New Mexico, USA — State Hospital
Thor slowly awoke under blinding white light, the overhead fluorescent tubes forcing him to squint instinctively.
The sharp scent of disinfectant filled his nostrils. The unfamiliar ceiling, the stiff hospital bed, and the ridiculous striped gown he wore—all of it filled him with deep unease.
"Hi! You're awake?"
A woman's voice came from his right.
Thor turned his head and saw a woman in crisp white scrubs approaching, holding a gleaming metal instrument with a cold, sharp needle that glinted under the harsh light.
"Step back! How dare you lay hands on Odin's son—the King of Asgard?!"
"Woman—you're playing with fire!"
Thor roared, sprang from the bed, seized her wrist, and—with what he likely thought was a gentle push—hurled her against the wall three meters away.
"Bang!"
"Security! We need backup!"
A doctor in a white coat beside him shouted as he slammed a red button on the wall. A piercing alarm blared through the corridor.
Moments later, a dozen burly men in dark blue uniforms stormed in, batons raised.
"Stand still! Don't move!"
The lead guard barked the order, but Thor was already charging forward like an enraged lion.
"Silence! Know whom you address!"
Before the guard could raise his baton, Thor was upon him. His biceps coiled, and a precise elbow strike snapped into the man's jaw.
"Crack!"
With the sound of bone dislocating, the guard collapsed backward, toppling the colleague behind him.
A baton whistled through the air from the left. Thor sidestepped, caught the attacker's wrist, and used the man's momentum to hoist him up. The two-hundred-pound body crashed into the fire extinguisher cabinet, spiderwebbing the tempered glass.
"Crash!"
"Damn it—stop this madman!"
The remaining guards encircled Thor. A dull thud echoed as a baton struck his back, drawing a grunt—but he spun faster than humanly possible.
"Thud!"
He seized the attacker by the throat and slammed him into the wall. The guard slumped to the floor like a ragdoll, leaving a hairline fracture in the plasterboard.
Footsteps thundered down the corridor.
Thor tore off the sleeve of his gown and wrapped it around his bleeding knuckles. Barefoot, he stepped over shards of glass and bolted toward the emergency exit.
A guard wielding a stun gun rounded the corner, blue-purple arcs crackling between the electrodes.
"I won't fall for the same trick twice!"
Thor lunged with a snarl, grabbed the man's wrist before he could fire, and hoisted him overhead. The electrified dart embedded itself deep into the ceiling plasterboard.
"Wham!"
After a clean over-the-shoulder throw, the guard crumpled beside the shattered fire extinguisher box like a discarded sack.
Moments later, Thor—still clad in his hospital gown—strode out of the building, looking oddly refreshed. Yet his expression resembled less that of a god of thunder and more that of a man who'd just stumbled out of a Red Romantic Foot Massage parlor.
Thor stood by the roadside, watching the rising sun in the distance. Once again, he felt a surge of confidence: he would reclaim Mjölnir—and with it, the power of Thor.
"Father! Just you wait and see! I will definitely—"
Bang!!
Before he could finish his lofty declaration, a reversing SUV struck him and sent him flying.
The vehicle screeched to a halt. Jane Foster and Daisy Louise—hurriedly jumped out.
Staring at the figure sprawled on the asphalt in a pose that could only be described as "ethereally inconvenient," Daisy squinted and muttered to herself:
"That butt looks familiar… I feel like I've bumped into it somewhere before?"
"Stop talking nonsense and help me!"
Jane struggled to turn Thor over, calling out to Daisy, who stood frozen beside her.
Daisy shrugged and reluctantly stepped forward.
"You said it, right? Hehehe…"
When they finally rolled Thor onto his back and saw his face clearly, both women fell silent.
Daisy opened her mouth to speak—
—but Jane shot her a glare and cut her off:
"Shut up! Not a word! Help me get him into the car!"
...
Not far away, on a hospital rooftop, Damian peered through a pair of binoculars.
With a face as absurdly earnest as if he'd just announced, "My Indian daughter-in-law gave birth to nine daughters, and finally had a gay son as her last child," he watched Jane and Daisy bundle Thor into the SUV.
During the chaotic loading process, Thor was:
- Elbowed twice in the face by Jane,
- Smacked in the head by the car door five times,
- And pinched—allegedly—sixty-nine times by Daisy (though Damian suspected she'd lost count after ten).
If he didn't know the plot, Damian might've suspected they were Loki's agents sent to assassinate Thor and frame Earth.
Fortunately, Thor's godly constitution could withstand such "care." Otherwise, Damian—not Uehisa or Uejiro—would've had to intervene.
After all, his main reason for coming to New Mexico was to ensure the safety of Thor, Crown Prince of Asgard and (in his humble opinion) the most handsome of the Æsir—at least while he was exiled on Earth.
He couldn't let Thor die here.
History weighed heavily on his mind: the last crown prince to be assassinated abroad was Archduke Franz Ferdinand—not just "Ferdinand"—and that sparked World War I.
And don't be fooled by Odin's current stoic calm. In his youth, the Allfather was a warlord of legendary fury—unreasonable in debate, unstoppable in battle. Compared to young Odin, even the Hulk was a model of restraint.
If Thor died on Earth?
Mjölnir might be returned by noon—and by evening, the Bifrost would be raining fire on New Mexico.
True, Earth had the Ancient One… but her time was running out. She wouldn't hold back Asgard forever.
And once Odin eventually passed, Loki would inherit the throne—but not yet. At this point in the timeline, Loki hadn't experienced the fall of Asgard, the loss of his family, or his eventual redemption. He was still the scheming, resentful trickster who might absolutely use Thor's death as a pretext to invade Midgard… just like in certain What If…? scenarios.
Speaking of What If…?, Damian couldn't help but think of S.H.I.E.L.D.'s baffling performance.
In the films, they seemed clueless—yet Agent Coulson somehow located Mjölnir, recognized Thor's potential significance, and repeatedly gave him and Jane operational leeway.
And what did S.H.I.E.L.D. actually know?
They assigned Hawkeye as a perimeter sniper… then utterly failed to contain or protect Thor.
Their entire approach felt like flipping a coin and choosing "or" instead of "heads or tails." It left Damian deeply confused.
Worse, with Hydra lurking in the shadows, he trusted S.H.I.E.L.D. even less.
So he'd taken preemptive action: he buried Mjölnir deeper in the desert, delaying its discovery and keeping it off S.H.I.E.L.D.'s radar a little longer.
In return, he happily accepted the Destroyer armor when it arrived—Odin's ancient weapon, o
nce forged to stand against the Celestials. If it was good enough to face cosmic titans, it was certainly worth adding to his collection.
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