The morning sun cast over the SHIELD monitoring room in soft, golden light, but the tension inside the facility was anything but warm. Coulson stood in front of the sleek, new equipment—provided by Alex—a serious expression on his face as the quiet hum of machines filled the air. The screens glowed with intricate energy readings, the data flowing across them faster and more efficiently than anything they had worked with before. All of the agents and scientists had agreed: this setup was miles ahead of Jane Foster's makeshift devices.
He was watching the readouts carefully, feeling the weight of responsibility on his shoulders. Every spike in the energy fluctuations was a potential threat, and Coulson wasn't one to let his guard down. His sharp, steely eyes caught the smallest details as he scanned the readings. Around him, his team worked diligently—agents in crisp tactical uniforms, alert and ready for anything.
Suddenly, the room was pierced by a shrill alarm. The AI system's voice cut through the air, cold and mechanical. "Warning. Warning. Unknown energy detected."
Coulson's gaze snapped to the agent monitoring the system, his heart skipping a beat. "What's going on?" he demanded, his tone sharp, the tension in the room ratcheting up instantly.
The agent, wearing SHIELD's signature black uniform, was already hunched over the screen, his face illuminated by the flickering data. He had beads of sweat forming on his brow, fingers flying over the keyboard. "Sir, I'm seeing fluctuations in atmospheric pressure and energy spikes—high enough to tear a hole in the sky."
Coulson's brow furrowed as he leaned over the agent's shoulder, staring at the screen. The image showed a digital representation of the atmosphere, lines and curves fluctuating wildly. "What does that mean?"
The agent swallowed, glancing up at Coulson with wide eyes. "It's like a wormhole just opened and dropped something. Whatever it was, it disappeared. We lost the signal, but we've got a perimeter. Fifty miles northwest."
The room fell silent for a moment as the weight of the revelation settled in. Coulson's face was tight, his lips a thin line. "Get a team ready," he said firmly, already turning toward the door. "We're checking this out. Now."
Within minutes, Coulson had gathered his team. Agents rushed down the sleek corridors of the SHIELD facility, their black tactical gear making soft rustling noises as they moved. Their faces were tense, ready for whatever lay ahead. The walls of the facility gleamed under the fluorescent lights, the faint hum of technology following them as they passed.
Coulson stepped into the garage, the tension in his body visible as his jaw clenched. He opened the door of one of the armored SUVs, sliding into the driver's seat. Next to him, Jasper Sitwell—wearing SHIELD's signature black suit, complete with a tight-fitting vest—climbed into the passenger seat, already checking his own device. His face was a mix of focus and unease as he scanned the data on his screen, his bald head gleaming under the overhead lights.
"We've seen anomalies before, but nothing like this," Sitwell muttered, adjusting the strap of his vest as he focused on the readings again. "This isn't just another glitch."
Coulson nodded, gripping the wheel tightly. "I know."
In the back seat, the other agents were silent, but the tension in the air was palpable. One of them checked the display on his wrist, frowning as the readings pulsed in and out of existence. "Energy spikes like this don't just disappear. It's still out there somewhere, waiting."
The convoy of SHIELD SUVs roared to life, engines growling as they rolled out of the facility. Sunlight bathed the landscape in a deceptively peaceful glow, but Coulson barely noticed. His mind was locked on the energy readings they had picked up, the mysterious wormhole, and whatever might have come through it.
The scenery outside the window sped by—endless forests, rolling hills, and stretches of farmland glimmering under the morning sun. Coulson's fingers tightened around the wheel as they drew closer to the perimeter. His eyes darted to the horizon, scanning for any unusual activity.
"We're almost there," Coulson said, his voice steady, but there was an edge of urgency that Sitwell caught. He glanced at his superior, then back at his device.
Jasper nodded, his tone flat but tense. "We'll be ready for whatever it is."
As they approached the area where the energy surge had been detected, the landscape seemed to darken, despite the morning light. The air felt heavier, as if the atmosphere itself was holding its breath. Both men could feel it—the quiet before something happened.
Coulson, never one to take chances, slowed the vehicle. "Let's not assume it's gone," he said, eyes fixed ahead, his voice dropping. "Stay sharp. We have no idea what we're dealing with."
In another location, Alex sat in the hotel suite, the modern decor sleek and minimalist, with dark wooden furniture and soft, warm lighting spilling through the curtains. The smell of freshly brewed coffee mingled with the aroma of breakfast as he sat at the table, casually scrolling through his tablet. Across from him, Dr. Selvig, still looking slightly hungover from the previous night's drinks, was rubbing his temples, trying to shake off the remnants of his headache. His polo shirt and navy blue sweater were rumpled, his eyes bleary with fatigue.
Suddenly, a notification flashed across Alex's tablet, catching his attention. It was from Skynet.
"Father," the AI's voice echoed in his mind, "an energy similar to the readings we captured from the Bifrost has been sighted. I've tracked the location and confirmed that four Asgardian warriors have been sent out—one female and three males, all fully equipped with cold weapons."
Hearing this, Alex's lips curled into a smile. He leaned back in his chair, taking a sip of his coffee. "Monitor them for now. They're probably here to retrieve their prince."
Across the table, Selvig appeared oblivious, more focused on his headache than the message Alex had just received. Darcy was in the kitchen area, humming happily as she set plates on the table, her bright yellow Cyberpunk-inspired jacket, a gift from Alex, standing out in the soft glow of the room. She wore her brown bonnet loosely, and her expression was one of cheerful excitement.
Selvig, still rubbing his temples, looked up. "Darcy," he began, his voice sluggish but warm, "good news! Someone's paid for your scholarship—covered all your expenses until you graduate. Not only that, they donated a hefty sum to the university and provided modern lab equipment for our department."
Darcy, caught mid-smile, froze for a moment, her eyes wide with excitement. "Really?!" she exclaimed, still full of butterflies. She glanced over at Alex with a curious smile. "I wonder who that could be. I'd love to meet them and thank them."
Before anyone could respond, Jane spun around from where she was preparing the rest of the food. She wore her usual white plaid polo, the buttons undone over a white t-shirt with an image print. Her face was flushed as she looked between Darcy and Alex, clearly putting two and two together.
"Wait," she said, her voice sharp and incredulous. "Did you pay for her tuition?" She looked straight at Alex, her voice rising in pitch, and Darcy "Did you just sell out?"
Darcy, trying to diffuse the situation, waved her hands dismissively. "Jane, relax! It's just a one-time thing, okay? Not like you're the Virgin Mary or something!" She added with a teasing grin.
Selvig, still clueless to the growing tension, blinked and asked in a drowsy tone, "Mr. Arasaka, you're the one who paid? Donated all those funds?"
Alex, still holding his coffee cup, shook his head, his tone playful. "No, no," he replied with a chuckle, "I didn't do that."
Selvig nodded, still rubbing his temples. "Yeah, I figured. If you did, it would be public, and it'd be all over the news."
Just then, Thor entered the room, setting down the platters of food that Jane had prepared. His broad frame filled the space, the plaid shirt he wore seeming almost too small for his muscular build. He smiled warmly, completely unaware of the conversation that had just unfolded.
"How was your evening?" Thor asked with a friendly grin, after drinking mortal ale and having a talk with Selvig and Jane he felt more welcome, although he wish that Alex and Darcy we're there. "Good, as mine I hope?"
Darcy, her cheeks flushing slightly, grinned wider. "It was an amazing night," she declared with a bit too much enthusiasm. "Best one I've ever had!" Her words were filled with gusto, and she couldn't help but giggle.
Alex, amused by her energy, chuckled in response. "Yeah, it was good. Definitely didn't expect such a surprise last night."
Thor raised an eyebrow, curiosity piqued. "What surprise?" he asked, leaning forward slightly.
Before any of the two could answer, Jane—now carrying the rest of the food—quickly interjected, cutting the conversation short. "Food's ready," she said in a hurried tone, clearly trying to steer the conversation away. "Let's eat."
Thor, Selvig, and the others mumbled their thanks as they sat down, the smell of the hot breakfast filling the room. As they began to eat, the tension in the air slowly dissipated, the morning sun filtering through the windows as the conversation shifted to lighter topics. Yet, under the surface, Alex's mind lingered on Skynet's message and the Asgardians that were now on their way.
In the bustling city of Puento Antigo, the streets were alive with the usual hustle and bustle of daily life. Cars honked in the distance, vendors called out to passersby, and the warm midday sun cast long shadows on the sidewalks. Yet, amid this modern chaos, four figures stood out like something pulled straight from a forgotten era.
The first was a tall, fierce-looking woman in gleaming silver armor, carrying a sword strapped to her back—Lady Sif. Beside her strode a hulking red-headed man with a massive axe slung over his shoulder, his laughter booming even in the crowded streets—Volstagg. To his right, a blonde man with sharp features and a dashing smirk—Fandral, whose sword rested casually at his side. Finally, the fourth warrior, silent and stoic, wearing darker, more subdued armor, was the grim and ever-watchful Hogun.
Their armor, weathered and battle-scarred, shimmered under the sun, contrasting sharply with the sleek cars and towering buildings of the city. People on the sidewalks stopped in their tracks, their eyes widening at the sight of these strange visitors. A few children pointed and whispered, nudging their parents and asking if it was some kind of costume event.
"Is there a Renaissance fair or something?" one of the agents monitoring from a rooftop across the street muttered as he adjusted his binoculars. His partner, who had been keeping a closer eye on the situation, smirked and shook his head.
"Just call it in," the second agent replied, still watching the group closely.
The first agent raised his radio, trying to stifle a chuckle. "Base, we've got Xena, Jackie Chan, Robin Hood, and Ragnar the Red closing in on the target."
Unbeknownst to them, these were no mere actors playing dress-up. The four approaching figures were Lady Sif and the Warriors Three, legendary Asgardians. And they weren't just wandering the streets—they had a mission. As they neared their destination, Lady Sif glanced at the building ahead, her eyes narrowing with purpose. With a nod from her, they approached the glass door, and without hesitation, Volstagg knock his massive fist against it.
"Found you!" he bellowed, his voice reverberating off the nearby buildings, causing heads to turn.
Inside the hotel suite, Thor had been seated at the table, still pondering over the events of the past few days. He caught sight of the commotion outside and froze. His expression shifted from surprise to pure joy as he saw the familiar faces of his old companions standing just beyond the glass.
"My friends!" Thor shouted, leaping to his feet with a broad smile stretching across his face. He rushed toward the door, throwing it open with a forceful swing that rattled the hinges. "This is good! This is good!" he repeated as he embraced each of them in turn, clapping them on the back with such force that even Volstagg winced slightly.
The sight of the reunion drew the attention of the others in the room. Jane, looked on with concern, her brow furrowed as she stood by the window. Dr. Selvig, looked both bewildered and awestruck. And Alex, sitting casually at the table, his expression calm and knowing, sipped his coffee, a subtle smile on his lips. finally, his babysitting duties are coming close to an end.
Jane leaned closer to Thor, eyeing the newcomers cautiously. "Who are they?" she asked, her voice low but curious.
Thor, still beaming, turned to face her, his arm resting on Hogun's armored shoulder. "Oh, excuse me, Lady Jane," he said, gesturing to each of his companions in turn. "This is Lady Sif and the Warriors Three." He tapped Hogun, the grim-faced warrior, on the shoulder and said, "This is Hogun the Grim. I've never been happier to see anyone."
But then Thor's voice changed. He sounded wistful, almost sorrowful as he added, "But you should not have come."
Fandral, the dashing swordsman, stepped forward, his golden hair catching the light as he flashed a reassuring smile. "But we're here to take you home, Thor," he said, his voice smooth and confident, as if the matter was already settled.
Thor's smile faltered. He stepped back slightly, his face clouded with confusion. "You know I can't go home," he said, his voice suddenly heavy with regret. "My father is dead because of me, and I must remain in exile."
Sif's brow furrowed, her eyes searching Thor's face for answers. "Thor, what are you saying?" she asked, her voice filled with confusion. "Your father still lives."
At that moment, it was as though a weight had been lifted from Thor's shoulders. His eyes widened in shock, then in realization. His thoughts raced—he had been deceived. The one responsible for his self-imposed exile, the guilt that had burdened him… it was all a lie… He had been bamboozled.
"Loki," Thor whispered to himself, his expression hardening.
Coulson stood over the strange markings in the sand, brow furrowed, trying to make sense of them. The desert heat was relentless, the midday sun baking the earth beneath his feet. Dust swirled lightly around his polished SHIELD-issued boots as he examined the symbols with a critical eye. His SHIELD tactical vest, standard black and bearing the unmistakable logo, felt heavier under the scorching rays. He called out to one of his agents, who was standing nearby.
"Get a linguistics expert out here, now," Coulson said, his voice calm but urgent.
The agent nodded and sprinted off to relay the order. Coulson stood back, squinting against the sun, his face stern with concentration.
Suddenly, the wind shifted. Above them, the bright blue sky was rapidly consumed by swirling clouds, dark and ominous. The change was instantaneous, as if nature itself was reacting to something beyond comprehension. Lightning cracked in the distance, its rumble shaking the very air around them. A swirling vortex formed in the clouds, drawing the sand up into a violent storm. The ground trembled, and Coulson instinctively braced himself as sand whipped past his face.
"What the hell?" he muttered, looking up. The clouds spun faster, creating a funnel of sand and wind. The storm passed just as quickly as it had appeared, leaving the SHIELD team standing in stunned silence. Where moments ago there had been nothing but desert, now a colossal steel figure stood before them.
It was massive—at least ten feet tall, towering over everything around it. Its humanoid shape gleamed under the dimmed sunlight, made of a sleek, metallic alloy that reflected the environment around it. Its face was flat, an emotionless metal plate, with no eyes or mouth, just an empty expression that only added to its terrifying presence. The intricate armor that covered its body bore a strange, ancient design, alien yet purposeful. Energy seemed to pulse from within it, lines of glowing light tracing patterns along its arms and chest.
Jasper Sitwell, crouched behind Coulson, stared wide-eyed at the towering machine. His white SHIELD suit fluttered in the remnants of the storm, and he quickly nudged Coulson.
"Is that one of Stark's? Or maybe one of Arasaka's new weapons?" he asked, voice laced with panic.
Coulson, not taking his eyes off the giant, muttered, "I don't know. Those bastards never tell me anything."
Sitwell handed Coulson a megaphone, his hands shaking slightly. Coulson stepped forward cautiously, moving toward the clearing where the massive figure loomed.
Gripping the megaphone tightly, he raised it to his mouth and spoke with calm authority, "Hello. You're using unregistered weapons technology. Please identify yourself."
The machine remained still for a moment, as if it were considering the command. Then, the metal plates on its face began to shift, deforming with a slow mechanical grind.
Coulson glanced at Sitwell with a slight, confident smirk. "Here we go," he muttered. But soon his breath was caught in his throat. The giant metal armor infront of him when faceplate opened, it revealed no one. No pilot, no controls—just an empty void inside.
But the hum of energy grew louder. The intricate lines on the Destroyer's chest and head began to glow brighter—an ominous, fiery orange. The light surged, traveling from the core of its body up toward its head, cosmic energy coursing through the metallic shell. Without warning, it unleashed a blast of pure energy, aimed straight at a nearby SHIELD vehicle.
"Incoming!" Sitwell yelled, diving for cover.
The Destroyer's energy blast erupted, engulfing the SUV in a massive explosion that sent debris flying. The shockwave rattled the agents, forcing them to scramble for safety behind what little cover they could find. The air was filled with the deafening roar of the explosion, the crackle of burning metal, and the hiss of the Destroyer's power.
Coulson ducked behind a piece of debris, yelling into his comm, "All agents, return fire! Stay low and spread out!"
The SHIELD agents opened fire, their rifles spitting bullets at the hulking metal figure. But it was like shooting at a tank—rounds bounced harmlessly off its armored shell. The Destroyer, unaffected by the assault, slowly turned its head toward them, its body radiating with destructive energy.
Coulson watched the scene unfold, his mind racing. This wasn't just an advanced weapon. It was something much worse. Something ancient, he could feel it. It seems what Arasaka was telling them was the Truth after all, if only Fury was here, but Coulson knew he had to be somewhere else for a special mission.