The days following the wild chaos at Tony Stark's Malibu estate had been strangely quiet for Glenn. At least, quiet compared to the spectacle of two billion-dollar suits nearly beating each other into scrap metal while rich partygoers ran screaming in designer clothes. Glenn had remained behind that night when the crowd scattered, sitting calmly as though he were in the front row of a show, cigar in hand, while chaos erupted around him. He had watched Tony fall apart, Rhodey nearly break his friend's ribs, and the weight of unresolved truths hang like smoke over the room.
Now, a week later, the air had shifted again. Not because of Tony, though Glenn knew Pepper and Illyana were keeping their eyes on him, but because of something stranger, something heavier. It began with a subtle vibration in his head, the familiar hum of the strange "System" that The One Above All had tethered to his very existence.
For years, it had been his hidden lifeline, a cosmic cheat sheet wrapped in the aesthetics of the One Piece universe. Through it, Glenn could exchange accumulated "points" earned from battles and events for items—everything from weapons to knowledge scrolls, to bizarre abilities rooted in manga logic but terrifyingly real in his hands. He had kept it private, concealed even from Illyana and Domino, not because he didn't trust them, but because it was… too much.
But this morning, as Glenn reclined in his penthouse, staring absently at the Los Angeles skyline with a tumbler of whiskey he hadn't touched, something broke.
The System's voice—neutral, detached, and yet so embedded in his mind that he couldn't ignore it—cut across his thoughts:
[Warning: Core Energy at Critically Low Levels.]
[System entering Energy-Saving Mode.]
Glenn blinked. "The hell are you talking about?" he muttered aloud, standing up as if that might help. "Energy saving mode? Since when do you get tired?"
There was a delay. The interface flickered like a dimming lightbulb.
[Available Points Unspent: 13,420.]
[Access locked until recharge is completed.]
[Estimated Downtime: Indefinite.]
And then—silence.
The familiar holographic shimmer of menus, the little flicks of possibility that always hovered at the edge of his perception, all of it vanished as though someone had slammed a door shut in his face.
Glenn froze in the middle of his apartment, jaw tightening. His first reaction wasn't panic—it was rage. A slow, low growl of frustration.
"Son of a…"
"What the hell happened? How did it come to this?"
Glenn couldn't describe what he was feeling right now. Thankfully, his power didn't go off-line along with his system.
He paced, hands on his hips, muttering like a man betrayed. All those points. All those careful choices he had been putting off. He could have unlocked another advanced martial arts technique technique. He could have stockpiled armaments from One Piece's arsenal—impact dials, seastone weaponry, hell, even a Devil Fruit if he wanted to gamble. And now? Gone. All locked behind a dead screen.
He dropped onto his couch, dragging his hands over his face, staring up at the ceiling like it had personally offended him. The silence in his head felt deafening. For months, the System had been there, humming quietly, always waiting. Now it was just… absence.
"Perfect timing," he muttered bitterly. "Tony's coughing up his lungs with palladium poisoning, Fury's circling like a vulture, and now my magic vending machine decides to take a nap."
It was then, of course, that his phone buzzed.
Glenn didn't even check the ID. "If this is a telemarketer, I swear to God…"
But it wasn't. The voice on the other end was calm, commanding, and all too familiar.
"Glenn," Nick Fury said, cutting straight through the static. "We've got a situation."
Glenn leaned back, closing his eyes as if the universe was mocking him. "Of course we do. Let me guess, another gamma freak popped out of the woodwork? Or is it Stark finally drinking himself into a coma?"
"Neither," Fury replied, not rising to the bait. "Something fell from the sky in New Mexico. Big enough to shake half the damn state, quiet enough to keep most of the world from noticing. We don't know what it is yet. What we do know—it's drawing attention. The wrong kind."
Glenn opened one eye, finally intrigued despite his sour mood. Though he knew what it is, he pretended to be he didn't know. "Fallen from the sky, huh? So what, another alien tchotchke? You've got S.H.I.E.L.D. for that, don't you? Or is this one of those 'too hot for the boys in uniform' cases?"
"You're the one I want," Fury said bluntly. "Identify it and guard it. Make sure no one else gets their hands on it until we know what we're dealing with."
There was a pause. Glenn let the silence stretch before exhaling smoke from a cigar he hadn't even lit yet. "You don't even know what it is, and you want me to play babysitter?"
"Yes."
Glenn chuckled dryly. "Hell of a sales pitch, Fury. I'm not your errand boy. You know I adhere to equivalent exchange principle so....what's the price?"
"15 million dollars and a hundred grand each day you guard it."
"Now we're talking! Alright, fine! I'll take a look at your mystery rock. Just make sure no ones gonna get in my way."
He hung up without waiting for Fury's thanks, standing and already shifting gears. If nothing else, this would be a distraction from his System's 'betrayal'. Something tangible. Something to hit if it annoyed him.
He pulled out his communicator, tapping it lazily. "GLADIS," he called. The AI hummed to life, her synthetic tone crisp.
"Yes, Glenn?"
"Send that mission on our archive to make it formal and give Fury our account number for the transfer. Notify me if they didn't follow through the deal. Lastly, patch me through to Domino. Tell her to prep The Raven. We're going desert camping."
"Understood."
Then Glenn went to turned toward Illyana, who had been quietly reading in the corner, pretending not to have noticed his strange tantrum earlier. She raised an eyebrow, her blonde hair catching the light like strands of fire.
"You're leaving?" she asked softly.
"Yeah," Glenn said, pulling on his coat. "Fury's got me chasing falling stars in New Mexico. Could be nothing, could be trouble."
Her gaze sharpened. "Should I prepare? Or keep an eye on our moneybag?"
"Smart girl," Glenn said with a smirk. "Somebody's gotta keep an eye on Stark. He's circling the drain, and if Fury thinks he can strong-arm him into playing Avenger, he's gonna need someone nearby who won't sugarcoat the truth."
Illyana didn't smile. She just nodded, as if she'd already expected it. "Don't die in the desert."
Glenn paused at the door, flashing his trademark grin. "You know that's not my style. If I go, it won't be somewhere that boring."
With that, he left, his thoughts already fixed on the New Mexican desert, on the sky that had dropped a secret into Fury's lap, and on the lingering, silent absence of the System that had once been his edge.
For the first time in a long while, Glenn felt like he was stepping into something blind.
And he hated it. He hated the fact that something was taken from him and this make him start to think how he'll be able to get the system back online.
----
The Raven's engines purred like a beast beneath Glenn's boots as the aircraft sliced through the night sky. The horizon stretched out in endless black, broken only by the pinpricks of starlight overhead. Out here, above the world, everything felt quiet—too quiet.
Glenn leaned back in the leather seat of the cabin, a half-smoked cigar resting in the ashtray beside him. His coat was draped over the armrest, collar rumpled, and for the first time in years he felt tired. Not physically—his body could take more punishment than most—but in that bone-deep way a man feels when something vital has been taken from him.
The System's absence hung over him like a phantom limb. He could still feel where it should be, a shadow in his mind, that place where menus and options used to flicker. But when he reached for it, he found nothing but silence.
Domino strolled into the cabin, barefoot, a cup of coffee balanced in one hand. Her hair was messy, her smile lazy. She looked like someone who had nothing to lose, which was why Glenn tolerated her more than most.
"You've been glaring at the clouds for the last hour," she said, setting the coffee down on the table near him. "What'd they ever do to you?"
Glenn didn't look at her. He rolled his cigar between two fingers, eyes fixed on the streak of stars outside. "Depends. You think clouds can steal a man's hard-earned points?"
Domino blinked, confused of what he mean with this words. Then she snorted. "So it's that bad, huh?" She flopped into the seat across from him, tucking her legs up. "You need help?"
His jaw tightened and sighed. "No...not this time. You know I wouldn't hesitate to ask if I needed it."
"As long as you're okay. Come on, stop brooding." She grinned.
Normally he'd have volleyed back with a quip, but tonight he didn't bite. His silence was answer enough. Domino studied him for a beat, then leaned forward, resting her chin in her hand.
"You hate it," she said softly.
"What's that?"
"Not having control."
Glenn finally turned his gaze to her, one brow raised. "Careful. You're starting to sound like Illyana."
"Please. I don't do cryptic teenage wisdom. I do observations. And right now, you look like a guy who's stuck between chewing glass or punching holes in the fuselage."
He smirked faintly despite himself, but it didn't last. "It's not just control. It's… potential. Knowing the options are there. Even if I didn't use them, I liked knowing I could."
Domino tapped her temple. "That's called comfort and you lost it. Now you're cranky. Happens to everyone, Handyman."
"Comfort gets men killed."
"Yeah, well, so does brooding."
"Don't worry, Neena. I'll be okay."
For a long moment, they sat in silence, the drone of the Raven filling the space between them. Glenn lit the cigar again, drawing slow, deliberate smoke. His mind was still focused on his lost system, circling the possibilities of how to restore it.
The Raven cut across state lines, the desert slowly swallowing the lights of civilization below. By the time they reached New Mexico, the horizon was nothing but endless flat earth under a bruised sky. The stars were clearer here, cruelly bright against the emptiness.
When the jet touched down on a makeshift SHIELD runway, Glenn disembarked with the kind of ease that suggested he'd done this dance a thousand times before. The desert air was dry, cool, carrying the faint tang of sand and dust. It reminded him of battlefields half a world away, places where silence was never safe.
Waiting at the perimeter was a familiar figure in a crisp suit: Agent Phil Coulson. Calm, unflappable, polite in a way that put others off guard. Glenn like him but he didn't trust him for a second.
"Mr. Handyman or would you prefer Glenn?" Coulson greeted with that mild tone of his. "Thank you for coming on such short notice."
Glenn squinted against the floodlights set up around the camp, his coat catching in the wind. "Don't thank me yet. Tell me what I'm looking at."
Coulson gestured for him to follow. "Something fell from the sky. We've secured the area. Locals tried to lift it with trucks, winches, even heavy equipment. None of it worked."
Glenn's lips curled around the cigar. "You're telling me the good people of New Mexico played tug-of-war with that thing?"
Coulson didn't smile. "Something like that. You'll want to see it for yourself."
They passed rows of SHIELD agents, all moving with the efficient quiet of men and women who knew not to speak too loudly around Glenn. He noticed someone perched at the highest point of the camp. Might've been Hawkeye but he hadn't met him yet. There are trucks, cordoned fences, the floodlights stabbing at the darkness.
And then he saw it.
Mjolnir
It sat half-buried in a crater of sand and rock, gleaming silver under the artificial lights. The handle rose from the dirt, leather strap dangling like it had been dropped casually by someone who had just grown bored.
But Glenn felt it. The weight of it in the air. A hum he couldn't name, low in his bones. It wasn't like the System or Haki. It was… old and wilder.
He stopped at the edge of the crater, the smoke from his cigar curling upward like incense.
"So," he muttered, almost to himself. "That's what all the fuss is about."
Coulson watched him carefully. "Any thoughts?"
"Yeah." Glenn's eyes narrowed, the smirk gone now. "That… it didn't fall. It was sent. Have it ever occur to you what it look like, Coulson?"
"It looks like a hammer." Coulson frowned at the object.
"IT IS a hammer and I have an idea of its story."
"Please, anything we can use to identify it." Coulson said.
"You might think what I'm going to say is absurd but I'll bet my reputation for it. Are you familiar with mythology agent Coulson? I've once read a book that looks exactly like it."
"Not familiar."
"According to the book, there was a god in norse mythology who wields that kind of hammer. It's name is Mjolnir, the enchanted war hammer of Thor, the Norse god of thunder, forged by dwarves and capable of returning to Thor's hand when thrown."
"So you're telling me that those myths are true?" Coulson asked in disbelief.
"Don't know. I'm not expecting you to believe me either but since you got nothing, it could be a start, right?" Glenn shrugged. "Besides, you're asking the wrong question. The question is...why is this thing here?"
He crouched closer, peering at the weapon and turned back at Coulson.
"Mind if I try?"
He didn't wait for the permission. He touched two fingers to the cold metal, just lightly, as if testing for a pulse. For the barest instant, something rippled up his arm. Not pain, not heat—just an echo. A whisper of judgment and he could feel it humming.
He pulled and it easily left the ground just a few centimeters from its original position. He didn't drew it fully, letting it go quickly as soon as it lifted and no one on site noticed it.
Coulson's voice broke the silence, soft but steady. "We've all tried. None of us can move it. You're not the first."
Glenn smirked but didn't correct him. His jaw worked. "Then it's not a question of strength."
"No," Coulson agreed. "It isn't."
Glenn turned his gaze back to the hammer, narrowing his eyes. A weapon that refused its wielder. A weight only someone else could carry but somehow, he could.
Then he thought, what would Odin do if he snatched this thing up from his precious heir. He briefly entertained such thoughts before discarding them. He wasn't afraid of trouble but there's no need to provoke one specially now that the system is offline. He wasn't ready to face a god specially at sky father level.
At least, not yet.