San Francisco's Chinatown, 3:30 p.m.
A long line had formed outside a newly opened shop.
Several lines of large lettering were painted in gold on its sign.
"Authentic Asgardian Mjolnir! Limited-time experience!"
"Mysterious power from Norse mythology!"
"Lift the hammer and become the next god of thunder!"
The shop was small but tastefully decorated, with imitation Norse tapestries hanging on the walls and several dim oil lamps suspended from the ceiling.
A life-size statue of "Sol, god of thunder" stood in a corner.
Of course, since Loke had made it, the facial proportions were a little off, making it look more like a drunken bodybuilding coach.
The shop was filled with hammers of every size.
It had everything from five-dollar inflatable plastic hammers to five-thousand-dollar "limited-edition Mjolnir replicas."
The owner was naturally Loke, who was wearing a gray suit vest, an almost-smile perpetually curving his lips.
He stood behind the counter, holding up one of the smallest plastic hammers for the customers in line.
"Everyone, everyone, please hear me out."
His voice had a peculiar, beguiling quality that made people want to keep listening.
"This hammer may be small, but it was forged from Asgardian meteoric iron. Uh, all right, it really is plastic."
The crowd burst out laughing.
"But!"
He raised his voice, his eyes lighting up.
"It has received my blessing!"
"Just take it home, put it by your bed, and tap it three times every night before you sleep, and you'll dream..."
He paused deliberately.
"Of becoming the god of thunder yourself, flying through the sky, hurling lightning, fighting monsters, and saving the world."
"For just five dollars, you can buy yourself a wonderful dream."
The crowd laughed again, but several people had already taken out their wallets.
A young man in a baseball cap squeezed up