**December 1, 2007**
**S.H.I.E.L.D. Headquarters – Triskelion**
Natasha Romanoff's heels clicked softly on the polished, reflective synthetic floor, a cautious sound that blended perfectly with the low hum characteristic of this deep section of the Triskelion. Massive mechanical structures operated tirelessly within unseen walls and ceiling panels, providing power and protection to this colossal edifice floating above the Potomac River. The cold air carried the clean scent of meticulous filtration, each breath a reminder of your location – the heart of one of the world's most powerful and mysterious intelligence agencies.
The physical dossier in her hand felt exceptionally heavy, its dark gray, rigid cover devoid of any identifiers save for a constantly shifting encrypted matrix watermark of letters printed in the corner – S.H.I.E.L.D.'s highest clearance marker.
The Director's Office's heavy, composite armored door slid open silently, revealing the space within. A massive floor-to-ceiling window occupied the entire wall opposite the door, but at this moment, it was like a flowing, inky night curtain. The real twilight outside was completely blocked, with only the internal smart lighting casting stark, precise beams that sliced the room into sharply defined geometric blocks of light and shadow.
Nick Fury stood with his back to the door, like a statue before the flowing darkness beyond the window. His broad shoulders were tense, the hem of his black leather trench coat perfectly still, as if he had merged with the foundations of the immense building beneath his feet.
"Excuse me, Director." Natasha's voice was steady and clear.
Fury did not respond immediately. Time in the office seemed to stretch and congeal, with only the subtle, constantly flickering light points on the central console, representing global intelligence nodes, proving that the passage of time had not entirely ceased.
A few seconds later, he slowly turned around. And that single, all-seeing eye pierced through the room's light, accurately locking onto Natasha and the ominous gray dossier in her hand.
"Natasha, I hope you're bringing good news." His voice was low and hoarse, like sandpaper rubbing over rock.
"I'm afraid it's not the 'good news' you're expecting, Director." Natasha raised an eyebrow, taking a few light steps forward. She placed the weighty dossier in the center of Fury's massive desk, made of high-strength polymer and metal alloy. The desktop was smooth as a mirror, reflecting the cold geometric light and shadow of the ceiling's grid lights. The dossier landed on it like an abrupt, unwelcome stain.
"New target marked, internal codename – 'Traveler,' priority: highest, danger level: extremely high." She articulated each word clearly. "Identity confirmed: Hawk Lane."
Fury's gaze was instantly and firmly drawn to the dossier as if by a magnet. "Lane? *That* Lane?" He looked at Natasha, his voice tinged with genuine astonishment.
"Yes, the Lane family that made its fortune in mining." Natasha nodded, her movements concise and efficient. She didn't wait for Fury to sit, instead skillfully extending her slender fingers and lightly sweeping them over the dossier. A faint blue light scanned her fingerprint, and the bag's clasp popped open silently. Several virtual light screens, specially encrypted and only displayable on devices here, immediately projected from the desktop, hovering in the air, their content detailed and clear.
"Hawk Lane, male, twenty years old, second-year economics student at Columbia University." A passport photo appeared on the upper-left screen. The young man in the photo had soft, wavy golden-brown hair, casually falling to either side of his full forehead. His smile was warm and unclouded, revealing neat, white teeth, and his clear, bright light-brown eyes were like warm sunlight through honey, almost conveying an innocent, youthful vitality untainted by the world. The quintessential image of a rising star, meticulously sculpted by a privileged environment and elite education.
"Family-wise," Natasha's voice was unperturbed, as if reading a commonplace report, "he is John Lane's adopted son and only recognized legal heir." This was public information, accessible to anyone.
"John Lane..." Fury chewed on the name, finally sinking heavily into his sturdy chair, which let out a slight groan under the pressure. The wealth empire represented by that name instantly flooded the corners of the office like a cold tide.
"The Lane Group, made its fortune in mining, a global business titan." His low voice held a note of confirmation. "Lane Industries, Lane Mining, Lane Construction, Lane Capital... a top-tier behemoth comparable to Stark Industries. I hear a third of Wall Street's buildings were built by his family." His gaze swept over Hawk's vibrant face on the screen. "A silver-spoon-fed, future-bright... dilettante... How could he be linked to a highest-level threat?"
"Seventy-two hours ago, Busan, South Korea." Natasha's finger swiftly swiped through the air, and the content of the upper-right screen instantly refreshed. Several blurry but highly impactful images dominated the main screen: a shocking scene of ruins. Twisted, broken massive metal components like the skeletons of monsters, haphazardly pierced the gray sky; the remnants of concrete buildings were torn and pulverized by some violent force, scattered in mountainous piles; charred marks like grotesque scars covered every larger piece of debris; the shockwave of an explosion had clearly ravaged the area.
"'Witch Project' — one of its top-secret research facilities — completely destroyed." Natasha's voice remained steady, but her pace quickened slightly, betraying the gravity of the event. "Official preliminary assessment classified it as a 'series of gas pipeline explosions.' But our satellite retrospective analysis shows that before the base lost its final signal, its internal defense systems recorded traces of high-intensity, short-duration energy conflicts. The destruction pattern..." She paused, seemingly searching for the most precise description. "...Satellites recorded multiple instances of two high-thermal energy waves at the site, highly atypical, not consistent with any known explosives or laser weapons."
Natasha's finger danced again, switching to the next image, which was highly magnified and algorithmically repaired. This was a top-down view, from a surveillance camera on the base's periphery that had miraculously escaped complete destruction. The image was extremely blurry, heavily pixelated, and filled with static and tearing artifacts from electronic interference. The focus was on the edge of a relatively intact area near the base's main entrance/exit. A figure in a dark trench coat was rapidly moving through the swirling smoke and scattered building debris, heading out of frame. The trench coat's hood was pulled low, almost completely obscuring the face, revealing only a sharply defined jawline.
"But we captured this from the surviving, severely damaged fragments of external surveillance data streams." Natasha lightly tapped the head of the blurry figure with her fingertip. "Although facial features are unidentifiable, through gait analysis, body outline comparison, and other primary identification criteria, the micro-reflection characteristics of the extremely rare custom Patek Philippe Sky Moon Tourbillon watch on his wrist..." She paused, ensuring Fury's gaze was fully focused here: "...cross-validation indicates a probability exceeding 97.8%. Target identity confirmed: Hawk Lane. He appeared at the edge of the explosion's core during the evacuation window after the attack."
Fury's body leaned slightly forward, his single eye fixed on the blurry but clearly targeted figure on the screen, his pupils subtly contracting. The air in the office seemed to fill with heavy lead, an invisible pressure seeping down from the ceiling.
"That's not all, Director." Natasha's voice deepened. She pulled up the final screen, a highly encrypted biometric tracking report summary, with a red "TARGET LOST" identifier constantly flashing at the top, glaringly conspicuous. "'Witch Project' base's core assets, or rather, 'products' – one of the first-generation individuals, 'Gu Ja-yoon,' and the second-generation individual in final debugging, 'Shin Shi-ah.'" Two photos of young women were displayed side-by-side next to the report. Gu Ja-yoon's face was slightly pale, her eyes hollow like dusty glass beads, carrying an inhuman detachment; Shin Shi-ah was younger, her face still bearing a trace of unvanished childishness, but her eyes were equally deep and unfathomable.
Natasha slowly delivered her conclusion. "All fragmented evacuation route analyses, port and airport surveillance screening results, and even all abnormal energy fluctuation records from surrounding areas... all activated tracking vectors, their final convergence point, without exception, point to Hawk Lane. We have reason to believe he took them."
Silence. Absolute silence enveloped the entire office. Fury's hand, resting on his knee, his fingers slightly curled. "Does Pierce know? This project was, after all, supported during his tenure."
Natasha shook her head. "I haven't reported to him, but he can see what happened in Korea, so he should have a general idea."
Fury's exposed single eye narrowed. After a long silence, he said softly, "But he hasn't come to me, which means he still wants to act secretly and doesn't plan to share everything about the Witch Project."
"Though back then, none of us internally could have imagined this project would reach this stage."
"A small nation developing such a super-weapon. Pierce refused our involvement before, but now might be an opportunity."
After some murmuring, his gaze returned to Hawk Lane. A twenty-year-old university student with an impeccable record, clean as a blank slate. The sole heir of a global top billionaire, whose life trajectory should ideally be confined to elite universities, lavish parties, family charity galas, and the beds of various actresses and supermodels. How could he appear halfway across the world, at a supernatural weapon development base secretly sponsored and tightly guarded by former S.H.I.E.L.D. Director Alexander Pierce? How could he escape unscathed from such a devastating explosion and the ensuing chaos? More importantly – how could he take those two girls, dubbed "weapons" and privately rated by S.H.I.E.L.D. as "mobile natural disasters," the "Witches"?
Questions coiled around Fury's taut nerves like cold vipers. He stared at Hawk Lane's sunny, seemingly unsuspecting smile on the screen. This face, along with his blurry figure at the edge of the explosion's ruins, and the two missing girls, formed a deeply unsettling and jarring puzzle. Behind this smile, was it incredible innocence, or... a bottomless disguise?
The faint hum of the office's heavy alloy security door opening suddenly broke the almost suffocating silence. The door slid silently to the side, and Phil Coulson strode in, his usually immaculate, perfectly pressed dark suit now unable to hide the intense urgency on his face. He clutched a transparent data pad as thin as a cicada's wing, his fingertips slightly white from the force.
"Director!" Coulson's voice had lost its usual composure, tinged with hurried tension. "Urgent interception! From the NSA's deep listening network!"