Thor lay in a mental hospital in New Mexico, staring hopelessly at the ceiling.
"It's gone. It's all gone."
He meant his divine power, his armor, and his weapons. They were all gone. He was as weak as a human now.
Not long after being knocked off the Bifrost a few days ago, he regained consciousness. While falling through the air, he had called out to his father, hoping Odin would revoke his decree.
But it had been useless. The Bifrost operated only according to the All-Father's will, and Thor plunged straight into Midgard's soil.
After climbing out of the crater, Thor tried to fly and tried calling for his hammer, but neither worked. He had become a mortal.
There was no one around, so he could only barely determine the direction of the sunrise and walk across the desert.
Gravel and thorn-covered dry plants stabbed into the soles of his feet, leaving blood trailing behind him. He had no idea how to deal with this, because he had never been injured just from walking before.
Fortunately, a warrior's willpower still remained within him. He gritted his teeth and kept moving.
And then? Then he developed a fever from the infected wounds.
He staggered on for another day and night. Thirsty, hungry, and sick, he only remembered a sudden light appearing before him. It was one of those things humans called cars, driving through the night. He had seen such vehicles in Vanaheim, and he had even ridden in one.
Lately, his wish had been to save enough money to buy a car and take his brother and friends out for a drive. Unfortunately, he could never save anything; it all went toward food and drinks.
He walked toward the approaching car, thinking he might be able to ask where