Word Count: 3,200
Enjoy
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The desert night turned violent in an instant. Clouds gathered overhead as though summoned by unseen hands, swallowing the stars. A sudden crack of thunder rolled across the barren New Mexico sky, the kind that rattled bones and made lesser men glance upward in fear. Wind howled through the makeshift SHIELD compound, tugging at tents and snapping at tarps. The computer surveillance stations blinked in and out, screens flickering as if the storm itself wanted to blind the watchers.
Glenn, leaning casually against the guardrail near the heart of the crater, felt it before he saw it. A hum, deep and primal, rippled through the air. His instincts sharpened. The storm wasn't natural—this was arrival. This was the herald of someone who did not belong to this world.
He smirked, biting down on his cigar. "Showtime."
The radio clipped to Coulson's vest crackled with static before an agent's strained voice came through. "Sir! We've got movement—perimeter breach on the north side! It's a single hostile, moving fast. Repeat, single hostile inside the fence."
Another voice followed, calm but carrying the tension of a taut bowstring. Agent Barton. "I've got eyes. Target's in sight. Permission to engage?"
Glenn glanced sidelong at Coulson, amused at the sudden shift in the night. Coulson didn't flinch, his tone sharp but measured. "Negative, Barton. Hold your fire! I want to see how this plays out."
Glenn chuckled, low and rich. "Good call. I'd hate to see you boys shoot first and miss the entertainment."
The storm worsened as Glenn stayed near the crater, coat tails flaring in the wind, eyes narrowed against the rain that began to spit from the sky. And then he saw him. A figure pushing through the storm like it had been made for him—broad shoulders, long blond hair whipped by the wind, eyes fixed with determination on the object buried at the crater's heart.
The hammer.
But the stranger didn't get far. A large SHIELD agent intercepted him, a mountain of muscle wrapped in black tactical gear, and tackled him hard into the mud. The two men rolled, fists pounding, the storm their backdrop as the ground turned to slick earth beneath them.
Glenn grinned wide, enjoying every second. "Now this," he drawled, smoke curling from his lips, "this is better than cable."
The blonde fought with raw fury, trading blows with the bigger man. They slammed into the mud, rolled, broke apart, and then clashed again. Each impact sent sprays of dirt and water into the air. SHIELD agents shouted from the sidelines, radios squawking, but no one stepped in.
Glenn raised his voice above the storm, smirking. "Fifty bucks says Blondie takes him in three rounds. Any takers?"
Coulson's eyes flicked toward him, unimpressed. Glenn only shrugged and gestured with his cigar. "What? A man's gotta make the night interesting somehow."
As Glenn had predicted, the blonde finally surged with a burst of strength, slamming his opponent into the mud with bone-jarring force. The big man went down hard, groaning, out cold. The stranger staggered to his feet, chest heaving, rainwater streaming down his face.
Without hesitation, he ripped the protective covering off the crater site, tearing metal aside as if peeling back the lid of destiny itself. Lightning cracked above at the exact moment, illuminating his determined expression. The rain now poured in earnest, drenching the ground, the hammer, and every man watching.
The stranger's eyes darted then, catching sight of Glenn. He suddenly became wary and cautious. As if sensing something dangerous in the man who simply stood relaxed, cigar glowing in the storm.
Glenn tipped two fingers in a casual salute, voice carrying clear over the storm. "Don't mind me, Hemsworth. Go ahead—give it a shot. Let's see if you're as special as you think."
The man's jaw clenched, but he turned back toward the hammer. Every agent leaned in unconsciously, breaths held as though the storm itself demanded silence.
Up above, Barton's voice came through again, bowstring drawn tight. "Sir, last chance. He's right there. I can put him down before he reaches it."
Coulson's reply was quiet, deliberate. "Stand down, Barton. I want to see this too."
Thor narrowed his eyes, but said nothing. Instead, he trudged forward, mud squelching under his boots.
The agents tightened formation, letting Thor through but never lowering their weapons.
Step by step, Thor climbed the last slope of mud, until finally he stood before the hammer. His chest rose and fell in heavy breaths, muscles taut, hair plastered to his forehead by rain. There was a reverence in his eyes now, one Glenn recognized all too well. Not reverence for a tool, but for something greater—something that belonged to him.
Thor dropped to one knee before Mjolnir.
For a long moment, the storm seemed to quiet, as though the world itself was holding its breath. Even the agents didn't move. The floodlights hummed. Rain splashed against metal. The radio stayed silent.
Glenn's smirk faded into something else—not awe, no, but intrigue. He had seen men kneel before ideals before. He'd seen killers kneel before the graves of their enemies, seen mercenaries bow before the weight of their own greed. But this was different. This was a man kneeling before destiny, convinced it was his to reclaim.
Thor's hands closed around the handle of the hammer.
The leather grip was slick with rain, but familiar. His fingers tightened around it, veins bulging in his forearms. He exhaled, bracing himself. Then, with all the strength his body could muster, he pulled.
The hammer didn't move.
Mud shifted beneath his boots as he planted himself firmer, muscles screaming with effort. He pulled again. His teeth clenched. His back arched. Every sinew of his body strained, rainwater rolling down the lines of his muscles like liquid fire.
The hammer didn't budge.
Glenn tilted his head. "Huh," he muttered softly, "not what you were expecting, eh Hemsworth?"
Thor growled, low and guttural. He wrenched harder, trying to summon everything within him. But no matter how much strength he threw into it, Mjolnir sat there, unmoved, unmoving, like a mountain that did not acknowledge the storm battering its sides.
The rain grew heavier, thunder rolling. It was as though the hammer itself mocked him.
Glenn sighed, flicking his unlit cigarette into the mud. "You ever see a kid at the playground, tugging at the handle of a ride that's bolted down? Thinking if they just believe hard enough, it'll lift? That's what this feels like. Child meets reality."
Thor's breathing turned ragged. His knees sank deeper into the mud as he screamed and gave one last desperate heave. He twisted, pulled, strained until his body shook violently under the effort.
Still, Mjolnir did not budge.
At last, his strength gave out. Thor slumped forward, forehead pressing against the hammer's head, rain mixing with tears he refused to acknowledge. His hands trembled against the leather grip.
The silence around the crater was thick.
Even Barton, from his perch, muttered under his breath:
"…he couldn't lift it."
Coulson's face remained unreadable, but Glenn saw the slight tightening of his jaw. The agents shifted uneasily, the tension slowly leaking from their stances.
Glenn finally broke the silence with a slow clap. His voice carried over the storm, sharp and cutting.
"Well, well. That was… dramatic. I'll give you points for shouting loud like you're having trouble with your bathroom business. Better luck next time." He stepped forward a little, boots sinking into the mud, eyes never leaving Thor. "You came all this way, picked a fight in the rain, threw yourself at guards twice your size… and for what? To grab a hammer that doesn't even acknowledge you exist?"
Thor lifted his head weakly, his gaze meeting Glenn's. There was pain in those eyes, yes, but more than that—confusion. As if the world he knew had just shattered beneath him.
Glenn's smirk returned, but there was an edge to it now. "That thing isn't a weapon you just pick up like a crowbar. It's a mirror, big guy. It's looking at you and deciding you've got too much bleach on your eyebrows and you're not what you think you are. And from where I'm standing? The hammer has better judgment than you."
The storm rolled above them again, lightning flashing against the sky.
Glenn crossed his arms, tilting his head as he studied Thor one last time. Then he glanced back at Coulson. "Well, there you have it. Guess it's not just any man's toy. Still want me to put money on him?"
Coulson didn't answer. His eyes were fixed on Thor, calculating yet also considering something.
And Thor, broken and breathless, remained kneeling in the mud, his hands still wrapped around a hammer that refused to be his.
————
The rain had softened to a steady drizzle, the storm rolling further away across the New Mexico desert. Floodlights still cut across the crater, the hammer at its center glistening like a monument untouched by the violence that had just passed. The agents around Glenn moved with professional efficiency, but there was a charge in the air—something unspoken that kept them all on edge.
Thor had been pulled away from the hammer, dragged back through the mud, his arms bound behind his back by thick restraints. He struggled at first, roaring like a cornered animal, but his resistance soon faded into a kind of hollow quiet. His head hung low, his drenched hair curtaining his face. The fight had drained out of him—not from the agents, but from the weight of his failure.
Glenn stayed behind a moment, boots sunk in the muck, eyes fixed on the hammer. He exhaled through his nose, the corner of his mouth quirking.
"Stubborn little thing," he muttered, addressing Mjolnir like an old acquaintance. "Not bad."
Then he turned on his heel, following after the agents who dragged Thor toward one of the makeshift holding structures SHIELD had erected on the edge of the site.
---
Inside, the temporary holding room was nothing more than a reinforced box with steel walls and a bolted table. The air smelled faintly of damp metal and recycled air. Thor was pushed into a chair, his restraints clanging against the table as agents secured him in place.
Glenn entered last, rolling his shoulders, his coat dripping from the rain. He waved off the agents with an idle flick of his wrist.
"Go on, clear out," he said, his tone dismissive yet commanding. "This one's mine."
The agents exchanged uneasy glances but looked to Coulson, who gave a short nod. They filed out, leaving only Glenn and Thor in the room.
Thor lifted his head, glaring at Glenn through strands of wet hair. There was fury there, but also confusion—an unfamiliar world staring back at him, one he no longer commanded.
Glenn pulled up a chair opposite him, straddling it backwards, arms folded across the backrest. He studied Thor in silence for a moment, letting the weight of quiet press down. Then he smirked.
"You know," Glenn began, his voice smooth and conversational, "most people who get dragged in here usually start screaming about lawyers, rights, or mistaken identity. You? You just sit there, brooding like a thundercloud with legs. Gotta say, it's refreshing."
Thor said nothing.
Glenn leaned forward slightly. "So, let's cut the playacting. I know who you are."
Thor's eyes sharpened, a flicker of suspicion breaking through his scowl.
Glenn continued, his tone almost mocking. "Thor Odinson. Prince of Asgard. God of Thunder. Wielder of that shiny mallet outside. Or at least… you used to be. Now you're just a soaked blond with daddy issues who can't lift his favorite toy."
Thor stiffened, his jaw tightening. "You speak as though you know much. And why do you call me Hemsworth?!"
"Oh, that! Errr..because that's how we call idiot here. Anyway, believe me, I know more than you anticipate," Glenn replied casually. "I know why you're here. I know who put that hammer down there. And I know exactly why you couldn't lift it." He tilted his head, eyes glinting. "Want me to spell it out for you? Or do you prefer the slow burn of humiliation?"
Thor's breath hitched, anger flickering in his eyes. "You mock me—"
"No," Glenn interrupted, raising a finger. "I observe. You're not worthy, big guy. That hammer judged you and found you wanting. And if you're smart, you'll start asking yourself why instead of wasting time glaring at me."
The silence that followed was heavy. Thor looked away, his shoulders sinking under a weight greater than the restraints holding him.
Glenn let the silence stretch before pushing himself up from the chair. "Well, that's enough heart-to-heart for now. Sit tight! I'll be back shortly."
Thor's head snapped back toward him. "Where do you go?"
Glenn smirked over his shoulder as he opened the door. "Oh, just to greet an old friend. One you won't be happy to see."
He didn't wait for a reply. The door shut behind him with a heavy clang.
---
The crater site was quieter now. Most agents were busy with perimeter patrols, others monitoring the interference still plaguing their systems. The hammer remained untouched, rain sliding off its surface in sheets.
Glenn walked toward the crater with unhurried steps, boots sinking slightly into the softened earth. He lit a cigarette this time, the small glow flaring against the dark. He exhaled smoke into the drizzle, his gaze fixed not on the hammer, but on the shadows beyond it.
A few minutes later. Glenn suddenly sensed something through his observation haki just like he predicted.
"You can come out now," Glenn called softly. "I know you're here."
For a long moment, there was nothing. Only the hiss of rain and the hum of floodlights.
Then, faintly, a shimmer against the air—like heat over asphalt. The shimmer twisted, bent, and resolved into a figure cloaked in green and black, his horned helmet absent but his presence unmistakable. Loki.
He stood just beyond the perimeter of the floodlights, his expression calculating. His illusion had been perfect to the eyes of mortals, but Glenn wasn't like the others.
Loki's smirk faltered as he realized he'd been caught.
From above, perched casually on one of the steel beams overlooking the crater, Glenn let out a chuckle. He was sitting as if he'd been waiting there the whole time, smoke curling lazily around his face.
"Not bad," Glenn said, amusement dripping from every word. "You slipped past Coulson's boys easy enough. Cameras didn't see you. Barton didn't see you. But me?" He tapped his temple with two fingers. "I see everything."
Loki's green eyes narrowed, his mask of composure cracking ever so slightly.
Glenn exhaled another puff of smoke, his grin widening. "What's the matter, Mischief? Not used to being the one seen?"
Loki stepped forward with leisurely grace, his green-and-black garb gleaming under the light drizzle, his pale skin catching faint reflections from the floodlights. His face wore that familiar mask of mockery—arched brows, half-smile curling like a blade, eyes sharp with amusement.
"Well," Loki said, his voice smooth and dripping with superiority. "It seems the stories about mortals evolving beyond their station are not entirely exaggerated. For you to pierce my veil… that is impressive. For one of your kind."
Glenn smirked around the cigarette, flicking the ash aside. "Don't flatter yourself, Mischief. I've dealt with tricksters before. You're good, sure. Slick hands, silver tongue, pretty face. But I could smell you the moment you stepped past the perimeter. Boy, you smell like trouble."
Loki's smirk widened, intrigued. "A mortal with senses beyond his reach. And yet, you remain… shackled to flesh. A curious contradiction."
Glenn leaned back against the steel, posture loose and unconcerned, though his eyes never left Loki. "Contradiction, huh? Funny coming from you. Prince who's not a prince. God who's not a god. Heir to a throne that was never really his. Tell me, do you ever get dizzy from juggling all those masks?"
For the first time, Loki's smirk twitched—half irritation, half genuine amusement. He folded his hands behind his back, shoulders straightening, arrogance settling in like armor.
"That little show with your brother," Glenn continued, blowing smoke in the air, "was entertaining, I'll give you that. The big blond oaf storms in like a walking armory, fists swinging, shouting about honor and glory, then collapses in the mud like a child denied his toy. That was funny."
Loki tilted his head, eyes narrowing. "You watched him fall and yet… you do not tell your masters who he is? Strange loyalty for a mortal working under their leash."
Glenn chuckled low, shaking his head. "See, that's the thing. I'm not on their leash. I don't wag when Fury whistles, and I sure as hell don't run when SHIELD says fetch. As for your brother? Well, I'm going to tell them the information because that's what I'm hired to do. Whether they believe it or not isn't my problem. Don't worry, I'm not telling anyone anything about your plan though. Might ruin the fun. Besides, your brother isn't my problem. Your schemes? Now those are more interesting."
That earned him a sharper smile from Loki—mockery mixed with genuine intrigue. "You claim to prefer me over Thor?"
"Oh, definitely," Glenn said without hesitation, his tone laced with sarcasm. "At least you use your brain. Your brother's a hammer in human form—swing first, think never. You? You scheme, you maneuver. Sure, you're arrogant and obsessed with crowns and thrones like every other idiot in history, but at least you think. That makes you a hell of a lot more fun to watch."
Loki's eyes glittered at the compliment, though he masked it quickly, wrapping arrogance around himself again. "And yet you still mock me."
Glenn grinned, leaning forward now and winked. "That's how I show affection."
For a moment, the two men simply studied each other—Loki with his aura of cold superiority, Glenn with his relaxed defiance.
Then Glenn's tone shifted, just slightly. Not serious, not solemn, but edged with something heavier.
"You're going to get what you want someday," Glenn said, smoke curling between his words. "That hunger you've got for recognition, for a throne, for something that says 'you're not second best.' You'll have it. But not the way you think. And not the way you want."
The words hung in the air, heavy as the storm clouds that lingered on the horizon.
Loki's smile faltered, confusion flashing across his features before he masked it again. He tilted his head, studying Glenn as though trying to peel back the layers of his mind. "And how would you know such things?"
Glenn tapped the side of his head again, smirk unshaken. "Let's just say I've read ahead in the script. And trust me—you're gonna love Act Two. Or maybe you'll hate it. Either way, I'll be there with front-row seats and popcorn unless someone pays me to get involved."
Loki said nothing for a long moment. His lips curled again, though the smile no longer reached his eyes. "You are… dangerous, mortal."
Glenn exhaled smoke, eyes glinting with amusement. "And you're just figuring that out?"