"Rhyolite Ghost Town" isn't actually called Rhyolite Ghost Town, and it definitely isn't in Alaska.
Its real name is Rhyolite.
It sits in Nevada, just relatively closer to Alaska on a map than people think, and ever since the last resident died in 1923, the place has been abandoned. With time, folks started confusing its location—and the nickname "ghost town" stuck.
It had once been a boomtown.
Thanks to rich deposits of rhyolite, the site was founded in 1904. By 1908, its population peaked. Then the financial crisis hit, the people dwindled, the ore ran out, and the town emptied. Now, only tumbledown walls and a desert that seems to be dying by inches testify to what used to be glory.
But tonight, the whole place blazed with light—especially around the old mine adits, where people kept going in and out, ferrying things as if some company had picked this haunted patch for a corporate retreat.
Not far off.
They were S.H.I.E.L.D. agents, all of them—and they were here for HYDRA.
Hawk had recently flown a circuit around the States and wiped out HYDRA's exposed assets.
But that was just the open faces.
HYDRA had spent years embedded in S.H.I.E.L.D., cultivating a massive crop of sleepers in the dark.
So…
Lately S.H.I.E.L.D. had been striking everywhere, tugging on threads and clearing out HYDRA remnants.
This site was one they'd just uncovered.
And the team lead was none other than Tony Stark.
At the moment Tony had J.A.R.V.I.S. patching through to Gwen, asking her to tell Hawk—if he had a minute—to swing by.
Just then,
Gwen cut in on the call. "Tony, Hawk already left."
"He left?"
Tony blinked. "Where to?"
A voice sounded behind him. "Here."
"…"
Tony spun around. Seeing Hawk suddenly standing there gave him a jolt. He hastily told Gwen goodbye and hung up—then took in Hawk's current look.
White T-shirt.
Black shorts.
A cast on the left arm, that arm in a sling.
Tony popped his faceplate and eyed the getup, curious. "That injury—"
"Don't ask."
Hawk lifted his good right hand and cut him off.
He'd actually considered snapping the cast off—showing up like this wasn't a great look, and it would definitely cramp his combat style.
But…
Thinking about how he'd been treated while "injured" these days—
Yeah, one hand was plenty. So what if the left arm was busted? He was even wondering whether, when the hundred days were up, he could find a way to renew the arrangement.
Because lying flat is a joy—and staying flat is pure joy.
In the most physical sense.
Not that he'd admit that to anyone.
So he shut Tony down and got to the point. "What brings you out here?"
Tony's face went solemn. "Cracking down on HYDRA is everyone's—"
Hawk turned and walked.
Please.
"Everyone's responsibility" from the world's biggest capitalist? More like bored at the office and Pepper Potts had you buried in company business, so you grabbed a HYDRA op as your excuse to blow the coop.
Hawk thought that, ignored Tony, and headed for the tunnel mouth into the mine.
The instant his feet touched ground he'd spread his sixth sense—and found something fun.
Deep in the mine a huge cavity had been bored out. A secret base—who knew when it was built—stank of clotted blood and corpses. At the back of one room in that base—
Hawk appeared, and his eyes locked onto a Phoenix Cloth laid out on the table, pieced together from fragments.
His Cloth.
To be precise, the set that had shattered in his battle with the Dark Elf Malekith.
That was why Tony had just told Gwen they'd detected a surge of "his Cloth's" energy here.
Hawk stared at the reassembled armor, genuinely surprised.
There was no nostalgia for his first Cloth—only curiosity.
Everyone knew—
That set had been pulverized to dust at Stonehenge in London. Not one shard bigger than a fingernail.
And yet…
"Damn."
"HYDRA's got patience. They actually sifted my Cloth out of grit and glued it back together?"
Hawk blinked and let out a quiet whistle.
Tony, having to run in on his own legs rather than blink like Hawk, arrived a moment later.
Then Hawk heard how Tony and S.H.I.E.L.D. had found this place.
After Maria Hill took the Director's seat, she launched a massive internal audit.
The results were… startling.
Inside "the Fridge," S.H.I.E.L.D.'s black-site lockup—codenamed the Cold Storage—more than Dr. Merrick, the cloning specialist, had been swapped out. Over a dozen detainees S.H.I.E.L.D. had captured had been replaced.
The Sandbox—the secure warehouse for dangerous objects—had items missing from the official ledgers too.
Among those items were the fragments of Hawk's first Phoenix Cloth recovered from Stonehenge—stored, on paper, in that Sandbox.
Bad news:
A lot of S.H.I.E.L.D. gear had walked.
Good news:
The Slingshot, the Sandbox, and the Fridge were all in godforsaken corners of the world. The HYDRA moles stationed there didn't even realize HYDRA's second coming had already failed.
So…
S.H.I.E.L.D. had a trail to follow.
Hill had wanted to tag Hawk's Cloth as Priority One to recover.
S.H.I.E.L.D.'s systems were compromised, Insight's codebase needed rewriting, and J.A.R.V.I.S. was helping rebuild everything.
When Tony heard Hawk's Cloth was missing, he volunteered for the job.
Don't ask.
He was dying to poke at Hawk's armor, too.
And with Marvel's resident genius and his A.I. in the mix, it didn't take long to follow the breadcrumbs here.
"Only problem is, by the time we arrived they knew they were burned," Tony said. "Their systems are trashed. J.A.R.V.I.S. is trying to salvage whatever we can."
"…"
Hawk listened, thinking of the congealed blood and the corpses bleeding from every orifice his sixth sense had picked up.
Still—
He glanced at the reassembled Cloth and chuckled. "What's the point of studying a broken suit of mine? Planning to copy it?"
Are Cloths important?
Sure.
But the key isn't the metal—it's the connection to his microcosmos.
The instant this set shattered, the link to his cosmos snapped. Without that link, a Cloth is just a suit made of special material.
Cloth.
As in a Saint's Cloth.
Only a Saint wearing it makes it a Cloth.
Otherwise?
Heh.
Just clothes.
So…
Thinking about HYDRA's most likely plan for his fragments, Hawk snorted.
Tony caught the look. "You're not worried they'll replicate it."
"Worried?"
Hawk cocked an eyebrow. "Tony, if you want, I'll loan you the Black Phoenix Surplice I'm using for now. If you can replicate—no, if you can forge a suit that's on par with it, I'll agree to anything you ask. Unconditionally. No limits. Any time, any place. I'll make good on it. Deal?"
Tony's grin showed through. "Seriously?"
"I don't joke much."
Hawk's smile said he meant it.
If Tony could, on his own, build something not inferior to the Black Phoenix Surplice, what was one promise?
Make it ten—Hawk would still agree.
Why?
Because he'd have just found his personal Saint Cloth smith for life.
Which meant—
He'd be the one making out like a bandit.
As Hawk thought that, Tony laughed and took the deal without hesitation.
"Deal."
"Not gonna think it over?"
Seeing how fast Tony agreed, Hawk smiled. "If you succeed, I owe you one unconditional ask. But I never said what happens if you lose."
Tony held out a hand. "Name it."
"If you lose, give me a hundred million. How about that?"
"…You short on cash?"
Tony had expected something outrageous—not… a measly hundred million. He looked at Hawk, curious.
Hawk shrugged. "Can't be helped. I've got a virtuous fiancée. I said I was broke and could go borrow a bit from the Five Good Men—she wouldn't let me. Said I should be a good person."
"Thank you, Gwen," Tony muttered to himself, then popped his armor, stepped out, and thrust out his right hand. "Done. If I lose, you get a hundred mil. If you lose, you grant my one ask."
Hawk eyed how eager Tony was, as if afraid he'd back out, then extended his right hand with a grin.
"Deal struck."
"Deal struck."
They shook once and let go.
The next second,
Tony's mouth curled into a strange little smile. "You're doomed to lose."
"Heh."
Catching the glint of hidden triumph in Tony's eyes, Hawk raised an eyebrow. "I don't buy it."
"Follow me."
"…"
(End of Chapter)
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