[The elevator had reached its destination level. The descent had been silent except for the mechanical hum of the machinery. Now, as the car settled into position with a soft chime, the moment of action had arrived. Thor stood near the door, his posture shifting from the contemplative stance he'd held during their conversation to something more alert, more ready.]
Thor suddenly turned to Loki with an expression that was almost playful despite their circumstances. His voice carried a hint of mischief—ironic, considering who he was talking to. "Hey! Let's play 'Save Life'!" The suggestion came out with the enthusiasm of someone proposing a fun game rather than a tactical deception.
[Loki's head snapped toward Thor, his eyes widening with immediate understanding and equally immediate rejection. His entire face showed horror at the suggestion. "What?!!" The word came out strangled, disbelieving. His mind raced through the implications—the humiliation, the indignity, the sheer embarrassment of what Thor was proposing.]
[He shook his head decisively, his hands coming up in a stopping gesture. "No!" His voice was firm, absolute, leaving no room for negotiation. "Absolutely not! I am a prince of Asgard! I am not playing the dying damsel!"]
[But Thor pressed on, his voice taking on a cajoling, almost wheedling quality.]
"Come on! You can pretend to be whatever you like! Dying of poison! Mortally wounded! Mysterious alien illness! Your choice!"
[His expression showed he thought this was a perfectly reasonable plan.]
[Loki's face twisted with disgust. His voice rose with indignation.]
"I'm disgusted! This is beneath me! This is beneath both of us! We're gods, Thor! Gods don't play pretend to fool mortal guards!"
[Thor's grin widened, his voice carrying satisfaction.]
"Great! That reaction! That works every time!"
[He'd gotten exactly the response he'd wanted—Loki's genuine disgust meant the performance would be even more convincing.]
"The more you hate it, the better you'll sell it!"
[Loki's expression shifted to calculating resignation. He could see the tactical value even if he despised the method. His voice became sharp, challenging.]
"So, do you have a better idea?"
[The question carried the weight of knowing Thor probably didn't have an alternative plan. This was the option available, however distasteful.]
[Thor spread his hands, his voice taking on false innocence.]
"We could always just fight our way through! But that seems... loud. Time-consuming. Your choice, brother!"
[Loki grimaced, his shoulders sagging with defeat.]
"We're not playing 'Help.'"
[His voice was firm, as if saying it out loud would make it true, would prevent this humiliation from occurring.]
[But of course, Loki—who said one thing and did another as naturally as breathing—ended up playing exactly the game he'd just refused. Because despite his pride, despite his dignity, he could see it was the smart play. And Loki, above all else, made the smart play.]
[When the elevator door finally slid open with a soft pneumatic hiss, revealing the hangar level beyond, the transformation was immediate and dramatic. Thor had positioned himself to support Loki's weight, one of his brother's arms draped over his shoulders. Loki's head lolled convincingly, his body appearing limp and barely conscious. His face had taken on a pained, weakened expression that would have fooled anyone who didn't know better.]
[Thor's voice rang out across the hangar space, carrying genuine-sounding panic and desperation. His eyes were wide, his expression showing fear for his brother's life.]
"Help! Please! My brother is dying! Help! Save him!"
[He staggered forward, carrying Loki's weight as if it was a burden, as if he was struggling to keep his brother upright. His voice cracked with emotion.]
"Someone help! He needs medical attention! He was poisoned! Or injured! Something terrible happened! Please!"
[The guards stationed near the hangar entrance immediately looked toward the commotion. Their training told them to be suspicious, but the sight of two men—one clearly in distress, supporting another who appeared gravely injured—triggered their instincts to help. They lowered their weapons slightly, moving forward to assist rather than attack. Several guards rushed toward them, their hands reaching out to help support the "injured" man.]
[Thor and Loki continued their stumbling advance, moving closer to the cluster of guards. Thor kept up a steady stream of panicked commentary, selling the deception. Loki's performance was equally impressive—occasional gasps of pain, weak movements, the perfect picture of someone on the edge of death.]
[When they were close enough—when the guards had committed to helping, when their weapons were lowered, when their attention was focused on the apparent medical emergency rather than security—Thor suddenly changed. His expression shifted from panicked concern to savage satisfaction in an instant.]
[With a powerful motion, Thor suddenly grabbed Loki more firmly and threw him forward with tremendous force. Loki's body—no longer limp but controlled, ready—flew through the air like a projectile. His mass and momentum carried him directly into the cluster of guards. The impact was devastating. Bodies went flying. Weapons clattered to the ground. The guards collapsed in a tangle of armored limbs, completely unprepared for the sudden attack.]
[Thor followed immediately behind Loki's aerial assault, his fists already swinging. He moved through the disoriented guards with brutal efficiency, eliminating any who tried to rise or reach for weapons.]
Within seconds, the immediate area was clear. Guards lay unconscious or groaning on the ground, completely neutralized. Thor stood among them, barely winded, very pleased with the result of their deception.
"Perfect!" His voice carried genuine satisfaction and perhaps a hint of smugness. The plan had worked exactly as intended.
[Loki pushed himself up from where he'd landed among the guards, brushing off his clothes with exaggerated disgust. His face was twisted with mortification and annoyance. He wouldn't make eye contact with Thor.]
"How disgusting! This is so embarrassing!" His voice was sharp, carrying genuine irritation beneath the words. His pride had taken a beating even if the tactic had been effective. "I can't believe you made me do that! Me! The God of Mischief! Reduced to playing dead fish!"
[Thor just grinned, completely unrepentant. He turned away from Loki to survey the hangar beyond, his expression lighting up with interest.]
"Anyway, I'm not the one who's embarrassed!"
[His tone was cheerful, dismissive of Loki's wounded dignity.]
"You're the one who has to live with being thrown like a sack of potatoes!"
[His eyes fixed on a particular spacecraft sitting in one of the hangar bays—a sleek vessel with distinctive lines and obvious quality. The ship gleamed under the hangar lights, clearly one of the Grandmaster's better vehicles.]
"Did she ask us to take that spaceship away?"
[Thor's voice carried curiosity mixed with appreciation for the craft's obvious capabilities.]
[Loki, having recovered some of his composure, followed Thor's gaze. He pointed at the yellow-accented spacecraft with its distinctive design.]
"The Commodore!"
[His voice identified it with certainty. He'd clearly been studying the available ships, planning his own potential escape routes.]
"One of the Grandmaster's personal collection! Very fast, excellent shields, state-of-the-art—for Sakaar, anyway!"
[The two brothers walked forward together toward the spacecraft, their footsteps echoing in the vast hangar space. Other ships sat in various bays around them, but the Commodore was clearly the prize.]
[Then, without warning or visible spell-casting, Loki suddenly created an illusion of himself. The duplicate appeared walking beside Thor, matching his stride perfectly, looking and moving exactly like the real Loki. Meanwhile, his actual body peeled off silently to the side, moving with practiced stealth toward a different objective.]
[The fake Loki—the illusion walking beside Thor—suddenly spoke, its voice carrying philosophical musing.]
"Though I don't think there's any real difference at all!"
[The words seemed to come from nowhere, apropos of nothing, designed to keep Thor's attention focused on the illusion rather than looking for the real Loki.]
[Thor's brow furrowed. Something felt off, wrong. His instincts—honed through centuries of dealing with Loki's tricks—were screaming warnings. He sighed deeply, his expression becoming resigned, almost disappointed but not surprised. His voice came out tired.]
"Oh! Loki!"
[It was said with the weariness of someone who'd hoped for better but expected exactly this.]
[He turned and looked away from the illusion, his eyes scanning the hangar. He found what he was looking for almost immediately. His gaze fixed on a specific direction, tracking movement that wasn't quite invisible, spotting the real Loki through whatever mystical sense or simple brother-knowledge allowed him to see through the deception.]
[Loki's real body stood beside a communication panel near the hangar's main control station. He had reached it without Thor noticing the approach—or so he'd thought. Now, realizing Thor had spotted him, he abandoned stealth. He spread his hands wide in a gesture that was almost apologetic but carried more smugness than regret. He looked at Thor and smiled—that characteristic Loki smile that said "you should have expected this."]
[His voice was conversational, almost friendly, as if he was explaining something simple to a child.]
"I know I've betrayed you many times before! Countless times, really! I've lost count myself!"
[He paused, his smile widening.]
"But this isn't personal! It never is! The reward for catching you and returning the Grandmaster's champion is substantial! Very substantial! Enough to buy my freedom from this place, establish myself comfortably elsewhere! You understand—it's just business! Just survival! Just... me being me!"
[After delivering this explanation, his hand moved to the communication panel. With a final apologetic shrug, he pressed the alarm button. Immediately, klaxons began blaring throughout the hangar. Red warning lights started flashing. Automated security protocols activated. Lockdown procedures initiated. Within seconds, reinforcements would pour in from every entrance.]
[Thor stood there watching this unfold. Although he had expected something like this—Loki was, after all, predictable in his unpredictability—he still felt a wave of disappointment wash over him. Some small part of him, despite everything, had hoped this time would be different. His expression showed that hurt, that perpetual wound of having a brother you couldn't trust.]
[His voice came out quiet, almost sad.]
"Don't you have any feelings at all?"
[The question was genuine, searching. Did Loki feel anything when he did these things? Regret? Guilt? Anything?]
[Loki's grin widened, becoming almost manic. His voice took on that theatrical quality he used when hiding real emotions behind performance.]
"Emotions are fleeting!"
[He said it like it was wisdom, like he'd discovered some great truth.]
"Here one moment, gone the next! Best not to get too attached to them!"
[Thor's expression changed then. The disappointment was still there, but it was joined by something else—a knowing look, almost pitying. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small remote control device. He held it up, displaying it clearly for Loki to see. His voice was calm, carrying grim satisfaction.]
"I agree!"
[The two words were weighted with meaning.]
[Loki's smiling face suddenly froze. The grin disappeared as if it had never existed, replaced by dawning horror. His expression shifted through several emotions in rapid succession—confusion, realization, understanding, alarm. He immediately glanced down at his chest, his hands patting frantically at his torso, searching for something he knew had to be there but couldn't see.]
[Then memory clicked into place. His eyes widened further. The elevator. Thor patting him on the back. That affectionate gesture that had seemed genuine, brotherly. It had been genuine—genuinely tactical. Thor had planted something.]
[Before Loki could say anything, before he could protest or plead or try to talk his way out of this, Thor pressed the button on the remote control. The obedience disk—the same type of shock collar that had controlled the gladiators, that Thor had somehow obtained and hidden on Loki during their earlier moment of closeness—activated immediately.]
[Electricity coursed through Loki's body with visible arcs of blue-white energy. His entire body went rigid, his muscles contracting involuntarily. His back arched. His mouth opened in a silent scream. The electrical discharge was severe, designed to incapacitate completely. After several seconds of this, his legs gave out. He collapsed to the floor in an undignified heap, his limbs twitching uncontrollably, completely unable to move with any coordination.]
[Thor deactivated the remote and approached his fallen brother. He stood over Loki, looking down at the twitching form with an expression mixing sympathy, disappointment, and grim necessity. His voice was conversational, almost gentle, despite the violence he'd just inflicted.]
"Oh! That doesn't look good at all!"
[He crouched down slightly to better see Loki's face.]
"My dear brother! You're becoming increasingly easy to see through! Do you realize that?"
[His tone suggested he was pointing out a genuine flaw that Loki should work on.]
"I trusted you! Gave you a chance! And you betrayed me! Again! It's the same cycle over and over again! The exact same pattern! You'd think we'd both get tired of it eventually!"
[He stood back up, his voice taking on that lecturing quality of an older brother trying to impart wisdom.]
"Look, Loki! Life is about growth! It's about change! It's about becoming better versions of ourselves!"
[He gestured expansively.]
"But you! You just can't seem to change your nature! You're stuck in these same patterns! The same tricks! The same betrayals! Don't you want to be more than this?"
[His expression softened slightly, becoming almost sad.]
"I think what I want to tell you—what I need you to hear—is that although you are the God of Mischief, although that's your title and your nature, your abilities are far more than that!"
[His voice carried genuine conviction.]
"You could be so much more if you chose to be! You're brilliant! Powerful! Capable of incredible things! But you keep limiting yourself to tricks and betrayals! Why?"
[Thor pulled the remote control from his pocket again and held it for a moment, considering. Then, with a deliberate motion, he tossed it to the ground near Loki's twitching hand. The device clattered across the floor, coming to rest within reach—if Loki could recover enough coordination to grasp it.]
"I put this here for you!"
[His voice made it clear this was intentional, not careless.]
"When you can move again, you can free yourself! Consider it a gift! Or a test! Or just me being sentimental!"
[He turned away, walking toward the Commodore spacecraft. Over his shoulder, he called back:]
"Anyway, let's just accept our fate! You be you, I'll be me!"
[His tone was almost cheerful, accepting.]
"So, good luck, buddy! Try not to get caught by the Grandmaster! He seemed pretty angry!"
[Loki lay on the floor, his body still twitching with residual electrical discharge. He couldn't speak, couldn't move properly, could only watch helplessly as Thor walked toward the spacecraft. His eyes followed his brother's form, showing emotions too complex to name—rage, humiliation, hurt, and perhaps something else. Perhaps regret.]
[Thor reached the Commodore and climbed aboard, entering the cockpit with confident steps. He settled into the pilot's seat, his hands moving across the unfamiliar controls with curiosity and determination.]
"All right! I can handle this! It's just an ordinary spaceship!"
[His voice carried more confidence than his expression suggested he actually felt. The control panel was covered in symbols he didn't recognize, buttons whose functions were mysterious, displays showing information he couldn't quite interpret.]
[But Thor was never one to let ignorance stop him. He rubbed his hand across the main control panel almost affectionately, as if that would help him understand it better. His fingers found what looked like a primary activation control and pressed it.]
[The response was immediate and dramatic. The spaceship's engines roared to life with a sound like thunder. Tail flames erupted from the rear thrusters with brilliant intensity, the heat visible even from inside the cockpit. The ship lunged forward with sudden, violent acceleration, rushing toward the hangar exit ahead with barely controlled velocity. Thor's hands scrambled across the controls, trying to steer, trying to understand the ship's handling characteristics before he crashed into something expensive.]
Back in the real world on Earth, the assembled heroes were watching this sequence unfold with various reactions.
"Loki is such a stubborn guy, isn't he?" Tony's voice carried exasperation mixed with a certain grudging respect. Even as he spoke, he was in combat himself—his armor's targeting systems locked onto multiple Sakaar spacecraft. He launched a salvo of micro-missiles that streaked through the alien sky, each finding its mark. Explosions blossomed across his visual field as enemy ships disintegrated. "He never learns! Every single time, he plays the same cards!"
"Yeah! He is just like that, always using little tricks and schemes!" Natasha's voice came through the comms as she flew through the air, wielding Mjolnir with increasing confidence. The hammer gave her Thor's abilities—flight, enhanced strength, lightning control. She swung Mjolnir in a wide arc, and the hammer smashed directly through an approaching spacecraft. The vessel crumpled like paper, spinning out of control before exploding. "You'd think centuries of failure would teach him to try a different approach!"
"Thor! Have you found Valkyrie yet?" Carol Danvers—Captain Marvel—flew above the chaos, her photon-powered form glowing against Sakaar's polluted sky. She surveyed the battlefield below, watching enemy fighter craft multiply. More and more were launching from various hangar bays scattered throughout the city. "We've got increasing numbers here! They're throwing everything they have at us!"
"Found her!" Thor's voice came back through the communication system, steady despite the chaos. On the ground level of the tower, having fought his way through countless guards and security systems, he finally spotted his target. He glanced around a corner and saw Valkyrie crouched behind a reinforced wall. She and a group of freed gladiators—Korg among them—were pinned down by withering fire from Grandmaster security forces. Heavy weapons tore chunks from their cover. They couldn't advance, couldn't retreat, stuck in a tactical stalemate that would only end badly once enemy reinforcements arrived.
Valkyrie, focused on the immediate threat to her front, suddenly sensed movement to her side. Her head whipped around, weapon rising instinctively. Then she saw who it was and her eyes widened with genuine surprise. Thor? Here? How?
"Hi!" Thor's greeting was almost cheerful as he materialized beside her, as casual as if they'd run into each other at a market rather than a combat zone. In his hand, he carried Stormbreaker—his new weapon, the mighty axe that even the Grandmaster's forces would learn to fear. The weapon thrummed with barely contained power, lightning crackling along its blade.
"Hey!" Valkyrie's response came automatically before her mind caught up. Her eyes were drawn immediately to the weapon in Thor's hand, recognition and confusion warring on her face. "Is that your new weapon? Where's your hammer? What happened to Mjolnir?" Her voice carried genuine curiosity mixed with the assessment of a veteran warrior evaluating another's armament. The axe was clearly powerful—she could feel the energy radiating from it even without touching it. Her eyes were bright with interest, studying every detail of Stormbreaker's construction.
Thor's expression flickered with something complex—loss, acceptance, pride. "Uh... it's a long story!" His voice carried the weight of experiences he couldn't easily summarize. "My hammer is in someone else's hands now! Someone worthy who can wield it!"
Valkyrie blinked in genuine shock. "Who?" The question was immediate, disbelieving. Mjolnir was famously particular. For someone else to lift it, to be deemed worthy by Odin's enchantment—that was extraordinary.
"Natasha!" Thor's voice carried pride mixed with still-fresh amazement. "Natasha Romanoff! She lifted my hammer! She gained the power of Thor! The lightning, the strength—all of it!" He shook his head, still processing it himself. "All right! We'll talk about this later! It's a whole thing! Right now, let me help you with this obstacle!"
Without waiting for a response, Thor stepped forward out of cover. Enemy fire immediately focused on him, energy bolts searing the air around his position. But he didn't flinch, didn't dodge. Instead, he drew Stormbreaker back with both hands, his muscles tensing, power building in the weapon.
Then he swung the Axe forward with devastating force. The weapon left his hands, flying through the air like a missile. But this was no ordinary throw. Lightning—pure, brilliant, destructive lightning—erupted from the axe as it flew. The weapon became a bolt of thunder given physical form, crackling with blue-white energy that lit up the entire corridor.
Stormbreaker flew through the hall destroying everything in its path. The soldiers manning the heavy weapons positions didn't even have time to scream. The lightning struck them, the axe blade cut through armor and flesh and bone and metal without distinction. Bodies fell. Weapons exploded. Defensive positions evaporated. Within seconds, the entire security force that had been pinning down Valkyrie's group was simply gone—dead or incapacitated, their weapons reduced to smoking slag.
The axe completed its devastating arc and began its return journey, called back by its master. Thor raised his hand casually, and Stormbreaker flew directly into his palm with a satisfying THUNK of handle against flesh. He caught it one-handed, barely seeming to notice the weight, as if he'd done this a thousand times despite having owned the weapon for only a short while.
"Done! Let's go! Come on!" Thor's voice was cheerful, businesslike, as if he'd just completed a minor chore rather than obliterating an entire squad. He gestured with Stormbreaker toward the now-clear corridor, inviting them to advance. He walked forward gracefully, his movements controlled and confident.
"Wow! Cool! Man!" Korg's rocky voice carried genuine awe and enthusiasm. The stone man had fought beside many warriors, seen many weapons, but Stormbreaker's display had been genuinely impressive. He couldn't help starting to praise Thor, his voice taking on the quality of someone who'd just witnessed greatness. "That was extraordinary! Did you see the lightning? The precision? The raw power? That was—"
"You've become so powerful!" Valkyrie interrupted Korg's rambling praise, but her voice carried similar admiration. She stood from behind cover, her eyes fixed on Thor with new assessment. This wasn't the slightly bumbling thunder god she'd met on Sakaar. This was something else—someone who'd grown, who'd evolved, who'd been forged in fires she could only imagine.
Thor turned his head to look at her, meeting her gaze directly. His expression was serious despite the casual tone of his recent actions. "Just like I said—people always need to grow! I have grown!" His voice carried weight, carrying meanings beyond the simple words. Only he knew the full truth of that statement. Only he knew how thrilling and terrible his journey through Nidavellir had been, how he'd nearly died obtaining Stormbreaker.
He'd risked his life, taken the full force of a dying star's power directly to his body, nearly burned away completely in the process. The pain had been unimaginable, the closest he'd come to true death in his long existence. But he'd survived, and his efforts had been rewarded. Stormbreaker was his now—a weapon worthy of a king, powerful enough to challenge even Thanos.
His efforts had been directly proportional to his gains. Power never came without cost.
[Meanwhile, in the broadcast footage, Thor piloted the Commodore spacecraft away from the Rune Tower. He navigated through Sakaar's chaotic urban landscape, weaving between buildings, the ship's handling still unfamiliar but manageable. The city sprawled below him—a maze of mismatched architecture, accumulated refuse from a thousand civilizations, all presided over by the Grandmaster's distinctive tower.]
[High above the city, projected on massive screens and holographic displays visible from every angle, the Supreme Lord's face appeared. His expression showed theatrical outrage mixed with genuine anger—his carefully controlled world was falling apart, and he was not handling it well.]
"People of Sakaar! Attention, all citizens!"
[His voice boomed across the city, amplified through countless speakers.]
"Thunderman Thor—that treacherous, ungrateful, admittedly attractive gladiator—has stolen my personal spacecraft! The Commodore! And he's taken my champion with him!"
[His voice rose with each accusation.]
"People of Sakaar! This is your opportunity! Fly up and shoot him down! Stop him! Don't let him escape from this planet! Whoever brings him back—alive, preferably, but I'm flexible—will be greatly rewarded! Greatly!"
[Under the Grandmaster's command, under the promise of reward, a massive number of fighter craft were dispatched. They launched from various hangar bays scattered throughout the city, rising into the polluted sky like a swarm of mechanical insects. Their weapons systems activated, targeting sensors locking onto the fleeing Commodore. This was now a city-wide manhunt, and Thor was the prey.]
[Within moments, multiple spacecraft had caught up to Thor's position. They formed a loose pursuit formation behind the Commodore, their pilots coordinating attack patterns. The lead ship opened fire, energy weapons lancing through the air toward Thor's stolen vessel. Bright bolts of destructive power streaked after him, seeking to disable his engines or destroy him outright.]
[Fortunately, the Commodore—being one of the Grandmaster's personal collection—had very powerful energy shields. The incoming fire struck the defensive barriers and dissipated in colorful splashes of discharged energy. The shields held firm against ordinary firepower, the ship's advanced technology protecting its occupant. But Thor knew this couldn't last. Eventually, sustained fire would wear down even these excellent defenses. This still wasn't a sustainable situation. He needed backup, needed to break free from the pursuit, needed to reach that massive wormhole before his luck ran out.]
[On another trajectory, approaching from a different vector, Valkyrie piloted her own spacecraft—or rather, one she'd liberated from the hangar during her rebellion. She'd lost her original ship to the Grandmaster's retaliation, but she'd quickly acquired a replacement. The vessel wasn't as nice as her old one, but it was fast and well-armed. She spotted the Commodore being pursued and immediately altered course to intercept.]
[She lined up her targeting system, tracked the enemy fighter that was harassing Thor's ship, and opened fire. Her weapons discharged with sharp cracks, energy bolts streaking through the sky. Her aim was perfect—years of bounty hunting had honed her skills. The pursuing fighter's shields collapsed under her assault, then the hull was breached. The spacecraft exploded in a brilliant fireball, debris spinning away in all directions. One threat eliminated.]
Banner, sitting in the co-pilot seat next to Valkyrie, watching this display of aerial combat marksmanship, let out an exclamation of genuine admiration. "Excellent marksmanship!" His voice carried the appreciation of a scientist recognizing exceptional skill. His hands gripped the edges of his seat, knuckles white with tension. Flying through alien dogfights was significantly outside his comfort zone.
[Valkyrie acknowledged the compliment with the tiniest of nods, her focus remaining on piloting. She accelerated, the ship's engines responding smoothly to her commands. She maneuvered to catch up with Thor's Commodore, positioning her vessel beneath and slightly behind his. Once in position, she reached up and patted the emergency hatch release above her seat—a bright red panel with clear markings.]
[Her voice called out, broadcasting to Thor's ship:]
"Open the hatch!"
[It wasn't a request so much as a command, delivered with the confidence of someone who expected to be obeyed.]
"Okay!" Thor's response came back immediately through the communication channel. He'd been expecting something like this, though he wasn't entirely sure what Valkyrie's plan was.
[His hands found the hatch controls on his panel and activated them. The bottom hatch of the Commodore opened with a mechanical whir, revealing the open air below and Valkyrie's ship flying in close formation beneath.]
[Valkyrie, still focused on her flying, turned her head slightly toward Banner. Her expression was calm, but her eyes held a hint of mischief. She called out to him over the sound of the engines and rushing air:]
"I hope you're stronger than you look!"
[The statement was delivered with just enough ambiguity to be concerning.]
Banner's head turned toward her, confusion and growing alarm warring on his face. "Why? What does that—"
[Before he could finish the question, before he could properly react or brace himself, the ejection seat he was sitting in suddenly activated. The emergency release triggered with explosive force.]
[Banner's seat—and Banner himself—were suddenly launched upward with tremendous velocity, expelled from Valkyrie's ship like a missile from a launcher. His startled exclamation was lost in the roar of wind and engines as he rocketed upward toward the open hatch of Thor's Commodore above.]