Prologue

Loki woke up one fine summer morning to the sound of the lock on his bedroom door being picked. He knew this, of course, because he had picked enough locks to recognize the sound. Although he usually preferred using magic. Or explosions.

He groaned.

The door flew open, to reveal a short man wearing an orange T-shirt with the word Pumpkins emblazoned on it, and a cape obviously made from a sheet of plastic. It hadn't even bothered with the futile task of trying to look intimidating.

"I," the man proclaimed, straightening himself to his full puny height, "Am George."

Loki sat up. "George who?" he said.

The man looked vaguely insulted. "George Weathermarrow, if you must know," he said tetchily. "I am here to kill you for your crimes against humanity."

"And Jotunheim," Loki put in helpfully. "You can't forget that."

The man scowled, pulling a butterfly net from under his cape.

"How, may I ask," Loki said, with a sneer of disdain, "are you planning to kill me with that?"

"I thought the whole thing out." The man said, with a faint smile on his lips, and a far away look in his eyes. "I will cast the net mightily over your sorry head and twist it with great force, creating a severe strain on your neck, causing it to snap."

Loki couldn't help it. He laughed.

The man let out what was probably supposed to be a roar, and flew at Loki, butterfly net outstretched.

Loki stood up.

/

FRONT PAGE NEWS:

George Weathermarrow, a conscientious and quiet man of 42, has gone missing this past week. His wife stated that, "He left on Monday morning to go to work just as he usually does. I haven't seen him since."

It's been one week since the man's mysterious disappearance, and police have found no sign of him, though they say there is no reason to suspect foul play.

"It's possible he just wandered off and got lost. Happens to my dog all the time."

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