The interrogation room felt smaller with Thor's imposing presence filling it. Despite being the one in custody, he somehow managed to make the space feel cramped. Steve and Coulson sat across from him, studying the self-proclaimed god with professional interest.
"His combat skills are exceptional," Coulson observed quietly, adjusting his tie. "Definitely not civilian-trained."
He leaned forward, fixing Thor with a steady stare. "So, who sent you?"
"You took down an entire patrol of Special Forces operatives single-handedly. That requires specialized training." Coulson's tone remained conversational, but his eyes were sharp. "Your operational style doesn't match any known intelligence agencies, though. More like a mercenary—or someone with military experience who's gone freelance."
Coulson was fishing, hoping Thor's supposed mercenary background might loosen his tongue. Information was currency in his line of work, and this man represented a significant intelligence gap.
But Thor just sat there, head hung low, saying nothing. His silence wasn't defiant—it was defeated.
The shame was eating him alive. He was the Crown Prince of Asgard, the God of Thunder, the most celebrated warrior in all the Nine Realms. Yet he'd been knocked flat by a mortal. A Midgardian. The humiliation was almost unbearable.
And then, adding insult to injury, the mortal had looked down at him and said, "What a weak god." Those words echoed in Thor's mind like a curse, driving him deeper into self-doubt.
Steve watched the prisoner's body language carefully. He couldn't read the man's thoughts, but he could see the internal struggle playing out across his features. While Steve didn't entirely believe Thor's grandiose claims, he also couldn't shake the feeling that this man represented a significant threat.
Who knew? Maybe this muscular giant really was telling the truth about being a god.
Thor, meanwhile, was lost in his own thoughts. He'd never held Earthlings in high regard, viewing them as primitive and weak. Even after losing his godly power, he'd been able to defeat everyone he'd encountered—first the locals in the small town, then the armed Special Forces team that had tried to stop him at the perimeter.
Each easy victory had reinforced his belief that Midgardians were nothing more than insects compared to Asgardians. Weak, powerless, unworthy of being called warriors.
What he hadn't known was that the man standing before him was Captain America—someone who could go toe-to-toe with cosmic-level threats. Thor's overconfidence had led him to charge in recklessly, only to be laid out cold by Steve's shield.
The interrogation room door opened, and a Special Forces soldier entered. His face bore several fresh bruises, and he shot Thor a venomous glare before addressing Coulson.
"We ran his prints and facial recognition through every database we have access to. Nothing. This guy doesn't exist in any government system."
Coulson nodded, dismissing the soldier with a gesture. He moved closer to Thor, trying to use physical proximity to create psychological pressure.
Thor looked up with a mocking expression, his earlier defeat momentarily forgotten in favor of his natural arrogance.
"Move aside," he said dismissively. "You're not worthy to speak with me."
His gaze shifted to Steve, and his expression softened slightly—though only slightly.
"You... you're barely qualified."
Despite his loss, Thor wasn't ready to admit complete defeat. In his mind, Captain America's victory had been unfair. After all, Thor had been stripped of his godly power and was far from peak condition. But even so, Steve was clearly superior to these other mortals.
Coulson didn't take offense at the slight. He'd been called worse things by better people. What mattered was that Thor was finally willing to communicate, even if it was just to insult them.
He stepped back, giving Steve room to work.
"Captain, he's all yours."
Steve nodded and focused his attention on the prisoner. "You said you're a god..."
Before he could finish the sentence, Thor erupted like a dam bursting.
"I am Prince Thor Odinson of Asgard! Future Lord of the Nine Realms! The God of Thunder!" His voice echoed off the walls, filled with wounded pride and desperate authority. "All of you in Midgard are my subjects!"
In Thor's mind, this wasn't classified information—it was basic knowledge that everyone should already possess. He was genuinely surprised that these Earthlings didn't already know who he was.
Coulson rubbed his forehead. Part of him wanted to have Thor committed to a psychiatric facility and be done with it.
But Steve pressed on, recognizing an opportunity. Thor's words revealed something important—he genuinely looked down on Earth and its inhabitants.
"Since you're the God of Thunder," Steve said carefully, "what's your purpose in coming to Earth?"
"Do you think I wanted to come to this wasteland?" Thor shot back, his voice cracking with emotion. "If the All-Father hadn't exiled me, I would never have set foot on Midgard!"
"This planet is primitive and backward, populated by weak, pathetic beings who wouldn't last five minutes in a real fight!"
"Sorry," Coulson interjected with dry humor, "but do I need to remind you that you were knocked unconscious by the Captain here less than fifteen minutes ago?"
The reminder of his embarrassing defeat made Thor's face flush red. But his godly pride wouldn't allow him to be mocked by mortals.
"Mortal, you may be a decent warrior, but you didn't truly defeat me!" Thor's voice rose defensively. "It's only because my godly power was stripped away by Odin, the All-Father, that you were able to take advantage!"
And then, in a display of the impulsiveness that had gotten him exiled in the first place, Thor proceeded to tell them everything. The coronation ceremony, the Frost Giants' intrusion, his rash decision to attack Jotunheim, Odin's fury, and his subsequent banishment. He laid out the entire story with the naive honesty of someone who'd never had to guard his words.
Coulson listened with growing bewilderment. He'd encountered aliens before, but Thor's story sounded less like a first contact scenario and more like ancient mythology come to life.
"Do you dare let me reclaim Mjolnir?" Thor suddenly demanded, his voice rising to a shout. "Will you face me in fair combat?"
In his mind, everything hinged on getting his hammer back. Once he had Mjolnir in his hands, these mortals would see his true power. He'd be able to return to Asgard and expose the folly of the All-Father's decision.
The enchantment Odin had placed on Mjolnir before his exile barely registered in Thor's thoughts. After all, he was the God of Thunder! How could he possibly be found unworthy of his own weapon? He and Mjolnir had been partners for centuries—they were as close as lovers. There was no way the hammer wouldn't recognize him.
"So what you're telling us," Coulson said slowly, "is that anyone who's worthy can lift Thor's hammer and gain the power of Thor?"
Something in Coulson's tone had shifted. There was a strange note in his voice, and his eyes had drifted to Steve.
If Coulson remembered correctly, just a few minutes ago, when Steve had first touched the hammer...
Steve caught Coulson's look and glanced down at his own hand. His gaze traveled through the interrogation room's window toward the area where Mjolnir lay waiting.
Without a word, Steve stood and walked toward the door. Coulson abandoned Thor and hurried after him.
"What are you doing?" Thor called after them, finally sensing that something was wrong. But he shook his head, his blond hair swaying with the motion. The whole situation was ridiculous.
"You don't actually think you can lift Mjolnir, do you?" he called out, following them.
But Thor didn't try to stop Steve. Why would he? He knew these mortals couldn't lift his hammer. Let them try and fail—it would only serve to highlight his own superiority when he inevitably succeeded. When he lifted Mjolnir with ease, these arrogant Midgardians would finally understand just how noble and powerful he truly was.
So he watched with smug anticipation as Steve approached the hammer. He watched as the mortal reached out and grasped the handle. He prepared to laugh at the inevitable failure.
"This is impossible, mortal!" Thor sneered. "Only I can lift Thor's hammer! Only I am worthy! Because I am Thor—this is—impossible!"
His words died in his throat.
Steve had grasped Mjolnir's handle and lifted it with seemingly no effort at all. The ancient weapon rose smoothly from the earth, crackling with mystical energy as it recognized a worthy wielder.
Thor's entire worldview shattered in that moment. His face went through a series of expressions—disbelief, denial, horror, and finally, complete devastation. He looked like a man who'd come home from a long day of work only to find his beloved wife in bed with another man.
Watching someone else lift Mjolnir in front of him?
Wasn't this a kind of cuckoldry?
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