Manhattan.
The East Village.
A yellow Corolla drove slowly down the street, turning into the driveway of the orange-hued, single-family home that had changed hands a month ago, and heading up toward the garage.
As Gwen pulled up, the garage door opened automatically. She drove inside, parking next to a black Audi A8 that gleamed under the lights.
The Audi was Hawk's. He'd bought it shortly after they moved in.
Since then, Gwen's little yellow car mostly stayed parked during the week.
Call it old-fashioned pride, but Hawk was determined not to mooch rides anymore, while Gwen couldn't care less. By now, the passenger seat of that Audi A8 had practically molded itself to her body.
Gwen got out, opened the trunk of her Corolla, and lifted out a few grocery bags from a stop she'd made on the way home. She walked toward the door that led from the garage into the living room.
The moment she opened it, she heard it: the rhythmic, impactful sound of punches coming from the backyard.
She glanced out the living room window.
Of course.
He was training again.
Gwen smiled, set her keys and groceries on the kitchen island, then shoved her hands into her wool coat pockets. As she walked through the living room, she snagged a towel from the coffee table and headed for the back door.
...
In the backyard, a heavy bag hanging from a sturdy tree branch was taking a brutal beating, ready to split open from Hawk's relentless assault.
Hawk was bare-chested. As he threw his punches, his blood boiled, and a column of steam rose from his body like a signal fire.
Gwen stepped outside but didn't say a word. She leaned against the railing of the back porch, a small smile on her face as she admired the masterpiece in motion before her.
A little while later, Hawk threw his ten-thousandth punch of the day.
BOOOOOOM!
The heavy bag stopped dead in mid-swing, then with a quiet ripping sound, the bottom tore open and sand spilled out onto the ground.
Leaning against the railing, Gwen raised an eyebrow. "Is that the tenth one this month? Or the eleventh?"
"Eleventh."
Hawk glanced at the ruined bag, then turned and walked toward her.
Gwen smiled and tossed him the towel.
"Go take a shower. I'll handle breakfast. My mom taught me a new recipe yesterday."
"Alright."
Hawk caught the towel. He watched as Gwen turned and walked back inside, then began wiping the non-existent sweat from his brow as he followed her into the living room.
Gwen carried the groceries into the kitchen.
Hawk headed up the stairs to the master bedroom on the third floor.
...
In the bathroom, steam from the hot shower swirled around Hawk, mixing with the heat radiating from his skin until he seemed surrounded by mist.
Within that mist, ghostly images flickered—a green dragon and a fiery phoenix dancing in the vapor. Hawk closed his eyes, his consciousness diving deep into his Cosmo as he gazed up at his inner universe.
Where once there had been only the constellation of the Phoenix, there was now a second.
They seemed to split his inner cosmos between them—the newly awakened Draco and the ancient Phoenix ruling their separate domains, standing back-to-back like sentinels, each protecting the other.
His second constellation, Draco, was now fully ignited.
He'd actually traced the Dragon's outline back at Calvary Cemetery. But he'd only truly awakened it five days ago.
After returning from Quantico, the timing had felt right. He postponed his trip to Africa, deciding to focus on awakening Draco first.
You have to sharpen your tools before you can do the job properly. And awakening Draco five days ago had been the right call. Cosmo is the foundation of every Saint's power.
The stronger the Cosmo, the stronger the Saint. With Draco's awakening, his own Cosmo had grown significantly stronger.
This wasn't just a feeling—it was real, measurable power. The moment Draco ignited, Hawk had felt his Cosmo expand at an almost visible rate.
Where it had once been just large enough for the Phoenix alone, it could now comfortably hold both constellations with space left over. The Phoenix remained the stronger of the two—it had been his first, after all.
But he had now gained access to the Dragon's fundamental power:
The Might of the Dragon, and the Dragon's Guard.
But that wasn't the greatest reward.
The greatest reward was that, after igniting Draco, the Sixth Sense he had been chasing for so long was finally within his grasp.
He could actually see the door now.
Before, he hadn't even known it existed. Now everything had changed.
The door was right there, and the path forward was crystal clear. All he had to do was follow it, and eventually he'd be able to reach that gate, push it open, and unlock the Sixth Sense—taking his Cosmo to a completely different level.
For the past few days, Hawk had been splitting his time between researching Wakanda online and trying to take another step toward the Sixth Sense before he left.
But the Sixth Sense remained just out of reach.
As for Wakanda?
He was done waiting for summer. He would ask his counselor for a leave of absence and head to Africa as soon as possible.
He already had his acceptance letter to NYU for the fall. His last semester of high school was largely a formality.
His classmates were doing the same thing. Apart from the ones still scrambling to get into other schools, most students who'd already gotten accepted were gradually disappearing from campus.
Some were working to save up for college expenses.
Others had been invited for campus visits at their future schools. And some just didn't see the point of showing up anymore and wanted to chill out.
Midtown didn't mind. As long as you had the credits, you could skip the entire semester and still graduate.
Just don't miss the ceremony in June. Or the prom.
...
A little while later, Hawk finished his shower, changed into an outfit Gwen had picked out for him on a shopping trip last weekend, and went downstairs.
Gwen had already prepared breakfast.
Hawk's eyes lit up as he saw the food on the dining table. "Wow."
"What do you think?" Gwen smiled, waiting for his review.
Hawk looked at her, his expression dead serious. "Honestly? I don't know what I'd do without you."
"Then you better not lose me." Gwen, who was sorting through a stack of recipe cards she'd borrowed from her mom, replied just as seriously, then broke into a smile. "Come on, dig in."
Hawk sat down at the table.
Gwen sat across from him, copying the cards onto new ones as he ate.
Many family recipes were often passed down on cards like these. The ones she was holding belonged to her mother, Helen, and would need to go back eventually.
But she could copy them for herself to keep here, and someday pass them down to her own daughter.
"By the way," Hawk said. "You're heading to Berkeley next week, right?"
Gwen, still writing, nodded. "Yeah, for two months. I'll be back at the end of May."
The university had invited her for a two-month campus visit.
Hawk confirmed the dates and nodded, saying nothing more.
Perfect.
Next week, Gwen goes to Berkeley.
And he would be visiting Wakanda.
...
Soon, they finished eating and cleared the table quickly, then headed outside to begin the day's work.
Mowing the lawn.
Believe it or not, in America, you can actually get fined if you don't keep your grass cut regularly.
Same goes for hanging laundry outside to dry... Some states are even worse—they'll fine you for growing vegetables in your own yard.
As Hawk wheeled it out, he watched Gwen inspect the machine with practiced ease, and he couldn't help but say it again. "Seriously, what would I do without you?"
Gwen looked up at him, her expression just as serious as before. "Again, you'd better not lose me."
With that, she gave the starter cord a sharp yank. The engine roared to life. Though Gwen had grown up in an apartment, her grandfather was a farmer from the South.
When it came to machinery, she knew her way around.
And so, with Gwen calling out directions, Hawk pushed the mower across their front yard.
The noise brought some neighbors outside.
A few went back in, but others, seeing what they were doing, decided to drag out their own mowers.
It was Saturday, after all—they didn't have anything better to do.
Soon, the sound of multiple lawnmowers filled the air throughout the District.
...
By the time Hawk had finished mowing, it was eleven o'clock.
With their work done, Gwen got ready to leave. She was meeting Mary Jane for some shopping this afternoon.
Hawk watched as she backed her car out of the garage and smiled. "I'll come get you later."
Gwen nodded, then drove down the street.
Hawk watched her go.
Just as he was turning to clean the lawnmower...
Suddenly, the door to his Sixth Sense shuddered violently. In the next instant, a surge of power erupted from within him. He spun around, his eyes snapping toward the direction Gwen had just gone.
--
"Gwen, where are you?"
"I just left Hawk's place."
"Ooh..."
"Don't get any ideas. City Hall sent him a notice to mow his lawn or face a fine. He didn't know how, so I went over this morning to teach him." Gwen, having just left the East Village, was on the phone with Mary Jane, whom she was supposed to meet for an afternoon of shopping.
Mary Jane laughed. "Our neighborhood has a landscaping service. You're telling me a place as fancy as the East Village doesn't?"
"They do. He just doesn't want to pay for it."
"Why not?"
"Save where you can, spend where you must."
Gwen recited Hawk's philosophy.
Mary Jane was stunned for a moment.
But then she remembered... Hawk from high school—the guy with only three outfits, who communicated mostly through grunts, who got around on his own two feet, who lived like a monk—and she had to admit, it sounded exactly like something he'd say.
But discussing Hawk's ability to buy a mansion but not hire a gardener wasn't the point of the call.
Mary Jane got back on topic. "So when are you getting here? Should I grab us a table at Madame Neuille?"
Gwen's face lit up. "Yes! I'm on my way. I'll be there in about half an hour."
She loved hot chocolate.
And the hot chocolate at Madame Neuille's Patisserie was, in Gwen's expert opinion, the best in all of Queens—no, in all of New York City.
Soon, Gwen hung up the phone. The thought of that hot chocolate made her foot press down on the accelerator.
Her yellow Corolla picked up speed and headed toward Queens.
Behind her, a nondescript Toyota sedan matched her acceleration.
"Think she noticed us?"
"No way. It's a straight road..."
"Then why'd she speed up?"
"Who cares. Stick to the plan. Once we're over the bridge and in Queens, we find a spot and box her in."
"Remember, the client wants her alive. A million for a live target, half a million for a dead one. Don't fuck this up."
"Got it."
"Got it."
The two men in the back of the Toyota nodded, their eyes fixed greedily on the yellow Corolla ahead.
The confirmations hadn't come from them. They had come from a walkie-talkie held by a bearded man in the passenger seat.
Clearly, this wasn't their only car. There were three.
Sure enough, as Gwen's Corolla approached the entrance to the Manhattan Bridge, two more nondescript Toyota sedans appeared, pulling up on either side of her.
Once they were on the bridge, the three cars, moving with the flow of traffic, shifted positions, forming a perfect pincer formation around her yellow Corolla.
A little while later, Gwen came off the bridge and turned onto the road that led to Mary Jane's house. The Toyota to her left suddenly swerved into her lane. As if misjudging the distance, it bumped into the side of her car with a loud thud.
Gwen jumped, slamming on the brakes.
The other car pulled over too.
A middle-aged woman got out of the car, an apologetic look on her face.
Gwen opened her door and got out. She looked at the dent and sighed.
Just as she was about to get her phone to call and tell Mary Jane she would be late, the woman called out to her, insisting the accident was entirely her fault. She suggested they pull over to a side street so they wouldn't block traffic while she called her insurance company.
Gwen was a bit thrown by how fast it all went down, but since the lady was being so cooperative about taking the blame, she went along with it. No police meant no paperwork and no waiting around.
Soon, Gwen followed the woman's car into a quiet side street.
But the moment she was about to put her car in park, the screech of tires echoed behind her. Another Toyota had shot into the alley, blocking her exit.
"What the—"
Shit.
Gwen froze, a terrible feeling washing over her.
Robbery or kidnapping?
Her mind was racing, but her instincts took over. She hit the door lock button. Just as she was reaching for her phone to call 911...
CRASH!
Another massive impact.
Gwen cried out in shock. The four men in cartoon masks who had just gotten out of the car behind her were just as startled.
They all spun around.
A black Audi A8, so new it still gleamed in the sun, had slammed into the back of their Toyota.
Suddenly, the driver's side door opened, and Hawk, wearing a fitted black t-shirt, stepped out.
The four masked men exchanged a look, then all raised their handguns and aimed them at him.
"Fuck you!"
"DIE!"
BANG, BANG, BANG, BANG!
Four bullets tore through the air, striking Hawk in the face, chest, and right arm.
And then... nothing.
With four metallic pings, the flattened slugs clattered harmlessly to the ground.
Hawk glanced down at the bullets at his feet.
The next second, he vanished, reappearing in front of one of the masked men. His right hand shot out, paused for an imperceptible moment, then his left hand joined it. He gripped the man's head and twisted.
CRACK.
The sound of the man's neck snapping was sickeningly loud in the quiet alley.
Another masked man recovered from his shock.
"Ah—"
CRACK!
He met the same fate as his partner.
The other two were no different.
From the moment Hawk had stepped out of his car to the moment the four masked men lay on the ground with their heads twisted at impossible angles, less than three seconds had passed.
By the time Gwen had processed what was happening, Hawk was already at the front of the alley.
The engine of the first Toyota was screaming, the rear wheels spinning uselessly against the pavement, kicking up clouds of acrid smoke, but the car didn't move.
Hawk had the rear of the car in a one-handed grip, his four fingers sunk into the trunk as if it were tofu. The muscles in his arm weren't even tensed, but he held the car firmly in place.
"SHIT!"
"COME ON!"
The woman in the driver's seat was screaming, her foot jammed on the accelerator.
Hawk raised an eyebrow, then let go.
The next second—
BOOOOOOOOM!
Like a drag racer off the line, the Toyota shot forward, slamming head-on into a wall. The airbag deployed instantly, knocking the woman unconscious.
The moment he had released the car, Hawk had turned and walked back to Gwen's Corolla. He tapped on the window.
Inside, Gwen was still gripping her phone. She looked up with a dazed expression and numbly rolled down the window.
"Hey, Gwen? Are you here? I ordered your favorite hot chocolate for you." Mary Jane's voice came from the phone in Gwen's hand.
But Gwen didn't seem to hear it. She just stared at Hawk.
The last time Hawk had fought the Hulk, most of the battle had been underwater. By the time he had resurfaced, it was already over.
But this time, she had seen the whole thing.
Her mind was still replaying the image of Hawk's ice-cold face, of the bullets flattening against his skin, of him appearing before the four men and snapping their necks—crack, crack, crack—and of him holding a speeding car in place with one hand.
Gwen was in shock. Hawk was not.
He looked at her dazed expression, smiled, and took the phone from her hand. "Hey, Mary Jane."
"...Hawk?"
"Gwen's a little tied up. Can you get that hot chocolate to go?"
"Wha—"
Hawk hung up, then a thought seemed to occur to him. He looked at Gwen. "So, hot chocolate? I thought you said you didn't like it."
Gwen snapped back to reality. "Hawk?"
"Yeah?"
Hawk smiled. "The police captain's daughter is letting her guard down. Or was it the thought of hot chocolate that did it?"
Gwen's cheeks flushed. She didn't answer, just scrambled out of the car.
"There was another car."
"What?"
"There were three of them. Three Toyotas. There are only two here."
Gwen's mind replayed the scene on the bridge. She remembered the three cars—one on her left, one on her right, one behind her. "There were three Toyotas following me."
She would absolutely not admit that her guard had been down because she was thinking about dessert.
Gwen's expression was serious. "And I don't like hot chocolate. I'm eighteen now."
Hawk just smiled.
"But I heard Helen say that when you were little, your biggest dream was to live in a house made of chocol—"
"Shut up." Gwen's eye twitched. She quickly cut him off, changing the subject back to the third car.
"There was a third car."
"They got away," Hawk said with a small smile. He saw her worried look and added, "Don't worry. They won't get far."
Gwen blinked.
As she was trying to figure out what he meant by "they got away, but they won't get far," the sound of sirens echoed in the distance, growing closer.
WEE-WOO, WEE-WOO!
THUMP, THUMP!
"NYPD! HANDS IN THE AIR! DO IT NOW!"
"..."
--
Hawk and Gwen turned to look.
Down the alley, a male and female police officer were staring at the four bodies on the ground, their necks twisted at impossible angles. The officers scrambled to draw their service weapons, aiming them with trembling hands at Hawk and Gwen.
Gwen immediately spoke up. "My father is the captain of the 19th Precinct."
...
Captain George Stacy, who had been in his office at the 19th, rushed to the scene the moment he got the call from the Queens precinct.
The entire area was already cordoned off with police tape.
As George got out of his car, the first thing he saw was Gwen and Hawk standing together, answering questions from a Queens detective.
"Gwen!"
"Dad."
Gwen's face lit up as she saw him approaching in his white dress shirt.
The surrounding officers and detectives saw him, and as per protocol, they straightened up, offering salutes and greetings.
George's focus was entirely on his daughter. He rushed to her side, his voice tight with concern.
"Are you okay? You're not hurt?"
"I'm fine."
Gwen smiled and shook her head. She glanced at Hawk. "Hawk got here just in time."
George's eyes shifted to Hawk. He said nothing, just gave him a curt, meaningful nod.
Hawk smiled faintly in return.
Just then, the captain of the Queens precinct, who was inside the crime scene, heard he had arrived and called out, "George!"
George followed the voice and saw his old friend. He told Gwen to wait and then walked under the yellow tape.
"Alan, what the hell happened?"
"Preliminary assessment is an attempted kidnapping."
"Kidnapping?"
"Yeah."
Allen, the Queens precinct captain and a longtime friend of George's, pointed to a roll of duct tape and zip ties that had been recovered from the Toyota. Then, a thought seemed to strike him. "So, Gwen's boyfriend doesn't mess around, huh?"
George paused.
"What do you mean?"
"Look at this."
Alan pointed to the four bodies on the ground, their masks removed, each with its head twisted one hundred eighty degrees. "The M.E. just finished a preliminary. No gunshot wounds. All by hand. Necks snapped clean."
"..." George stared at the bodies, a look of pure astonishment on his face. He instinctively glanced back outside the tape, at Hawk.
Gwen saw her father's look and nudged Hawk with her elbow, whispering, "My dad's curious about you now."
"It's fine."
Hawk wasn't concerned.
The strength he had today was the result of a thousand straight days of relentless, unwavering effort.
The System... It had only given him the opportunity. Hawk was the one who'd taken it and run with it. Ten thousand punches a day for a thousand days. Sounds easy enough. But how many people could actually pull that off?
And so—
Why should I hide the strength I earned with my own two hands?
The first time he'd hit Quantico, he'd only worn a surgical mask. He hadn't tried to conceal himself. The Lizard, the Hulk, the second Quantico run—he had never once considered hiding.
What's the point of having power if you hide it? No more walking in the shadows. It's time to live out loud.
Pretend to be weak to fool his enemies? Not his style...
He preferred to put all his power on full display.
...
Hawk thought to himself, and his eyes met George's from across the crime scene. He gave him a small smile.
George held his gaze for a moment, then looked away as a detective ran up to his friend Alan with a report.
"Abu Lembel."
"He's with the Devil's Gang."
"Made bail two weeks ago. The other three are with the gang, too. The woman we took to the hospital is Abu Lembel's wife."
"The Devil's Gang..." Alan looked at his friend. "You think they were coming after you?"
The Devil's Gang wasn't a Queens crew. They were from Manhattan. And their main turf was the 19th Precinct.
George shook his head. "I'm head of Homicide. Organized crime isn't my division."
Gang-related cases were handled by the Organized Crime Investigation Division. His job was to handle the murders in his precinct.
Allen's brow furrowed. "Then who were they after? They couldn't have been after Gwen herself, could they?"
"What's the status of the woman they took to the hospital?"
"Don't know yet."
Alan glanced at his watch. "Want to go check it out together?"
George nodded.
He didn't ask Allen to hand over the case. He knew his friend couldn't, even if he wanted to. It was a gang-related crime in the Queens jurisdiction.
"Gwen."
"Uncle Alan."
Gwen, who had been discussing the case with Hawk, smiled sweetly at the captain as he and her father walked over.
Alan smiled back. "You weren't too scared, were you?"
Gwen saw her father's eyes linger on Hawk. She smiled and tightened her grip on Hawk's arm. "You've already asked me twice, Uncle Allen. I'm fine. Hawk protected me. Really."
George watched his precious daughter clinging to the arm of this wild animal, and his eye twitched.
Captain Alan just laughed. Then he seemed to remember something. "Gwen's eighteen this year, right? She'll be graduating college in three years. By the way, George, how much have you saved up for her wedding fund?"
It was tradition.
Typically, the bride's family was expected to cover the cost of the wedding, and if they were well-off, the honeymoon as well.
George said nothing. He just shot his smartass friend a look, then took his car keys from his pocket and tossed them to Hawk.
Hawk caught them easily.
"Take Gwen home."
"Alright."
Hawk nodded and, with Gwen on his arm, walked toward George's unmarked police car.
As for his own Audi A8 and Gwen's Corolla, they had already handed the keys over to the insurance agent—who had arrived even before George. The agent would have the cars towed to a repair shop and delivered back to them once they were fixed.
...
Soon, Hawk was behind the wheel, openly driving a police car away from the crime scene.
Captain Alan watched them go, then turned to George as they walked toward his own car. "Your future son-in-law seems like a good kid. Is he going to Berkeley, too?"
George shook his head. "No. NYU Law."
Alan's expression turned serious. "Law school. That's good. That's very good."
He could become a wealthy lawyer, or a powerful politician.
Law school was a smart move.
But—
"You run a background check on him?"
"I did. He's an orphan."
"..." Alan glanced over at George and let out a quiet gasp. He glanced back at the gleaming black Audi A8. "An orphan with an Audi A8? You sure?"
"He just moved a few days ago."
"What?"
"He used to live in the Queensbridge Houses. Now he's in the East Village."
"..."
Queensbridge Houses—a notoriously rough housing project in Queens. The East Village—an upscale Manhattan neighborhood known for attracting the wealthy.
"Hiss." Alan couldn't help but draw in another sharp breath.
"He..."
"Unbelievable, right?"
"How?"
"I don't know." George looked at his friend's serious face and shook his head. "The only thing I know for sure is that the money he used to buy that house is clean."
Allen's brow furrowed.
George seemed to guess what he was thinking and smiled faintly. "Because the IRS hasn't paid him a visit."
Alan immediately shut his mouth.
The logic was undeniable.
There was a reason criminals laundered their money.
It wasn't just about hiding it. It was about paying taxes on it. Because once you paid your taxes, the IRS left you alone. And a man who wasn't on the IRS's radar was a man with clean money.
...
That evening, when George got home, Hawk and Gwen were in the living room, watching the new episode of Desperate Housewives with Helen.
Seeing him, Gwen immediately asked, "Dad, what happened?"
George took off his coat and walked to the bar. "She didn't make it."
Gwen was stunned. "She died?"
Hawk's eyes flickered for a second.
Good. No loose ends...
Helen, who already knew what had happened, looked at her husband with a worried expression. "Why would someone try to kidnap Gwen? Do you think they were after you?"
"Alan's still looking into it."
George poured himself a whiskey and took a sip. "I'm arranging for two officers to be posted downstairs. Don't go out alone for a while. Your safety comes first."
Helen and Gwen both nodded.
It was a grim but familiar reality. Cops and their families were often targets for retaliation.
Seeing that George was home, Hawk stood up. "Mr. Stacy, I should get going."
George looked at him, nodded, and said one word. "Thank you."
"Don't mention it. It's my job to protect Gwen," Hawk said with a smile.
Gwen walked Hawk to the door.
Across the street, a parked police car gave off a sense of security.
"You be careful, too."
"Don't worry." Hawk smiled, said his goodbyes, and walked toward the subway. The moment he turned the corner and was out of Gwen's sight, he stopped. He took a deep breath.
And then, he unleashed his full senses.
--
What is New York City like at night?
Manhattan, a glittering jewel of light?
Brooklyn, a sprawling constellation of homes?
Queens, a silent, sleeping giant?
Most New Yorkers make it a habit to be home before dark, but this was still the city that never sleeps, a global metropolis with a nightlife all its own.
In the bars of Manhattan, a chaotic free-for-all was in full swing.
On the empty streets, street racers tore down the asphalt, their engines roaring.
Near Morningside Park, a luxury sedan pulled up to the curb. A woman in revealing clothing standing under a streetlight smiled and walked over to the car, getting in quickly before it drove away.
In a nearby apartment, three thugs who'd been looking for easy targets were slumped on the couch.
...
Splat.
Dirty water splashed up.
Just before it could touch him, Hawk took a step forward, appearing at the mouth of the alley. His nose twitched, and without pausing, he crossed the street.
Across the road was a six-story building with a peeling facade.
Hawk stood below, his gaze lifting and locking onto a window on the third floor.
The conversation of the three people inside was perfectly clear.
"Shit. Fuck. Shit!"
"Stop cursing. I just asked around. Roy's dead."
"...For real?"
"Yeah."
"So what now?"
"What do you think? Maybe we just take a potshot at the girl. We'd still get the five hundred K for a kill. Split three ways, that's enough."
"Are you crazy? Why take five hundred K when we can get a million?"
"You're the one who's crazy! How are we supposed to grab her now?"
"..."
Hawk listened to their hushed, frantic debate and smiled.
Found you...
He glanced at a nearby security camera, which was hanging uselessly from its mount, then walked into the six-story apartment building. He took the stairs to the third floor and stopped in front of a door.
The next second, he kicked.
BAAAAAAAAAAAAAANG!
The deadbolt shattered, and the door flew open.
The three men inside—smoking, drinking, and plotting—jumped to their feet, their eyes wide with shock as Hawk stepped into the room.
And then, It was over.
The heads of two of the men were separated from their shoulders. Their headless bodies crumpled to the floor, blood fountaining from their necks.
The metallic tang of it filled the small apartment.
The sole survivor was paralyzed, staring in horror at the two heads that had rolled to a stop on the floor, their expressions still frozen in shock.
He began to shake uncontrollably, forgetting to control his own bladder.
A soft trickling sound echoed in the quiet room.
Hawk glanced at the man, who was now just a heap on the floor, his face ashen.
"Hold it."
The trickling stopped.
The man looked up, his pale, bloodless lips trembling.
"Don't... don't kill me."
"The name."
Hawk pulled out a handkerchief and began to wipe his hands, his gaze flat. "Who hired you?"
The words seemed to snap the man out of his daze. A single thought flashed through his mind.
Don't talk.
If I keep my mouth shut, I might live.
If I talk, I'm dead for sure.
The man was a criminal, not an idiot. He knew better than anyone what happens when you're no longer useful.
His two partners were dead. That made him valuable.
And so, with a new sense of purpose, he took a deep breath. The color returned to his face, his legs stopped shaking. With leverage came courage.
"..." Hawk watched, a look of genuine surprise on his face, as the man who had been a trembling mess just a second ago now pushed himself up from the floor and met his gaze.
The man sneered. "You want to know who hired me? Fine. Let me walk, and I'll—"
SQUELCH!
The man's words were cut short. He felt the world spin, and then he saw it.
A headless body, standing on the floor, gushing blood.
Wait a minute.
Those clothes look familiar...
As the thought registered, a searing pain shot through his brain, and then an endless darkness consumed him.
Thump.
The headless body crumpled to the floor.
Hawk looked down at the corpse and shook his head.
An idiot so stupid he belonged in a museum.
...
An hour later, Hawk was back at his apartment.
He pulled out the second phone Gwen had given him—the replacement for the one he'd "lost"—and dialed a number. As it rang, he glanced at the driver's license in his other hand.
Daven Simmons.
The name of the museum-grade idiot who thought he had the leverage to negotiate.
The call connected quickly.
Anna's voice, tinged with a pleasant surprise, came through the line. "Hawk!"
"Good evening, Anna. Hope I'm not disturbing you."
"Good morning." Anna, dressed in a lace nightgown in her Parisian mansion, pulled back the curtains and smiled. "It's seven AM here in Paris."
Hawk registered this, then got straight to the point. "I need you to run a name for me. Check his bank accounts for a recent deposit of one hundred thousand dollars. If you find it, I need the information of the person who sent it."
"Of course. The name?"
"Daven Simmons. From New York."
If that idiot Daven had just kept his mouth shut in the apartment, Hawk probably would have let him live. But Hawk had been standing right outside, and he'd heard him mention the hundred thousand dollars in operational funds.
The advance payment was all he needed.
It didn't matter that Daven wouldn't talk. He could just trace the money.
...
In Paris, Anna jotted down the name.
"No problem. I'll have my people look into it. When do you need it?"
"As soon as possible."
"Alright. I'll let you know the moment I have something."
"Thanks."
"Don't mention it." Anna smiled. She waited for Hawk to hang up before ending the call herself.
Ever since the Quantico incident, Hawk had become a high-priority asset for her organization. And as his primary contact, her own status had risen accordingly.
She had been trying to think of an excuse to call him, just to maintain the connection.
A relationship, after all, needs to be maintained. If you let too much time pass without contact, even the strongest connections can fade.
And now, he had called her.
This is good.
Anna thought to herself. She glanced at the name on the notepad, then picked up her phone and made another call.
If Hawk was placing this much trust in her, she couldn't let him down.
...
The next morning, Hawk took the school bus.
Gwen wasn't there.
After yesterday's kidnapping attempt, not only Gwen, but her two younger brothers had also taken a leave of absence from school to stay home.
Until the case was solved and the motive was clear, it was safer to stay home.
Gwen had called him that morning to tell him not to pick her up. She had also mentioned that her father had spent the entire night at the Queens precinct, working the case.
But even though Gwen wasn't there, someone else was.
Mary Jane.
She must have been waiting in the parking lot. The moment she saw Hawk get off the bus, her face lit up, and she dragged Peter over to him.
Mary Jane's eyes were gleaming with gossip. She lowered her voice and fired off a series of questions. "Hawk, what happened? A kidnapping? For real? Who did it? Do you know?"
Hawk was stunned by the machine-gun-like barrage of questions. He looked at Peter.
Peter just gave him an embarrassed smile.
The message was clear: She handles the small things, I handle the big things. Of course, she gets to decide what counts as 'big.'
The Spider has been completely domesticated.
Hawk sighed internally. He looked at Mary Jane. "I thought you and Peter took a leave of absence at the start of the semester. Don't you have to work today?"
Mary Jane had gotten a job at a restaurant.
Peter was back at the Daily Bugle, selling pictures of himself to save up money for college.
Mary Jane rolled her eyes. "Gwen was almost kidnapped. Of course we came."
Hawk nodded and then quickly answered her questions. "Alright. It was an attempted kidnapping. They haven't found the person responsible yet. Gwen's at home for now. Anything else?"
Mary Jane shook her head.
Hawk smiled faintly. "Good. I've got to go see my counselor."
He had no time for this. He needed to get his leave of absence approved. Once this business with Gwen's kidnapping was settled, he was heading straight to Africa.
Hawk had no trouble getting the time off. His counselor, seeing that he had enough credits and had already gotten into college, happily signed off on it.
And that wasn't the only good news.
Just as he was leaving the counselor's office, his phone buzzed.
It was a text from Anna.
"..." Hawk opened it, and as he read the name she had sent him, his brow furrowed, and a single thought came to mind.
You have to pull the weeds out by the roots.
Or else...
They'll just grow back.
--
The text message from Anna was brutally simple.
It contained only a name.
Betty Ross.
The moment Hawk saw the name, he knew exactly who it was.
Thaddeus Ross's daughter.
Bruce Banner's wife.
Yes.
His wife.
He remembered seeing it at the beginning of the semester.
The Daily Bugle, in its infinite dedication to gossip, had run a story, complete with a photo of Bruce Banner and Betty Ross registering their marriage at New York City Hall.
Peter had brought him the paper. It was one of the few perks of his part-time job at the Bugle—a free copy every day.
Hawk had only glanced at it at the time, not giving it a second thought.
His war was with Thaddeus Ross, not his daughter.
Just as it had been with the Hulk.
He had killed the Hulk but spared Bruce Banner.
He went after the one responsible, not the entire family. Hawk didn't believe in collective punishment. At least, that's what he used to think...
Now??
He understood!
Just then, his phone rang. It was Anna, following up on her text.
He answered. "Hello."
"Hawk, sorry, this took a little while. The account that paid Daven Simmons belongs to a well-known information broker on the black market. It took our people some time to find him, but he gave up his client."
"Betty Ross..."
Hawk didn't care how Anna had gotten the information, only about the result. "Are you sure it was her?"
"Positive. Betty Ross's bank account shows a transfer of two hundred thousand dollars to the broker five days ago. The broker then contacted Daven Simmons. My people also recovered the call recording between Betty Ross and the broker. Do you need it?"
"No. As long as you have the right person."
"There's no mistake. It was easy to track. I've sent you Betty Ross's address."
"Thanks."
"Of course."
Hawk thanked her again and hung up. He glanced at the address in the text, then put his phone back in his pocket, his expression calm.
He was a fast learner.
And this was a hard lesson.
Before, he'd lived by a simple rule: an eye for an eye. And the result? Betty Ross trying to have Gwen kidnapped.
If he hadn't just awakened the Draco constellation, if his Cosmo hadn't been strengthened by both the Dragon and the Phoenix, if he hadn't finally found the door to his Sixth Sense—which had blazed to life the moment Gwen was in danger.
If his Sixth Sense hadn't warned him, what would have happened?
Hawk couldn't bear to think about it.
Even if the worst had happened, he would have stormed Hell to bring Gwen back.
But what if he couldn't?
And so, a lesson learned from a critical mistake. Better late than never to fix the problem after damage is done.
From now on, this would never happen again.
...
The old philosophy was dead.
In his mind, he replaced "I only hold the guilty responsible" with a new, colder, and far more absolute creed.
An attack on my family is a war on theirs.
He walked out of the administration building, his mind clear, his purpose set.
Peter, who was waiting outside, was about to go up to him, but then he felt it—a wave of pure killing intent washed over him. His Spider-Sense screamed, every hair on his body standing on end.
Hawk saw him and reined in his aura. "Peter? You're still here? Where's Mary Jane?"
Peter snapped out of it. "Mary Jane went to find Gwen."
"And you?" Hawk descended the steps and fell into pace beside him, walking toward the school gate.
"I was going to ask if you needed my help. But... it looks like you don't. You already know who was behind the kidnapping, don't you?" Peter asked.
Hawk grunted in affirmation.
"Alright. I've got to find Harry—he called yesterday and didn't sound right." Peter said.
Hawk was curious. "Harry? I thought he had successfully taken over his father's company"
Harry Osborn had shown up at the beginning of the semester too, but only to request a leave of absence. With his father Norman dead, he needed to take over the company. Hawk remembered him mentioning that with Felicia Hardy's help, the transition had gone pretty smoothly.
"Who knows." Peter shook his head. "I'm going to go. Call me if you need anything."
Hawk smiled and nodded. "Alright. We'll talk soon."
"Yeah." Peter waved goodbye and jogged toward a small cluster of trees. Moments later, Spider-Man came swinging out on a web line and vanished into the distance.
He didn't even ask what Hawk was planning to do. He didn't need to. Hawk was going to kill someone.
It was inevitable. And Peter got it. If anyone had tried to kidnap Aunt May, he would have killed them too.
No exceptions.
Just like he had killed the man who murdered his Uncle Ben.
Once again, this was the original Spider-Man, the Bully Maguire version. He might be a good person, but he was no naive idealist!
Hawk watched the Spider disappear and smiled. He walked out of the school gate and hailed a cab.
"Jersey City."
"Lincoln Park."
"You got it." The cab driver glanced at Hawk in the rearview mirror, his face lighting up when he heard the destination. He nodded and hit the meter.
In the back seat, Hawk watched the scenery fly by, his eyes narrowed.
...
About forty-five minutes later, they arrived at Lincoln Park, on the easternmost edge of Jersey City.
Hawk paid the driver and got out. He stood at the entrance to the park for a moment, then turned, his gaze instantly locking onto an apartment building across the street. It wasn't flashy, but it was clearly high-end.
The next second, his phone rang.
Hawk pulled it from his pocket, glanced at the caller ID, and put it to his ear.
The moment he answered, a crisp, authoritative female voice came through the line.
"Hawk, this is Victoria Hand from S.H.I.E.L.D. We need to—"
"FUCK OFF."
Hawk didn't let her finish. He cut her off and hung up, then started walking toward the Lincoln Park Apartments.
According to Anna, after marrying Bruce Banner last month, Betty Ross had moved from Washington D.C. and settled here.
Bruce Banner had apparently joined a lab at Stark Industries.
As for Betty Ross?
She didn't seem to be working. She had been living a quiet, reclusive life in her new apartment.
...
S.H.I.E.L.D. Command, New York.
Victoria Hand, dressed in her S.H.I.E.L.D. uniform, stood with her hands on her hips, staring at the glaring red "CALL TERMINATED" message on the main screen. The corner of her mouth twitched. She pulled out her personal phone and dialed Maria Hill.
"Yes?"
"We have a problem. Hawk has found Betty Ross."
"That fast?"
Maria Hill's voice, coming from the Triskelion, was laced with a mixture of shock and frustration. "Weren't you supposed to be watching her? Keeping her from doing something stupid?"
Victoria Hand sighed. "We thought she'd given up. It's been two months. She's been a model citizen since she moved to Jersey. And her bank accounts are with Stark. Tony's still in recovery, we haven't gotten the updated authorization codes yet."
Maria Hill felt a headache coming on. "Where is Hawk now??"
"He's already on his way up to her apartment."
Hiss.
Maria Hill drew in a sharp breath and shot to her feet, her voice cracking slightly. "Betty?"
"She's home."
"And Bruce?"
"He's at the lab."
"..."
Maria Hill was silent, not knowing what to say.
Victoria Hand frowned. "What do we do now? Just stand by and watch him kill her?"
Maria Hill just laughed, a bitter, humorless sound. "Can we stop him? Besides, since he found her, it means he already knows. Betty made the first move."
"But he killed Thaddeus Ross..."
"And Ross made the first move then, too." Maria Hill took a deep breath. "This is just an endless cycle of revenge. There's no point in getting involved."
She decisively cut off that line of thought and, after a moment, made her decision.
"Stand down. Let it happen. S.H.I.E.L.D is not to intervene."
"Ma'am...?"
"S.H.I.E.L.D protects world peace, not one family's peace. Hawk has been living a normal life since he returned from Quantico. Betty Ross started this. I am not going to risk S.H.I.E.L.D by picking a fight with a powerful being who lives by a code of—don't tread on me."
"..."
Victoria Hand listened to Maria Hill's reasoning and, after a moment, had no counterargument.
No matter how you spun it, Betty had started this.
...
While the two female heads of S.H.I.E.L.D were on the phone, Hawk reached the tenth floor of the apartment building and stopped in front of Betty's door.
He raised his hand, about to force it open.
In the next instant, the door swung open from the inside.
--
Hawk's raised hand froze in mid-air.
The door opened. Betty Ross, wearing a simple housecoat, looked at him with a calm expression, then opened the door wider and stepped aside.
"Please, come in."
It was as if she had been expecting him.
Hawk lowered his hand. He looked at the woman before him—a woman who showed no fear of death, only a quiet resignation—and let out a short laugh. He stepped inside.
The door closed behind him.
Betty walked toward the apartment's bar. "Can I get you something to drink?"
"No, thank you. I'm on a schedule."
"..."
Betty, who had almost reached the bar, flinched. Her entire body tensed for a fraction of a second before she took a deep, steadying breath. "Then, may I have a glass of whiskey?"
Hawk considered it. "You may."
"Thank you."
Betty said, her voice even. She walked behind the bar, took a bottle of whiskey from the cabinet, and poured herself a glass.
Hawk watched her, his expression unreadable.
Betty raised the glass to her lips. Her expression remained perfectly controlled, her eyes showed no fear, but the slight, barely noticeable tremor in her hand gave her away.
No one faces death without fear.
Hawk was afraid of death too.
But—
"It's a little late for regrets."
"You killed my father." Betty met his gaze, her tone level. "I was only trying to avenge him. Just like you did for your sister."
Hawk laughed. "Yes. And that's the only reason you're getting the chance to enjoy a last drink."
"Thank you."
"You're welcome." Hawk looked at the glass in her hand, still two-thirds full. "I'm curious. What was your original plan? Kidnap Gwen and force me into a trap?"
Betty took another sip of whiskey. "No..."
"Then what?"
"Kill her. And send you the video."
"..." Hawk listened to her words, a flicker of surprise in his eyes, but his expression remained unchanged.
He was beginning to suspect that Betty Ross was completely insane.
But that was fine.
Insanity might get you a pass in a court of law, but not with him.
Hawk let out a soft laugh. "A good plan. If you can't kill me, kill my girlfriend. That way, even if I find you and kill you, she's already gone."
"Yes." Betty admitted it without hesitation, her voice low and steady. "But you ruined it."
As she spoke, a self-mocking smile touched her lips. She drained the last of the whiskey in her glass, set it down on the bar, and looked up at him.
"She's very lucky."
"Her good luck is your misfortune," Hawk said, his face a mask of stone.
WHOOSH.
THUD.
He appeared before her in an instant, his hand clamped around her neck. He flashed back from behind the bar and slammed her against the wall, lifting her off her feet.
His grip loosened just enough for her to speak. "You have one last chance to speak."
"Heh..."
Betty didn't struggle. She didn't show any fear. She just stared into his eyes and let out a strange, chilling laugh, her voice suddenly cold and filled with venom.
"I'll be waiting for you in Hell."
"..."
Hawk froze for a second. He looked at the pure hatred in her eyes and smiled faintly. "I'll be there."
After all, his sister was in Hell, waiting for him to bring her home.
With that, he tightened his grip. A sharp crack echoed in the silent room, and the look of venomous hatred on Betty's face was frozen in place forever.
Betty Ross, Dead.
Thump.
Her lifeless body slumped to the floor.
Hawk looked away from her corpse, his gaze landing on a large photograph hanging on the living room wall.
It was a wedding photo of Bruce Banner and Betty Ross.
Hawk's brow furrowed. A thought struck him, and his eyes returned to the body on the floor.
His mind was racing.
After a moment, he looked at Betty's corpse and let out a cold, sharp laugh.
"Heh."
"Using yourself as bait?"
"Alright."
"I'll give you that."
As he looked at the wedding photo, he understood her game.
Betty knew she could never kill him herself.
So, if she wanted revenge, she had to rely on someone else.
But who would risk getting involved?
Who could help her?
After his show of force at Quantico, the military was silent. They weren't going to make a move on him again, not until they had a plan with at least an eighty percent chance of success.
Unless they wanted a repeat of the Quantico disaster.
S.H.I.E.L.D?
Maybe...
But it had been two months since he'd returned to New York, and S.H.I.E.L.D hadn't made a move. That told him they had no intention of getting involved.
Maybe it was because he had been in the right, or maybe, like the military, they knew they couldn't win.
Whatever the reason, without any outside help, Betty had no way of getting her revenge.
So—
She had chosen to martyr herself. Her marriage to Bruce Banner was likely part of her plan.
Bruce might not have been willing to seek revenge for his former father-in-law, a man who had hunted him across the globe.
But he would absolutely seek revenge for his murdered wife.
And if his wife had been pregnant, all the better.
But she wasn't.
Hawk was sure of it.
He figured her original plan had been to get pregnant and then put her martyrdom scheme into motion. But when that didn't work out, she'd decided to go ahead anyway. She was gambling that after Hawk killed her, her new husband Bruce Banner would come after him for revenge.
It was a good plan...
And Hawk was curious to see if it would work.
He'd felt a twinge of regret after leaving Culver Lake. After all, the Hulk was dead, but Bruce Banner wasn't. What was to stop him from becoming the Hulk again? But at the time, he'd still been stuck in his old way of thinking.
Now, he would give Betty's plan a chance to play out.
Hawk left.
...
Bruce returned.
By the time he got home, Hawk had been gone for over two hours. Betty Ross's body lay sprawled on the floor, already cold and rigid.
When Bruce saw her, it felt like someone had hit him with a sledgehammer, his mind unable to process what he was seeing.
Victoria Hand, who had met him downstairs and come up with him, saw the body at the same time.
S.H.I.E.L.D's satellites had been watching.
She had known the moment Hawk had left, but she had waited for Bruce to arrive before going up.
Victoria Hand looked at Bruce, at his trembling lips and the tears welling in his eyes. She was about to say something, but a raw, animalistic roar cut her off.
"BETTY!!!"
Bruce Banner scrambled to her side and fell to his knees. He looked at his wife's body, his eyes filled with disbelief. His hands trembled as he reached out to touch her.
The moment his fingertips touched her cold skin, he shattered. He pulled her body into his arms and broke down completely.
"..." Victoria Hand watched, and took a deep, steadying breath.
Bruce held Betty's body and wept for a long, long time. He cried until the sun had set.
Finally, Victoria Hand, unable to watch any longer, gently pulled him away. He collapsed to the floor, watching numbly as S.H.I.E.L.D agents came in to collect Betty's body.
Bruce Banner sat on the floor, his eyes vacant, as if all the strength, all the will to live, had been drained from him.
Victoria Hand was silent for a moment. "My condolences, Bruce."
"Who..."
"What?"
"WHO DID THIS!!!"
The three words were squeezed from between his teeth.
Victoria Hand looked at him and saw it. His eyes were bloodshot, and the flames of vengeance were beginning to burn within them.
"Hawk."
Victoria Hand didn't hide the truth. But after she said the name, she immediately explained the context—how Betty had hired criminals through a black market broker to kidnap and murder Hawk's girlfriend, and how Hawk had retaliated.
At first, Bruce's anger had been a raging inferno. But as Victoria Hand finished her explanation, the flames in his eyes flickered.
The implication was clear.
Betty had made the first move. From a certain point of view, Hawk killing her was just revenge.
After hearing the full story, Bruce Banner fell silent.
Victoria looked at his vacant expression and pressed her lips together. "I'm sorry for your loss."
"..."
Bruce Banner sat on the floor.
Then, as if something had just occurred to him, he looked up at the large wedding photograph on the wall and stared.
--
A few days later.
Hawk drove his repaired black Audi A8, with Gwen in the passenger seat, to John F. Kennedy International Airport.
Today was the day Gwen was flying to California to visit the University of California, Berkeley.
George had wanted to be the one to drive her. He'd brought it up at dinner last night, an offer Gwen had immediately and politely declined.
Hawk parked the car and got her suitcase from the trunk.
Gwen looped her arm through his, and they walked toward the terminal entrance.
"Is someone meeting you there?"
"Don't worry, Berkeley is sending someone to meet me at the gate."
"Alright."
"If you're really that worried, you could come with me." Gwen glanced at him, a playful glint in her eye. "Who knows, there might be another kidnapper waiting for me over there."
Hawk said nothing, just looked at her. After a moment, he looked away. "There won't be."
"You sure?"
"Yes. I'm sure." His voice was firm.
The incident with Betty Ross was the first of its kind, and it would be the last.
As everyone knows, the same move never works on a Saint twice.
And so, after they had gotten her ticket and were waiting at the gate, Hawk took a folded piece of paper from his pocket and handed it to her.
"Here."
"What's this?"
Gwen took the note and saw a phone number written on it. She looked at him, curious. "What's it for?"
Hawk smiled. "Your protection in California. She'll probably be waiting for you when you get off the plane."
"California may not be that far, but it's better to be safe than sorry."
Gwen frowned slightly. "I thought the kidnapping case was over."
"It is." Hawk smiled faintly. "But there's still a loose end. Maybe I should just tie it up now."
Betty Ross was dead. But Bruce Banner wasn't. And Bruce Banner was the loose end that needed tying up.
Gwen saw the flicker in his eyes and her own brow furrowed. "Hawk."
"Yeah?"
"Promise me you won't let your anger get the best of you."
Gwen squeezed his hand, her voice soft as she looked at him. "Bruce Banner is innocent in all of this, isn't he?"
The NYPD had already closed the case.
Or rather, the FBI had closed it for them, announcing that during the arrest of a suspect wanted for targeting police officers, they had discovered a link to Gwen's attempted kidnapping. In short, the mastermind had been killed in a shootout with the FBI.
The NYPD had been baffled by the news. George had been just as confused.
But Gwen knew the truth. Hawk hadn't hidden Betty Ross's deadly game from her. She knew all about her martyrdom play.
When she'd first heard it, she hadn't known how to feel.
Of all the things she felt, sympathy was not one of them.
She was kind, but she wasn't a saint—not nearly enough of one to forgive someone who'd tried to have her killed.
When it came down to it, Hawk had been acting in self-defense from beginning to end.
If Thaddeus Ross hadn't attacked him, would Hawk have gone to Quantico?
If Betty Ross hadn't tried to kidnap and assassinate her, would Hawk have killed her?
The answer was no.
If she hadn't been so lucky, if Hawk hadn't shown up in time, she would have been the one who ended up dead.
So no, Gwen felt no sympathy for Betty Ross.
The woman got what she deserved.
But Bruce Banner? When Gwen had heard about Betty's plan, about how she had used Bruce, she had only one thought.
Poor Bruce Banner.
If Betty Ross had truly loved Bruce Banner, she would have wanted him to be happy. She wouldn't have turned their marriage, their love, into nothing more than pieces in some twisted, manipulative plot.
...
Hawk had started to regret his decision as he was telling her the story, and had been on the verge of going to take care of Bruce right then and there.
It had been Gwen who stopped him. Her reasoning then was the same as it was now.
"Betty Ross got what she deserved..."
"But Bruce Banner is just another one of her victims."
"Don't let your heart get carried away by rage, Hawk. Try, just once more, to be a person with a clear conscience."
"Of course."
"If Bruce Banner really does fall for her trap, then... I won't stop you."
"I'll call this number the second I land." Gwen's voice was soft, soothing the restless anger in his heart. She clutched the note in her hand and looked at him.
He looked at her, and after a long moment, a slow smile touched his lips.
"Alright."
"We'll wait. We'll see if he falls for her trap."
Hearing his promise, a gentle smile spread across Gwen's face.
Just then, the boarding announcement for her flight to California began.
Gwen stood, hugged him, and gave him a quick kiss.
"Okay, I'm going."
"Go." Hawk smiled and watched as she boarded the plane.
Half an hour later, the flight to Berkeley taxied down the runway, reached takeoff speed, and lifted into the sky. He watched until the plane had disappeared into the clouds.
Hawk took a deep breath, then turned and walked to the airline counter. "One ticket for the next flight to Paris, please."
He'd already checked the flight schedules. He could smoothly go from seeing Gwen off to catching his own flight.
From Paris, he would take a private jet to Africa, where he had already reserved a car at the airport. He could step off the plane and drive straight to Wakanda.
Soon, Flight 180 from New York to Paris finished boarding and taxied down the runway.
...
At the same time, in a cemetery in Jersey City, a funeral was underway.
The guest list was pretty short, but it was definitely a high-caliber crowd.
"Bruce."
"Pepper."
"My condolences."
Pepper Potts, the CEO of Stark Industries, who had just finished her own Extremis treatment last month, was dressed in a simple black dress, her face covered by a veil.
After the casket was lowered, she walked over to a devastated Bruce Banner and gave him a brief hug. "Tony wanted to be here, but you know how it is—his treatment is at a critical stage. Dr. Cho has him on strict bed rest."
Bruce nodded, forcing a smile. "I know. Tony called me last night."
"Again, I'm so sorry for your loss." Pepper said, then gave him one last hug before leaving.
There was too much to do at Stark Industries, and with Tony still recovering, she was too busy.
Sharon Carter was next. She offered condolences from Steve Rogers.
"I'm so sorry, Bruce."
Sharon's smile was pained. "The Captain had a ticket, but my aunt took a turn for the worse yesterday."
Bruce just nodded, "It's okay. Steve called me. I'm fine. Really."
Sharon Carter looked at his forced smile, opened her mouth to say something, then thought better of it. She just gave him another hug and left.
Natasha Romanoff and Clint Barton were the last to approach him.
They hadn't been held up by other matters.
But they had only exchanged a few words when both of their phones began to chime...
Natasha and Clint both glanced at their phones, then looked at Bruce apologetically.
Bruce understood, forcing another smile. "It's fine. I'm okay, really. Go, if you have to."
Natasha and Clint could only give him a final hug before hurrying away.
...
Soon, the funeral was over.
The sun began to set.
Bruce stood alone in front of the new headstone, staring at the name—BETTY ROSS—and the smiling photograph etched into the marble. He was lost in thought.
Suddenly, a shadow fell over him. A voice spoke from beside him.
"My condolences."
"..." Bruce snapped back to the present. He looked at the man who had appeared next to him—the black trench coat, the black eyepatch. "Nick?"
The next second, he looked back at the headstone.
"Thank you."
"She was too young... too reckless." Nick Fury stared at the picture of Betty Ross, shaking his head with something like regret. "I thought when she married you, she had moved on."
Married?
Bruce caught the word and let out a self-deprecating laugh, saying nothing.
Nick glanced at him and sighed, then patted his shoulder. "It's just a shame about the baby..."
Bruce, who had been numbly nodding along, suddenly froze. He looked up, his eyes wide with shock. "WAIT, WHAT DID YOU JUST SAY? A BABY? WHAT BABY??"
"You didn't know??"
Nick Fury looked genuinely surprised. "When Betty went to the S.H.I.E.L.D hospital for a check-up last week. They found out she was one month pregnant. Didn't Victoria or—"
He stopped, and a look of dawning realization crossed his face. "Oh, right... They're the 'Peace advocates.' Of course they wouldn't have told you."
Bruce: "..."
--
Nick Fury's words hung in the air.
Bruce froze.
The next second, his gaze snapped back to the headstone.
Betty's photograph seemed to smile back at him.
A brilliant, radiant smile.
...
An hour later, Bruce Banner came back to the apartment. He emerged from the bedroom carrying a cardboard box full of Betty's things, walked downstairs, and entered the living room.
He carefully took their wedding photograph down from the wall, leaned it against the baseboard, and then sank to the floor, staring at it.
He was lost in the memory.
Just then, his phone chimed.
Ping.
Bruce pulled it from his pocket. It was an email from Nick Fury. He opened it, glanced at the attached medical report from a S.H.I.E.L.D facility, then, without a word, dialed Fury's number.
The call connected instantly.
"Bru—"
"Were you part of her plan, or did you help her create it, Nick?"
"Huh?"
Nick Fury was stunned by his question. His heart skipped a beat.
Bruce's eyes remained fixed on the wedding photo.
"Betty knew that the man who killed General Ross was the same man who killed the Hulk. I assume you were the one who told her that."
"What?"
"I'm not an idiot, Nick."
Bruce's voice was eerily calm as he stared at the smiling face of his wife in the photograph. "My IQ might not be the highest, but it's definitely higher than yours. Though right now, I wish it wasn't."
Nick Fury didn't answer right away. For a few seconds, the only sound on the line was the sound of his own heavy breathing.
"I don't understand, Bruce, you..."
"Betty couldn't get pregnant. Or at least, I couldn't get her pregnant."
"??"
"I was exposed to massive amounts of gamma radiation."
Bruce took a deep breath, his gaze still fixed on the photo. "I'm curious, Nick. Betty wanted me to become the Hulk again to avenge her father. But you... why did you fake a pregnancy report? Did Betty ask you to?"
In that instant, on the other end of the line, Nick Fury let out a self-deprecating laugh. "Yes."
"You're lying, Nick."
"..."
Bruce's voice was quiet. "I spent years on the run from General Ross. I can tell when someone is lying, even over the phone, just from the sound of their voice. And you, Nick, are lying."
"I—"
"But your intelligence really isn't all that great. Betty had already refused your suggestion, but you did it anyway. I'm curious, why?"
As Bruce spoke, he picked up a second phone, found the last video Betty had ever recorded, and pressed play.
The video had been recorded on the morning of her death. Betty was sitting on the sofa, her expression calm as she looked into the camera.
"Bruce, when you see this, I'll already be dead."
"I'm sorry."
"I wanted to forget everything, to start a new life with you."
"I really did."
"But I can't. My father may not have been a good man in the eyes of many, but he was the best father in the world to me."
"In all the years we were apart, I never forgot the time we spent together."
"And I can never forget the way he died."
"..."
"When I finally decided what I had to do, Nick Fury found out. He offered me a better way."
"A pregnancy... It was supposed to be my trump card after I made my move, to ensure you would avenge me."
"But I refused."
"I could have used our love to bind you to my revenge."
"But I will never use a lie to demand it."
"..."
"He's here..."
"Finally, Bruce, no matter what you decide, please remember that I love you. At the very least, in that moment when we walked into City Hall, I married you because I loved you."
"Goodbye, Bruce."
"Forever yours, Betty."
The video ended.
...
Bruce listened to the heavy breathing on the other end of the line. "You didn't expect her to leave me a message, did you, Nick?"
He didn't.
Nick Fury's mind was racing.
But—
"He's too dangerous."
"We need someone who can stop him if he does something unpredictable."
"Natasha and Barton can't do it."
"Neither can Captain America."
"Tony Stark has already decided to remove the arc reactor from his chest. He's done being Iron Man."
"And Thor hasn't been seen since he returned to Asgard."
"Right now, only you, Bruce, only you, by reawakening the Hulk, can stop this from happening."
"So yes, I'm sorry for Betty's death."
"But you need to step up, Bruce."
Nick Fury explained, his voice low and firm. The core of his message was simple.
Hawk is too dangerous and must be controlled. And you, Bruce Banner, are the best weapon we have to control him.
Bruce listened to Fury, who, even after his plan had been exposed, felt no remorse, only a self-righteous justification. He couldn't help but laugh.
"You are a true hypocrite, Nick Fury."
"Bru—"
"You're just afraid that one day, Hawk will find out that you were the one who gave General Ross his location. You're afraid that when he finds out, he'll stomp your head into the ground, just like he did to Ross."
"You're scared."
"So you tried to use Betty's grief to execute your own plan."
"But you never expected her to refuse your offer."
"And after she died, you didn't show up right away. You were waiting, watching to see if I would seek revenge on my own."
"But I didn't. And you couldn't wait any longer."
"So you showed up, with your fake report and your bullshit story."
"For the greater good?"
"You're a real piece of work, Nick Fury..."
Bruce Banner tore away Fury's last shred of dignity without a hint of mercy, exposing him for the ass he truly was. "But I guess this is just who you are. Just like last year, when I agreed to help you fight Loki, and you had a cage waiting for me."
On the other end of the line, Nick Fury's expression didn't change. "Bruce, I'm sorry you feel that way."
"You should be."
Bruce wasn't about to indulge him. He snorted. "The only reason you haven't hung up yet, Nick, is because you're afraid I'm going to tell Maria Hill what you did. Don't worry. I won't. You can hang up in a fit of rage now."
The words were barely out of his mouth when the line went dead.
Just as he'd said.
His IQ might not be the highest, but it was definitely higher than Nick Fury's.
Bruce looked at the dead phone and shook his head. He didn't give it another thought.
He had no intention of telling Maria Hill. It wasn't necessary, and it didn't matter anyway—because his heart was already dead.
Bruce sat on the floor in the darkness and played Betty's video again. The truth was, on the day she died, he had already figured out what she was doing.
What he hadn't known was that she had recorded it all, confessed everything.
In the video, Betty, knowing she was about to die, was calm. She spoke of their past together and of the future they could have had.
Three meals a day, a family of five, the park downstairs, growing old together.
She spoke with such sincerity, and such regret. Just as she'd said in the video, she loved Bruce, and she loved her father.
Because she loved her father, she'd chosen to become a martyr. And because she loved Bruce, she'd chosen to tell him the truth, to leave the final decision up to him.
And Bruce had made his choice.
He hadn't been sure at first. But after seeing her video, he knew what he had to do.
"You know..."
"When I told you the Hulk was dead, I wasn't lying."
"He is dead. But I think I can bring him back."
"But it will cost me."
"My life for the Hulk's life."
"A life for a life."
"Betty, I never liked the Hulk. I really didn't. He destroyed my life."
"But none of that matters anymore."
"You're gone. There's no reason for me to keep living."
"So."
"I will give my life to bring him back."
"Wait for me in Hell."
"I'll be there soon."
In the darkness of the empty apartment, Bruce Banner looked at the image of his wife on his phone and whispered his final vow.
--
On the vast African savanna, a convertible jeep sped across the plains.
Inside, Hawk held the steering wheel with one hand and a phone with the other, glancing occasionally at the cheetah keeping pace with the vehicle in the rearview mirror. On the other end of the line was Gwen, who was still touring the campus at Berkeley.
Today was Gwen's fifteenth day in California.
It was also Hawk's first day in Africa.
Don't ask why it took him so long.
Fifteen days ago, he had arrived at the airport in Paris, ready for his connecting flight to Africa. He was just about to board when he got the news: rebels had taken control of the airport.
It was a sad story.
What was even sadder was that it happened three more times.
Since Hawk had chosen airports that were close to Wakanda, his rebooked flights were, naturally, to other nearby countries. But as if inspired by the first group, the anti-government rebels in three other small African nations had eagerly joined the party.
The four small countries bordering Wakanda were instantly plunged into chaos.
The African server's matchmaking system was working its magic.
But—
In the end, Hawk had made it to Africa.
There were a few bumps in the road, but the final result was what mattered.
As for the process?
Just a few minor inconveniences.
"GRRAAAAHH!!!"
The cheetah chasing the jeep let out a roar and, with a powerful leap, landed in the back of the vehicle.
"..." Hawk, who had just finished his call with Gwen, turned and casually slapped the cheetah across the head, sending it flying out of the jeep.
The cheetah let out a pathetic yelp.
Hawk glanced in the rearview mirror. The stunned cheetah was shaking its head, looking dazed but otherwise unharmed. He smiled faintly, then hit the gas, speeding toward his destination:
Wakanda.
...
To call Wakanda a country was a bit of a misnomer. It was more of a tribal nation, composed of several different tribes.
At least, that's how the outside world saw it.
The current king of Wakanda was T'Chaka, the chieftain of the Golden Tribe. The Golden Tribe was the core of Wakanda, and almost every king in its history had come from their ranks.
This was all public information, easily found online.
But very few people in the world paid any attention to such a small country. Aside from the occasional news report when King T'Chaka went to the UN to plead for foreign aid, in the eyes of the world, Wakanda was no different from any other invisible African nation.
And so, Wakanda played its part, periodically begging for aid at the UN General Assembly while secretly hoarding vast quantities of Vibranium, developing in the shadows.
Anyone who didn't know better would think they were playing the long game—building their strength in secret before revealing their true power to the world.
Until today...
SCREECH!
Hawk slammed on the brakes. The jeep's tires skidded across the savanna, coming to a halt in front of a small settlement of about thirty tents.
This was the Merchant Tribe, the public face of Wakanda, a front designed to maintain the illusion of a primitive, third-world nation. In reality, they were responsible for the nation's trade, economy, and foreign affairs.
Hawk got out of the jeep. He immediately saw it in the distance—a massive, primeval forest.
But—
When Hawk opened his senses, that's not what he saw.
He saw a massive golden dome, like an inverted bowl, covering the entire forest, an area larger than three of the neighboring African countries combined.
Just as he'd thought.
Wakanda was hidden within.
...
Hawk pulled his focus back to the men emerging from the settlement.
They were thin, with the clear signs of malnutrition, and they carried crude wooden spears.
Their appearance, their clothes, their weapons—it all screamed primitive. The only one who looked slightly better off was the elder leading them, whose clothes were a little more intact.
The elder, holding a colorful staff that likely symbolized his status, led his wary, spear-wielding tribesmen to Hawk.
After composing himself, the elder smiled and spoke in fluent English. "Outsider, welcome to Wakanda. Are you here to trade with us?"
As members of the Merchant Tribe, their primary role was to manage the flow of goods between the various Wakandan tribes. They also served as Wakanda's first line of defense, pretending to be poor, starving villagers to interact with the outside world, trading cattle and sheep with the few outsiders who ventured this far.
He assumed Hawk was just another trader.
And he was right. Hawk was here to make a deal.
He smiled back at the elder. "I am."
"A merchant from Shanin was here yesterday and bought over a hundred of our cattle. We only have about fifty left. How many do you need?"
"One ton."
Hawk's smile didn't waver as he stated the quantity he required.
The elder's expression froze.
Seeing his confusion, Hawk smiled again and added, "Of Vibranium. One ton."
"..."
The elder's vacant expression snapped into focus. His heart pounded in his chest, but he just looked at Hawk with a blank, confused look. "Vibranium? What is that?"
It was a convincing performance. A simple tribesman from the African savanna would have no reason to know what Vibranium was.
His men mirrored his confusion.
Hawk had no time for this. He pulled out his phone, checked the time, and then looked at the elder. "It's four PM. I'll give you one night. By seven AM tomorrow, either you bring me the Vibranium, or I'm coming in to get it myself. What happens then will be on you."
With that, he turned his back on them, got back in his jeep, reclined the driver's seat, and lay back, closing his eyes to conserve his energy for the battle to come.
Outside the jeep, the elder's hand tightened on his staff.
The other Wakandans looked through the window at Hawk, who seemed to be asleep, and then at each other.
One of them lowered his voice, but before he could speak, the elder shot him a sharp look that silenced him instantly.
A few moments later, the elder led his men back into one of the tents.
A few of the other villagers, as if seeing an outsider for the first time, stood at a distance, looking at the jeep with a mixture of curiosity and fear.
You had to admit. They were good actors.
It had fooled the entire world, even convincing the five permanent members of the UN Security Council that Wakanda was a failing state, securing substantial relief aid each year.
But, they weren't dealing with the UN.
They were dealing with Hawk.
And he saw right through them.
...
Night fell.
A bonfire was lit in the center of the settlement. The Wakandans gathered around it, singing and laughing as if celebrating some local festival.
But even as they celebrated, they kept glancing out of the corners of their eyes at the silent jeep parked just outside their settlement.
As they talked, a few of them seemed to forget to switch back to their native language and continued to whisper in English.
"Is he still in the car?"
"Yes."
"Speak Wakandan."
"It's fine. He's too far away to hear us."
"He's still lying down?"
"Yes. He hasn't moved since he got back in the car this afternoon."
"What about the elder?"
"He's gone home."
"Good. We'll wait for orders. Keep watching him."
"Alright."
Their whispered conversation ended, and the men seamlessly blended back into the impromptu, all-night bonfire party.
In the jeep, Hawk, who had heard every word, just smiled. He dismissed them from his mind and sank his consciousness into his Cosmo.
...
The next morning, Hawk pushed open the jeep's door, got out, and stretched. He pulled out his phone, checked the time, then found an open space and began his daily ten-thousand-punch routine.
From inside one of the nearby tents, two Wakandans watched him through a small slit in the fabric.
A little while later, footsteps approached.
It was Lunn, the elder from yesterday.
Having returned home under the cover of darkness to report the situation, he was now back, this time with a dozen more Wakandans.
Just as Lunn was about to lead his men out to drive Hawk away—another jeep appeared in the distance.
Is that his backup??
The elder thought, and he motioned for his men to wait.
Hawk also saw the jeep approaching.
And he saw who was driving.
Bruce Banner.