"Boss, don't forget to collect DNA samples from the Asgardian soldiers! Get plenty—experiments waste material!" Maya Hansen shouted over the phone, forcing Solomon to find a quiet corner after returning to London. The issue of the Immortal City couldn't be exposed so easily. If necessary, he was even considering building a base on the Moon—provided Stark could recommend a reliable construction team.
"And Thor's DNA is the most important!" Maya added in exasperation.
She had been blindsided by Solomon's return to Earth, finding out only through TV reports. Her frustration with her boss's lack of initiative was palpable. Asgardians were known to be one of the strongest biological species in existence. If her boss didn't secure some genetic material for her research, she was going to lose her mind.
Without Asgardian DNA, Maya couldn't proceed with Solomon's request to create modified warriors capable of storming hell itself. His demands were too high for her to meet without adequate resources.
As for help? She was stuck teaching druids basic biology.
"Have you checked the fridge?" Solomon asked in a low voice.
"What fridge?"
"The one in my office." He sighed. "Thor's blood sample is labeled and stored in the back. I used magic to keep the cells alive. Or were you opening my fridge just to snack on fruit?"
A pause followed. Then came hurried footsteps, the sound of rummaging, and Maya's excited gasp.
"Ah-ha! I take back every complaint—you're the best boss ever!" Maya exclaimed, her voice buzzing with excitement. But then her tone shifted, becoming awkward. "Um… there's one more thing I need to tell you. I, uh… made a little mistake…"
Solomon's eyes flicked to the room he'd left. Thor had unshackled Loki but tied a pink collar and leash around his brother's neck, courtesy of Darcy. She'd blushed furiously when handing it over. Nearby, Thor and Jane had just relayed Coulson's request, but Solomon had already figured it out from the barrage of failed emails and the cracked phone screen.
"Mistake?" Solomon muttered, catching Loki's mischievous grin. He raised his middle finger—a gauntleted one, the universal sign of goodwill.
"Well," Maya admitted, "remember that AI you left me with? It asked where you'd gone, so I told it. But… maybe I wasn't clear enough. I might have said you'd gone to another world… and… it, uh, published your obituary before I could explain."
"This better be your last dumb mistake."
"Actually, I may have left a little surprise for you in your office…"
"Hello, Agent Coulson. When do we depart?" Solomon asked, addressing the mortals standing in the plane's cargo bay. "Preferably now."
A mixed-race girl with tanned skin was quietly approaching the gray fur draped over Solomon's cloak. At his sharp tone, she flinched and scurried away, looking like a startled kitten.
Now she studied the alchemical automaton standing beside Solomon. The girl's expression seemed to critique the automaton's outfit, interpreting it as a projection of Solomon's unchecked male fantasies. A feminist instinct urged her to punch him and deliver a lecture on gender equality—but she hesitated.
Memories of Solomon's past deeds began to surface, especially his silver knight persona from the Battle of New York. Though his hasty enchantments had obscured most details, she could still recall his face.
"This is an exaggeration," Solomon said, his altered voice calm. "I'm merely urging you to move faster."
Despite the spell obscuring his features, his youth was evident. Solomon was the youngest person aboard the plane, yet he towered over them all in his imposing armor. While he was shorter compared to witches, his stature made him a giant among mortals.
"We need to load medical supplies and other logistics into the cargo bay," Coulson explained. "And be careful not to damage my car, Lola. Dr. Erik Selvig says we have time, so we should prepare for contingencies."
"You're kidding, right? I missed Darcy's lasagna for this!" Solomon's anger broke through his illusion spell, fully revealing his face. "All you need to do is clear the civilians, Coulson! You don't need to micromanage everything!"
"You've got grenade launchers loaded!" Solomon continued, his frustration mounting. "Do you even know who our enemies are?"
"Aliens? Aliens with magic?" Coulson shrugged. "The World Security Council would love to see humans fend off another extraterrestrial threat. And this is serious, Solomon. I need to prepare for the possibility of your failure."
"You mean survival after a planetary breath weapon, Coulson?" Solomon tapped the ornate scabbard at his side. "Are you doubting the power of the Holy Sword? Oh, wait, it was unsheathed after your death—sorry about that."
"No need to apologize," Coulson replied smoothly. "S.H.I.E.L.D. must ensure damage control so you can focus on fighting. After all, superheroes don't always fix what they break. And someone has to clean up the tech, chemicals, and biological samples left behind—especially with you, Solomon. We still don't know if your magic poses a contamination risk…"
"Speaking of contamination, I'm detecting gamma radiation…"
"Enough!" Solomon shoved Fitz's device aside as the scientist tried to scan his face. Simmons, meanwhile, hovered with a DNA swab in hand, her curiosity barely contained.
"Go have a hot cocoa," Solomon muttered. A subtle spell followed his suggestion, and the scientists wandered off, seemingly inspired to concoct cocoa from lab beakers and burners.
"Don't enchant my team, Solomon," Coulson protested. "I get the feeling you'd charm all of us to work faster if you could."
"Exactly! If you don't hurry up, your receding hairline will reach your nape. Let's go! Target: London. War is imminent. Bring your oversized toddlers—no, scratch that, toss the grenade launchers. We don't have time for ammo. Stop asking questions! You're worse than complaining parrots!"
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