Contemplation is a luxury; action is a necessity. The Phoenix constellation in Hawk's inner universe was only two stars away from completion, a goal that was now an inevitability. Even if he did nothing but continue his daily training, the slow, steady burn of his ten thousand punches would forge those final points of light within three months. That part of his future was secure.
The Saint Cloth, however, was a far more complex and frustrating puzzle. Specifically, the component known as Gammanian remained a complete and utter enigma.
The other two materials were problems that could, theoretically, be solved. They were matters of logistics, of resources. The first, Silver Star Sand, required meteorites. His research over the past few days, conducted in the quiet hum of the Midtown High library, had shown that the world of meteorite collectors was a surprisingly active one. Wealthy eccentrics across the globe paid exorbitant sums for rocks that had fallen from the heavens. New York City, a hub of global wealth, was a hotspot for this trade. As long as he had money—and he had a plan for that—he could acquire the raw materials.
The second, Orichalcum, had led him to its theoretical Marvel Universe equivalent: Vibranium. The trail here was more clandestine, leading not to auction houses but to geopolitics. He had already identified the Wakandan Ambassador to the United Nations, a man who moved through the city with an air of quiet dignity, representing a nation the world believed to be impoverished. Hawk knew better. He was studying the ambassador's schedule, learning his patterns. The path was clear in his mind: first, he would find a way to make a generous offer. If that failed, he would resort to other means. His cold, hard logic remained unchanged. My need for Vibranium has everything to do with my survival, and nothing to do with your secrecy.
But Gammanian… Gammanian was a ghost. It was the soul of the Cloth, the x-factor that imbued it with life, and it had no known analog. This was the true front line of his war for power.
He sat at a public computer in the library, the screen filled with dense scientific papers. His hypothesis remained his only lead: the "gamma" in Gammanian had to be connected to the most potent and transformative energy known in this universe. He bypassed articles on its use in medicine and astrophysics, his searches becoming more and more specific, delving into the fringe, often classified, world of bio-genetics and radiation-induced mutation.
He knew, of course, that the world's foremost expert on the subject was Dr. Bruce Banner. But the Hulk's alter ego had, by all accounts, ridden off on a small scooter after the Battle of New York and vanished from the face of the Earth. S.H.I.E.L.D. might know his location, but inviting that nest of spies and secrets into his life was a line he would never cross.
He had to find another way. And today, he finally found a promising thread. A research paper, published by a subsidiary of a familiar name.
"Potential Applications of Controlled Gamma Radiation in the Field of Regenerative Biotherapy."
"Author: Dr. Curtis Connors."
"Funding Institution: Oscorp Biological Industries."
Hiss. The future Lizard. And he worked for Norman Osborn, the very same billionaire who apparently had a room in his mansion dedicated to his meteorite collection. The threads of his research were beginning to intertwine.
"Oh, are you reading Dr. Connors's paper?"
The voice was soft and familiar, pulling him from his deep concentration. He turned to see Gwen Stacy standing behind him, a stack of books in her arms. A few strands of her blonde hair had escaped her ponytail, falling across her forehead as she leaned in to look at his screen.
"On Gamma Rays…" she continued, her blue eyes filled with genuine curiosity as she looked from the screen back to him. "I thought you were planning to go to NYU for pre-law? Why the sudden interest in high-energy particle physics?"
The question was a direct hit, a reminder of a life he had meticulously planned and was now systematically dismantling. I planned on law school to make money, he answered silently.
Before the Cosmo, his future had been a problem to be solved with cold, hard pragmatism. He had initially considered medicine. In this country, unlike his old one, a doctor's wealth was seen as a direct measure of their skill. A surgeon who didn't live in a mansion was viewed with suspicion. It was a lucrative path to the security he craved. But he had ultimately decided against it, sensing he lacked the specific, innate talent for it.
So he had settled on the next best thing: the law. A lawyer's potential was just as vast. A successful practice, a position in the District Attorney's office, perhaps even a judgeship one day. It was a career path that offered not just wealth, but influence and power. It was the perfect suit of armor for a powerless orphan to wear against the world.
But he no longer needed that armor. The pressure was gone. He might still go to university, but it would be out of choice, not necessity.
He offered Gwen a slight, noncommittal smile, closing the webpage. "Just browsing online. Stumbled upon it by accident." He stood, gesturing for her to take the computer if she needed it. "I'm done here." He had to get to the gym. The daily ritual was a compulsion now; a day without it felt incomplete, unbalanced.
Gwen watched him leave the library, a thoughtful expression on her face. As the end of the month approached, the school had been consumed by the frantic, caffeine-fueled energy of final exams. The usually boisterous underachievers were now hunched over books in every corner, cramming desperately. But Hawk remained an island of calm, his rhythm of life utterly undisturbed by the academic panic that gripped everyone else. He didn't need to cram. His future was already set on one of two paths: comfort, or even greater comfort.
In the familiar, dusty sanctuary of the old gymnasium, Hawk was lost in the rhythm of his punches. He was deep in his practice when the grating sound of the main door creaking open broke his concentration. A beautiful, familiar figure was silhouetted against the bright afternoon light.
Gwen.
"The school board voted," she said, her voice echoing slightly in the empty space. "They're tearing this place down after the holidays. Going to rebuild it as a new swimming complex."
Her words hung in the air.
…BANG!
Hawk's fist shot out, striking the heavy sandbag before him. The bag itself didn't swing an inch. It remained perfectly still, but its leather surface shuddered violently, a deep, resonant shockwave passing through it. A thick cloud of dust, shaken loose from the ancient contents within, puffed out into the air.
The midday sun, slanting through the high, grimy windows, caught the dust in its rays, illuminating the scene in a single, dramatic shaft of light. The place where his journey began was about to be erased, and all he could do was continue to punch.