#caleanandgods

Calean had experienced an awkward week—the strangest of his entire life. Not that anything before joining the Golden Army mattered anymore. In just a few days, he had been tricked into behaving like a dog, following fake directives about gym clothes, even wearing a “new kit” that turned out to be another prank.

And the worst part? He believed it all. Every time.

Why wouldn’t he? They were his bros. His brothers. Trust came naturally… maybe too naturally.

So there he was, walking toward the gym for his second training session of the day, still replaying everything in his head. That’s when he saw someone approaching.

Jordan.

They knew each other from the locker room—never really talked, but familiar enough. Calean straightened up, thinking maybe this was finally the moment to connect, to bond properly.

But something was… off.

Jordan wasn’t just walking. He was glowing. Golden energy pulsed around him, radiating power, intensity—something divine. Calean froze.

Then Jordan spoke.

“You are an interesting subject.”

The voice wasn’t his.

It echoed, layered, ancient.

Loki.

“You’ve experienced all kinds of pranks this week,” the voice continued, amused. “And every one of them fed me. So now… I’ll reward you. A classic. With a twist.”

Before Calean could react, the golden energy surged forward, wrapping around him. It burned bright—too bright. He couldn’t see. Couldn’t think. Couldn’t resist.

Light swallowed everything.

And then—

Silence.

When it faded… Calean was gone.

Or at least, that’s what his mind believed.

Because standing there, in the middle of the street, was something else entirely.

A bright, ridiculous, squeaky form.

An inflatable rubber chicken.

Frozen. Helpless. Displayed.

People passed by, laughing, pointing, taking pictures. Some posed next to him. Others poked him, amused by the absurdity.

And somewhere deep inside that hollow, rubbery shell… Calean’s thoughts drifted.

Confused.

Foggy.

Accepting.

Another prank.

Another “normal” part of the week.

Loki’s illusion was perfect.

Too perfect.

Because to Calean… it was real.