The sun was setting in the west.
Culver Lake was hushed; a breeze skimmed the surface, raising ripples and brushing the riverbank as it chilled Natasha, who lay unconscious on the grass, back to wakefulness.
Natasha slowly opened her eyes, staring blankly at the orange-red sun.
A second later—
Her pupils snapped into focus and she sprang from the ground, dropping into a classic combat stance.
But…
No one was around. Only the yellow Corolla not far off with its roof crushed in—and, before what was now a heap of ruins where a lakeside cabin had stood, Bruce Banner, life or death uncertain, lying on the cracked ground.
Wait.
Bruce Banner?
Natasha snapped to, hurried to Bruce's side—soaked head to toe, wearing only a very sturdy pair of shorts—and, after feeling a faint breath, pulled an injector from her pocket and, with a click, drove it into his chest.
The effect was immediate.
The moment she pulled out the needle, Bruce's closed eyes flew open.
Then—
"Ah!"
Bruce shot upright with a terrified look, mouth gaping as he gulped air.
Watching him spring back, Natasha let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding.
After a while, Bruce's breathing steadied, and the panic on his face eased.
Natasha helped him to the base of a tree—sheared off two-thirds of the way up—by the shore. Once Bruce had settled against the trunk, she began to ask questions.
"What happened?"
"…"
Bruce didn't answer. Brow furrowed tight, he seemed to be forcing himself to remember.
Natasha didn't rush him. She waited—and absently rubbed the back of her own head as a thought crossed her mind.
She recalled, with crystal clarity, the eyes she'd seen just before blacking out.
Because…
Those had been a perfect pie-chart pair of eyes.
Who was that girl?
Natasha wondered.
Just then—
Still frowning, Bruce looked down at both arms, squeezed the muscles, as if to confirm something, then looked up at Natasha. After a moment's thought, he said, low and firm, "Hulk is dead."
Natasha blinked back to the present, eyes widening. It was as if she hadn't heard—or couldn't bring herself to believe it.
Because…
It was Hulk.
"Hulk is dead."
Bruce repeated himself, then, piecing together flashes of memory, went on: "He dragged Hulk to the bottom of the lake. Hulk couldn't shake him—he was suppressed, pinned on the lakebed. The guy seemed not to need air. He killed Hulk down there. But… he chose not to kill me."
His tone was hard to pin down, and his feelings toward Hulk's killer were, too.
How to put it?
Did he hate him?
Not exactly.
No one hated Hulk more than Bruce himself. After the Battle of New York he'd reached a truce with Hulk—could even transform at will—but that didn't mean he'd accepted Hulk entirely.
Given the choice, he would rather never become Hulk again.
Hulk had destroyed the life he once had—cost him his girlfriend—and sent him into hiding in a place where even the air felt toxic.
Now the dream had come true: someone had killed the Hulk inside him.
From that angle, Bruce felt more like thanking the man than hating him.
It's just…
Gratitude?
Bruce's brow knit with a strange feeling he couldn't name.
One thing, however, was certain.
"Hulk is dead."
"Killed by that one called Hawk."
"I'm sure of it."
He drew a deep breath, clenched his fists under Natasha's gaze—and found he could no longer sense the familiar twitch of impending transformation.
A small part of him felt oddly hollow, as if something had gone missing.
Natasha fell silent at his confirmation.
At that moment, a shrill ringtone sounded from the grass nearby.
Natasha started, then quickly got up and ran toward it.
Sure enough—
Her dropped phone.
She snatched it up, read the caller ID, took a breath, and answered.
"Director."
"Natasha."
S.H.I.E.L.D. Triskelion HQ.
In the command center, Nick Fury—black coat, black eyepatch, unmistakable—stood hands on hips. Hearing Natasha's voice come through clearly, he asked at once,
"How long to reach Tennessee?"
"Estimated…"
Natasha opened her mouth—then looked at Bruce, who was leaning against the tree with a complex expression: part joy, part loss, part anger. She remembered.
"Director, Hulk has been killed."
"…"
Fury's face froze. His single eye narrowed.
Commander Maria Hill, standing nearby in S.H.I.E.L.D. tactical dress, also stared.
"What do you mean, Hulk is dead? Bruce Banner is dead?"
"No. Dr. Bruce Banner is alive. Hulk is dead."
"…"
Hulk dead, Bruce Banner alive?
Both the Director and the Commander were thrown.
Fury recovered, his dark features set. "Report in detail."
"Understood."
Natasha began from the top: meeting Dr. Banner at the airport; arriving smoothly at the lakeside cabin; Banner dropping off his bag and preparing to return to the airport for Tennessee—when a man named Hawk appeared, claiming he'd come to avenge his sister.
She continued with how Hawk—who looked no older than twenty-one—went toe-to-toe with Hulk, dragged him into the lake, and killed him underwater.
She hid nothing—she even included how Gwen had knocked her out.
Listening in the Triskelion command center, Fury and Hill were floored.
When Natasha got to the part about being KO'd by a girl also under twenty-one, the corner of Hill's mouth twitched.
Fury's breath audibly hitched.
Good grief.
The Black Widow of S.H.I.E.L.D., a top-tier operative—knocked out by a teenage girl?
You had to be kidding.
Natasha caught the pause in their breathing. "Apologies, Director, Commander. It happened too fast. I didn't think it through."
Looking back, she had been careless.
How could a random girl show up here, at this exact time, by coincidence?
But she'd just come to after the shockwave, head still foggy; Gwen had no visible weapon and looked harmless.
Result…
A future black mark on her record.
Thinking of that made Natasha a little melancholy.
Then Hill spoke again.
"Do you believe the girl who knocked you out is working with the one called Hawk?"
"Without question."
Natasha nodded, then frowned slightly as she remembered something.
"But…"
"Speak."
Fury's voice was low.
Natasha relayed what Bruce had told her: after killing Hulk, Hawk could have left Bruce to drown—but chose to haul him up instead.
And her own recollection—
What Hawk had said.
"The guilty have names and faces."
"What was that?"
Hill hadn't quite heard her mutter.
Natasha refocused. "Commander, Hawk said from the start he'd come for Hulk—he came for revenge."
So…
Was that why he didn't kill Natasha or Bruce?
Principled, in his way.
Hill thought so.
Fury clearly did not.
"Heh."
Hands on hips, Fury let out a short, cold laugh. "Natasha, you said he called you by name—and S.H.I.E.L.D.?"
Natasha blinked.
"Yes."
"That's fear. He doesn't want to make an enemy of us."
"…"
Natasha fell silent.
Hill glanced over, brows creasing; she didn't agree.
They knew how tough Hulk was—couldn't kill him even from miles up in a glass cell.
So what about a man who had killed Hulk?
She was about to object when Fury spoke again.
"His name is just 'Hawk'. Anything else we can use to find him?"
"…One moment."
Natasha looked around and spotted a license plate on the crushed Corolla not far off. "Director, there's a vehicle at the scene—likely theirs."
Fury's single eye lit up.
"GW521!"
"Run it."
He snapped the order to a nearby S.H.I.E.L.D. tech.
"On it."
Keys clacked.
…
(End of Chapter)
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