There had been twenty-two apocalypses to date. There were now four distinct variations of humanity roaming the earth - six, if you counted the undead. It had been suggested that there really should have been a new word to describe "the end of everything forever," but most people had stopped noticing, much less caring, after the tally hit double digits. Not to mention the failure of "forever" in living up to its potential. The last apocalypse wasn't even considered a cataclysm by most major governments. It was just a Thursday. Thor, for his part, still held out hope for Ragnarok, but, seeing as how his mortality stemmed directly from science disproving religion, this wasn't looking likely. "Secaucus Holiday Inn," said Thor, picking up the phone. "What do you want?" Thor was still pretty ticked that God of Thunder didn't carry more weight on a resume.