Kapitel 26: A Hammer in the Desert
The hammer had come down like a thunderclap in the middle of nowhere—literally. Mjolnir rested in a small crater, embedded in the rocky desert floor just outside the town of Puente Antiguo, New Mexico. Civilians had gathered quickly, like moths drawn to the strange, gleaming object. Some laughed, while others grunted and strained as they tried to lift it, turning the whole scene into a spectacle.
Pickup trucks, chains, trolleys—even a full-sized Jeep—had been dragged to the site. One by one, they failed. No amount of brute force made the hammer budge.
"Stuck tighter than Excalibur in that rock," one man muttered, wiping sweat from his brow as he stepped away.
The crowd buzzed with excitement and frustration, their laughter echoing in the desert air.
---
Coulson stood at the edge of the scene, arms crossed over his black suit, sunglasses perched low on his nose as he observed the chaos. The evening wind kicked up small clouds of dust, swirling around his polished shoes. Next to him, Clint Barton—an expert marksman, reluctant agent, and general smartass—shifted his weight, chewing on an unlit toothpick.
"Seeing this, Phil?" Barton asked, disbelief coloring his tone. "This whole thing is getting out of hand."
Coulson gave a small nod, his gaze never leaving the crater. "Yup."
Barton leaned against the hood of a black SUV, folding his arms. "Look at them. They've tried everything—trucks, cranes. Hell, I overheard someone suggesting they fly in a forklift."
"And yet... here we are."
A low chuckle escaped Barton. "I signed up to babysit corrupt politicians and track down government weapons, not deal with mysterious objects stuck in the desert. This? Way above my pay grade."
Coulson glanced at him, a wry smile tugging at his lips. "It's above all our pay grades lately. Seems to be the trend."
Barton sighed, his expression turning serious. "It feels like every time I turn around, something new pops up. You were in New York during that carnival incident, right? Glad I wasn't there for that."
Coulson arched an eyebrow, memories of the chaos in the city flashing in his mind. "Yeah, that was a mess."
"What was that about, anyway? A magician and a guy with Godly powers turning the carnival into a circus? How do you even explain that?"
Coulson exhaled slowly, shaking his head. "No solid explanation yet. Hulk and Stark? We can attribute them to science—gamma radiation and advanced tech. But this…" He gestured toward the hammer, its imposing presence undeniable. "This is something else. Shazam is something else."
Barton glanced sideways, a hint of concern creeping into his expression. "You still haven't talked to him?"
"Not officially," Coulson admitted with a faint smirk. "Fury's had his run-in."
Barton winced. "Poor guy." He shook his head, then glanced back at the hammer. "What do you think it is? Looks like a hammer, but…"
Coulson's smile faded, replaced by a serious demeanor. "It does look like a hammer. But let's hope it's not what it seems. Because with the way nobody can lift it…" He let out a slow breath, the weight of uncertainty heavy in the air. "I'd rather not think about what—or who—dropped it here."
---
Agents had already begun clearing the area, ushering civilians away with gentle but firm hands. Barricades were set up, circling the crater, and tactical vehicles formed a loose perimeter around the site. The hum of generators and portable lights buzzed in the background as the desert sky dimmed, casting long shadows over the scene.
Coulson watched as agents scanned the hammer with handheld devices, their expressions growing more puzzled by the second. The energy readings were off the charts—strange, ancient, and unclassifiable.
One tech shuffled over to Coulson, holding up a tablet. "Sir, the energy signature… it's spiking at irregular intervals. Nothing we've seen before. It's not advanced tech like Stark's stuff, and it doesn't match any known radiation signatures."
Coulson's jaw tightened slightly. "So, you're telling me it's... what? Magic?"
The tech hesitated, clearly uncomfortable. "We don't know, sir. But whatever it is, it's powerful."
Coulson nodded, sending the agent back to his work. He took a step closer to the hammer, eyeing it with a quiet intensity. It gleamed under the artificial lights—smooth, unblemished, ancient. And somehow… it felt wrong being here, out in the open.
Barton joined him, squinting at the hammer. "Okay, Phil. Level with me. What's your gut say?"
Coulson frowned, his eyes narrowing behind his sunglasses. "Something's off. I don't like it."
He knelt at the edge of the crater, staring down at the strange object that seemed far too deliberate—too meaningful—to be random. His fingers brushed the dry dirt.
Whatever this thing was... it wasn't just a hammer. And it wasn't just stuck. It had been placed here—waiting.
He stood, brushing off his hands. "We need to keep this contained. No one in or out until we figure out what we're dealing with."
Barton snorted. "Right. And what exactly are we dealing with?"
Coulson exhaled slowly, his lips pressed into a thin line. "I have no idea."
As the night deepened, the hammer sat silent and immovable, humming with untapped energy.
---
It was a good day. James clocked in at Tech Haven, exchanged lighthearted texts with Rebecca, and navigated Marcus's typical aloofness. After work, he headed straight home, savoring the feeling of normalcy for the first time in a while.
Returning to his apartment, he tossed his bag onto the couch and flicked on the TV for some distraction. The familiar face of J. Jonah Jameson filled the screen, his voice dripping with disdain.
James groaned.
"—and let's not kid ourselves, folks. Shazam may have saved a life, but what about the destruction he brought upon this city? Where was he for the past month? In hiding, I tell you! The so-called hero is nothing more than a walking disaster waiting to happen! And now the people are praising him? It's an outrage!"
James sighed, running a hand through his hair in disbelief.
"Well, at least someone's motivated."
Suddenly, his phone buzzed on the counter, cutting through the rising frustration. He glanced at the screen and felt his stomach drop.
The caller ID read "Agent Eye-Patch."
With a grimace, he cut the call, but the phone buzzed again almost immediately. Reluctantly, he picked up the device, knowing he couldn't avoid this forever.
"Carter," Fury's voice boomed through the speaker, urgent and commanding. "Pack your bags. We need you in New Mexico."
James felt his heart race, a mixture of anxiety and annoyance surging through him. "What for? I've got a life here—"
"Not up for debate, kid. We found an alien object, and it's of utmost importance. This isn't just about you anymore; it's bigger than that."
At first, James couldn't believe what he'd just heard. An alien object? It sounded unreal, almost laughable. A strange mixture of curiosity and dread gnawed at him. He wanted to refuse, to dismiss the urgency in Fury's voice, but then his gaze drifted back to the TV.
There it was—footage of him flying into a building, chaos swirling around him, and emerging with a child cradled safely in his arms. The kid clung to him tightly, eyes wide with fear. Gritting his teeth, James battled the flood of complicated emotions surging within him—pride, fear, guilt.
"Fine. But James Carter is going, not Shazam," he snapped, his voice laced with determination. It was time to confront whatever awaited him, but he refused to lose sight of who he was.
"Whatever helps you sleep at night. Just get here," Fury replied before hanging up, leaving James standing in the middle of his apartment, frustration washing over him.
He took a deep breath, trying to wrap his head around the sudden call to action. As much as he wanted to resist, he knew he couldn't ignore this. He had to face whatever was waiting for him in New Mexico.
Because no matter how much he denied it, he was Shazam.
With a heavy sigh, he began to pack, steeling himself for what lay ahead.
Wöchentlicher Energiestatus
-- Power-
Rangliste 
-- Power-
Stein