carry on a one-sided conversation.
Michael settled himself on a nearby bench and said, “Perhaps he really is from Asgard. His cellular density is three times that of a normal human, which explains his strength and explosive power. His weight should also be about triple that of a human.”
“His genetic sequence doesn’t match normal humans either, and he lacks the X-gene that mutants possess. From a scientific perspective, he isn’t human.”
Coulson was baffled. “What? Dr. Michael, you can’t be serious.”
A living, breathing man was right before him, and yet he was being told that this was not a human being.
“I’m not joking. In fact, he really isn’t human. Even if he is, he’s certainly not from Earth.”
Finally, Thor was willing to speak.

“Yes, I am not human. I am Thor, God of Thunder, from Asgard.”
He glanced at Coulson, then continued, “Asgard is not a place, but the name for the realm of the gods, the home of the Aesir.”
Coulson looked to Michael in bewilderment. “Doctor, you don’t actually believe this, do you?”
Michael replied indifferently, “Of course I do. I also know that the God of Mischief, Loki, will be showing up soon.”
“What?” Coulson was stunned. Was this a joke?
“You know Loki?”
Even Thor was surprised.
“Yes. If I’m not mistaken, he’s your brother—a man starved for affection. Your father is Odin, your mother is Frigga.”
“Yes. Have you been to Asgard?”
Thor looked at Michael, thinking he’d found a kindred spirit.
Michael smiled, “No, I’m just a sorcerer.”
He waved his hand and conjured a shield.
Thor stared in astonishment at the shimmering energy shield. “Oh, so there are wizards on Earth as well.”
“Not wizards, sorcerers,” Michael corrected. “We study what’s called white magic, a discipline specifically designed to counter dark magic and extra-dimensional threats. We’re not witches or warlocks.”
Coulson had at first thought this was a gathering of lunatics, but Michael’s earnest display of a magical shield left him seriously questioning reality.
“I’ll leave you two to it,” Coulson said, leaving the room. Now he understood why Nick Fury had insisted on bringing Michael in—this was clearly his area of expertise.
Michael turned to Thor, conjured two mugs of beer, and handed one to him.
“Can we talk about your people? For instance, Loki, Heimdall, the palace guards, and the Guardians?”
“Of course,” Thor replied, taking a sip before launching into his tales.
He began with Loki, while Michael listened intently, encouraging him to share more.
In another office, Coulson watched the surveillance feed, lost in thought.