Thor's eyes widened, his breathing became rapid, his eyes turned bloodshot, and he suddenly tightened his grip on Loki's shoulders.
"What did you just say? Say it again."
"Father is gone," Loki repeated, his voice even softer than before, his eyes lowered to avoid Thor's gaze. "He's gone. Your exile aggravated his already severe injuries. This morning, Mother and I watched him close his eyes."
Thor swayed, bumped against the edge of the bed behind him, and slumped down. The steel frame bed creaked loudly, especially jarring in the cramped cell.
"No." Thor's voice was forced from deep in his throat, dry and hoarse, "You're lying to me. You've always loved lying to me. Father is the All-Father, he couldn't, he couldn't have done it so easily..."
"Father was seriously injured before. Do you think he contracted Sleeping Disease?" Loki looked up, his blue-green eyes glistening with tears. "He used his last bit of strength to banish you to Midgard, just so you wouldn't see him die."
Thor shuddered, as if something had pierced his throat. He opened his mouth, but no sound came out. His mind was filled with the image of his father sitting on the throne, the golden scepter, the gray hair, and the words, "You are a conceited, foolish child." The images sank like shattered ice, piece by piece, sinking into the darkness that was now almost drowning him.
"And what about Mother? How is she?" Thor looked up at Loki, his voice trembling.
"Mother is alright, but she's been heartbroken for a long time. She said the throne can't be vacant; Asgard needs a new king." Loki paused, meeting Thor's gaze, and continued, word by word, " The Frost Giants also took the opportunity to provoke us, forcing Mother to sign a peace treaty, one of the conditions of which was your permanent exile. They don't want to see any Asgardians set foot in Jotunheim again, especially not you."
Thor's lips trembled slightly, and he slowly lowered his head. He looked at his outstretched palms, those hands that could once grasp thunder and summon storms, now unable to even clench a decent fist. His father was gone, his throne was gone, his power was gone, and he was almost forgetting who he was.
"Brother." Loki took a half step forward, bent down, and lowered his voice to a very low hue. "I tried my best, but the Nine Realms Code is there. Father is gone, and the peace treaty is in effect. There's nothing I can do."
After he finished speaking, he stepped back, put his hands at his sides, looked at Thor whose face was ashen, and the corners of his mouth curled up very slightly before he returned to his sorrowful expression and sighed softly.
"Brother, I have to go back now. I still have a lot to take care of. Take care."
Loki turned and walked towards the door, but paused when he reached it. He then transformed into a green light and disappeared into the ventilation shaft in the corner of the wall, leaving nothing behind.
The cell was eerily quiet. Thor sat on the edge of the bed, his hands on his knees, his knuckles clenched white. He could hear his own heart pounding, like a war drum exploding in his chest. Loki's words swirled in his mind, each one like a red-hot iron bar branding his still-bleeding wound.
He suddenly stood up and kicked the door.
The tightly closed wooden door made a loud "bang" under the impact, the hinges broke, and the entire door crashed to the ground, raising a cloud of dust.
The two agents were startled by the loud noise. They ran from the other end of the corridor, saw the door that had been kicked down, and then saw Thor walking out of the door. They stopped in their tracks at the same time. One of them had already reached for the stun gun at his waist, while the other instinctively pressed his earpiece.
"Don't move! Thor, what are you trying to do?!"
Thor ignored them and continued walking. His face was expressionless, his eyes were frighteningly red, and he exuded an aura that made people weak in the knees. The two agents exchanged a glance and then reluctantly followed him.
" Thor! Stop!" an agent raised his voice, but it trembled noticeably. They had all been there when Thor stormed the quarantine zone yesterday, and the image of him punching agents one by one was still fresh in their minds. When this guy went berserk, the stun gun in his hand was like a toy.
" Agent Coulson, the target has left the cell and is moving towards the side gate of the camp," another agent reported in a low voice.
There was a two-second silence on the other end of the headset, then Coulson's voice came through. "Stay with him, keep your distance. Don't make a move. See what he's up to."
"Clear."
Thor walked out of the side gate of the camp, his shoes sinking deeper into the gravel with each step. He walked slowly, but his direction was clear. A few hundred meters ahead was the area enclosed by barbed wire, Mjolnir was perched diagonally on the rock in the center, sunlight reflecting off his silver-gray hammerhead in a cold glare.
Two agents followed at a distance, neither of them uttering a word.
Thor walked to the barbed wire fence and suddenly stopped. He looked down at the barbed wire, which was whitened by the morning light, reached out and grabbed the mesh, clenched his fists, and ripped it open. The barbed wire was torn open, creating a gap large enough for him to pass through. His fingers were cut, and blood trickled down his knuckles and dripped into the sand, but he was completely unaware.
He stepped across the gap and walked toward the hammer. With each step, he could feel something churning within him: anger, resentment, self-blame, and a hollow, powerless feeling of being abandoned by everything. They mingled together, like a flaming fire burning fiercely in his chest.
He walked up to the hammer, and without hesitation, gripped the handle with both hands and pulled it up with all his might.
The muscles in his arms were taut, veins bulging from the back of his hands to his forehead. He gritted his teeth, his jaw grinding, and he was practically hanging from the hammer. But the hammer handle didn't budge. His face turned purple, his eyes fixed on his distorted reflection on the hammer face.
"I am Thor Odinson!" he roared, his voice booming across the empty desert, "I am the God of Thunder! I am your master! Rise!"
The final note split in two, half a roar, half a sob. He strained again, his feet carving two deep furrows in the sand, his ankles sinking half an inch into the sand. The hammer didn't budge an inch.
The third time. The fourth time. The fifth time. The tenth time.
In the end, he wasn't even pulling the hammer anymore. He was hanging from the hammer handle, his body drooping downwards, his fingers loosening one by one from exhaustion. His knees slammed heavily onto the sand, like a toppled statue, kneeling there in despair. His forehead pressed against the cold hammer handle, and tears finally fell, each drop hitting the silvery-gray metal surface, rolling into the sand, and instantly evaporating.
"Ah--!"
The roar shattered the silence of the desert. Two agents in the distance simultaneously turned their faces away. No one spoke, no one stepped forward. They simply stood there, waiting for the storm to pass.
After a long while, Thor's voice lowered. He began to speak, haltingly, as if he were explaining something to someone, or perhaps talking to himself.
"You're right... Father..." His forehead pounded against the hammer handle, his voice growing softer with each strike, "I'm a fool... All I know is warfare... I'm not worthy of you... not worthy of Asgard... not worthy of the throne of Asgard..."
He paused here, slowly turned around, and sat down with his back against the rock. His legs were stretched out, his head tilted back, and tears streamed down his face, leaving two shallow streaks that were dried by the wind. The desert sun was high overhead, turning the sand white, and heat waves rose from the ground, distorting the air in the distance.
Thor leaned against the rock with his eyes closed, looking as if he were asleep, or perhaps dead.
A tall figure walked up to him, stopped, and then moved half a step to the left, just enough to block the sunlight shining directly on Thor's face.
Thor slowly opened his eyes and saw a dark face against the light.
That was the agent he had knocked unconscious yesterday. The black man was very strong, bald, and had a jaw as wide as if it had been carved from stone, but at this moment, the expression on his face was completely inconsistent with his fierce appearance—he was a little uneasy, a little shy, and he didn't dare to look Thor in the eye.
"You..." Thor's throat was so dry he couldn't speak. He licked his lips and tried again, "What's your name?"
"My name is Walker." The black agent glanced down at him, then quickly looked away. "Are you alright? It's too sunny in here, let's go back inside."
Thor was silent for a long while, then said softly, "I'm sorry about yesterday."
"Huh?" Walker was taken aback.
"That punch I threw at you yesterday," Thor took a deep breath, his voice still a little hoarse, "I shouldn't have hit you. You were just doing what you were supposed to do."
Walker scratched the back of his head, grinned, and showed a silly smile that was completely inconsistent with his fierce appearance, "It's okay, it's okay, it's over. Besides, you are Agent Lin Xiao's subordinate, and you are one of our own. Agent Lin Xiao also said that he would treat the three of us to dinner as an apology. How can I argue with you about this."
Thor stared at him, at his wide grin and gleaming eyes. This Midgardian had been knocked unconscious by his punch just yesterday, yet today he stood here, shielding himself from the sun as if nothing had happened, and laughing so carefree. Thor's lips twitched almost imperceptibly as he watched him.
"Thank you, big guy," Thor said.
"No need to thank me, let's go. Don't sit here, the sun's so hot it'll bake you alive." Walker reached out to help him, hesitated, and then withdrew his hand.
Thor used the rocks to push himself up, his knees still wobbling. He straightened up, brushed the sand off his trousers, turned, and followed Walker step by step toward the camp. After a few steps, he turned back again, glancing at the hammer stuck in the rock in the distance...
On the distant observation platform, Coulson lowered his binoculars, turned to the medical team that had been waiting for half a day, and waved his hand. "You can all leave now. He's fine."
Hawkeye emerged from the corner, holding a bottle of water, and tossed it to Coulson. Coulson caught it, unscrewed the cap, and took a sip.
"Your job is more tiring than me spending a month shooting from the sky," Hawkeye said.
Coulson didn't say anything, he just smiled.
Meanwhile, in the only motel in Puente Antiguo.
Lin Xiao lay on the creaking bed, legs crossed, with a blue screen floating in front of him that only he could see. The screen was playing a clip from the movie " Thor ".
"Ding--" Doupao's voice rang out, "Host, you could have told Thor the truth today. I also warned you about Loki's appearance..."
Lin Xiao stretched and propped the pillow up behind his back. "What do you want me to do? Let Thor fall as he pleases, let him shed as many tears as he wants. This is just warming up, a slow and steady process. Remember, I want the real Thor, not some big, dumb guy who only knows how to use a hammer. When that furnace comes down, that's when I'll make my appearance."
"Ding--You mean the Destroyer?"
"What else? I came all the way to New Mexico, I can't go back empty-handed. Thor needs to grow, and that big guy just happens to be delivered to my doorstep. The plot is pretty much over, I'll just dismember it, bring it back to New York, and put it in front of the Vought Company. Wouldn't that be more impressive than some stone lion?"
"Ding--Detected that the host has been frequently viewing Sif Sforttier's video footage recently. Is this related to the current plot intervention strategy?"
Lin Xiao's hand paused in mid-air. He calmly switched off the screen, cracked his knuckles, and then cracked them.
"What do you know? This is called tactical data gathering. The Asgard's Warriors Three and Sif are coming to Midgard soon. I'm just taking a look beforehand to see what my future comrades look like. Know yourself and know your enemy, and you will never be defeated."
"Ding--According to system analysis, the host had a 100% positive impression of this character in their previous life, mainly because the actor's portrayal of the character in the American TV series 'Blindspot' matched the host's aesthetic definition of 'handsome and dashing'."
Lin Xiao paused for a second, and the image involuntarily flashed through his mind—a woman covered in mysterious tattoos walking naked out of a duffel bag in Times Square, picked up by the FBI, and becoming the Federal Bureau of Investigation's sharpest blade. What was the name of the character she played in "Blindspot" again? Jane Doe? No, she later got a name, Remy. He had watched that show for three whole seasons in his previous life, and he could watch the scene where the female lead single-handedly took down a room full of strong men repeatedly.
"So what? They're coming to see Thor soon, and I didn't interfere. Besides, Jane's been giving me the cold shoulder; I didn't do anything out of line."
"Ding--According to monitoring data, Jane Foster's current favorability rating towards the host is 31.7, and her favorability rating towards Thor is 67.4. The host's earlier judgment that 'Jane has a good impression of me' is significantly different from the data."
A crack appeared at the corner of Lin Xiao's mouth.
"Shut up."
"Ding-- We suggest the host face up to their own position. Currently, in Jane Foster's mind, you are more like an 'interesting subject of observation,' rather than-"
I said shut up.
"Ding--Mute mode, will be restored in 30 minutes."
Lin Xiao slapped the pillow against his face and sighed deeply. A pickup truck drove past the window, carrying several bleating goats in its bed, leaving a trail of yellow smoke at the end of the road. He stared at the light bulb on the ceiling, missing its shade, and remained silent for a while before muttering a curse under his breath.
"This damn system, I'll dismantle it and sell it for scrap metal sooner or later."
"31.7." Lin Xiao buried his face in the pillow and repeated in a muffled voice, "When I was in New York Lin Xiao, which girl didn't take a second look at me? Now that I'm in this crappy desert, I can't even handle a scientist. I'm really getting worse as I get older."
After a few seconds, he removed the pillow, looked at the ceiling, and softly scoffed.