One hundred million U.S. dollars is a sum few in the academic world can refuse. If they do, the solution is simple: keep adding zeros until the logic of their refusal collapses.
Jane Foster, however, was not a seasoned negotiator. The moment the figure was mentioned, she nodded with such fervor that Emrys feared she might give herself whiplash. She was terrified that if she hesitated for even a heartbeat, the phantom funding would vanish like a desert mirage.
One couldn't truly blame her. Jane's research into Einstein-Rosen bridges was considered "fringe" even by the loose standards of New Mexico's scientific community. For the next thirty minutes, she paced the room, enthusiastically laying out her grand vision for the future of humanity—a lecture that was essentially one long, desperate sales pitch.
It was clear the team was struggling. Darcy, Jane's assistant, busied herself playing hostess, bringing Emrys water and coffee while occasionally throwing him a look that was far more interested in his bank account than his personality.
"Ahem, Dr. Foster," Emrys finally interrupted, raising a hand. "I find your hypotheses... illuminating. The funds will be transferred to your team's account within the hour. However, I have one small condition."
Erik Selvig, the veteran of the group, immediately tensed. "What kind of condition, Emrys?"
"Relax, Professor. I have no interest in stealing your data or interfering with your intellectual property," Emrys said, his smile calm and reassuring. "As your primary benefactor, I simply wish to observe your research process up-close. A field-study, if you will. That isn't too much to ask, is it?"
"Of course! That's perfectly reasonable," Jane chirped, her eyes practically sparkling with relief. She checked her watch and gasped. "Oh! Emrys, if you're serious about observing, we need to leave now. We've predicted an extraordinary atmospheric event nearby this evening. I guarantee that once you see it, you'll know your investment was worth every cent."
They had been packed and ready to go before Emrys arrived. Now, with a new patron in tow, they moved with a renewed sense of urgency. Jane took the wheel of the battered silver SUV, Darcy took the passenger seat, and Emrys sat in the back with Erik as they sped out into the desert.
As they neared their destination, the sky began to bleed into an unnatural darkness. It was dusk when they left the town, but by the time they reached the designated coordinates, the heavens had undergone a violent transformation.
Emrys, who had been resting his eyes, suddenly felt a sharp tingle at the base of his skull. His burgeoning psionic senses were screaming—a massive surge of energy was tearing through the local reality.
"It's starting," he whispered to himself.
Outside, the sky had become a churning cauldron of ink. Thick, black clouds swirled into a massive vortex, pushed by an invisible, gravitational force. Bolts of white lightning erupted from the center like striking serpents, their thunderous roars shaking the very chassis of the car.
Suddenly, a localized gale tore across the Gobi. Sand and gravel were whipped into a frenzy, reducing their visibility to mere meters. The black clouds descended toward the earth like a titan's hand reaching down from the stars.
"Jane, get us out of here! It's too dangerous!" Erik shouted over the howling wind.
Jane ignored him, her foot heavy on the accelerator as she drove straight toward the eye of the storm. The SUV rattled violently; pebbles pelted the glass like machine-gun fire. In the pitch-black night, pillars of rainbow-hued light began to strike the desert floor—not lightning, but the devastating impact of the Allfather's bridge.
"Ahhh! We're going to die!" Darcy screamed, clutching the dashboard.
"Quiet! I've got it!" Jane yelled, her knuckles white on the steering wheel.
The vehicle tore through the sandstorm at full throttle. Suddenly, in the strobe-light flicker of the atmospheric discharge, a silhouette appeared directly in their path.
CRUNCH.
The SUV slammed into something solid with a bone-jarring impact. The front hood buckled instantly, and the car nearly flipped before skidding to a violent halt. Darcy's head almost met the windshield, and she let out a string of curses while clutching her forehead.
Jane sat frozen, her breath hitching as she stared at the massive dent in her hood. "I... I think I hit a person."
"What?" Erik scrambled to open his door. "Get the first-aid kit! Now!"
They piled out into the fading storm, Darcy hovering behind Jane with a flashlight. They expected to find a mangled corpse. Instead, they watched in stunned silence as a man—shirtless, heavily muscled, and sporting a mane of golden hair—staggered to his feet. He looked like a Greek god carved from marble, and he looked absolutely livid.
Thor, recently stripped of his power and cast out by Odin, was in no mood for mortal hospitality.
"Ah! Who... who dares strike the Prince of Asgard?!" he bellowed. His mind was a fractured mess of grief and rage.
"Hey, easy there, big guy!" Erik said, holding up his hands in a universal gesture of peace. "It was an accident. We didn't see you. We can take you to a hospital, get you some help, okay?"
"Hospital? Help?!" Thor's eyes widened, his pride wounded deeper than his flesh. He grabbed Erik by the collar, hoisting the older man off the ground with terrifying ease. "You have struck a God! You shall pay for this insolence with your lives!"
"Put him down!" Jane and Darcy rushed forward, trying to pry his fingers loose.
Thor ignored them, tossing Erik aside like a sack of grain and turning his fury toward the "steel beast" that had dared to run him down. "Come then! I am Thor, God of the Nine Realms! I fear no iron monster! I shall turn you over with my bare hands!"
Inside the car, Emrys watched the golden-haired lunatic charging toward the SUV. He raised an eyebrow, a cold spark of amusement in his eyes. Showing off, are we? Let's see how you handle a little kinetic feedback.
Emrys focused his psionic will. He reached out to the SUV's control systems, bypassing the ignition. The engine roared to life with a demonic snarl, and the vehicle surged forward under a telekinetic thrust.
BANG!
For the second time in ten minutes, Thor was struck head-on by the silver SUV. This time, however, he was sent hurtling backward. He flew nearly fifteen meters, his body spinning through the air in a spectacular arc before his head buried itself in a nearby sand dune. He lay there, legs twitching in the air, perfectly still.
He was out cold.