"Well, well, well..." A distinctively sexy voice, full of surprise, came through the receiver. There was a faint sound of instruments tuning in the background. "Look who it is. Hawk? Hawk Lane? The new King of Wall Street? Or should I call you... my sweet baby?"
Christina Aguilera's voice instantly switched to a seductive frequency, laced with a teasing laugh. "I thought you'd forgotten about this 'island singer' and thrown me into the Pacific Ocean, Hawk."
Hawk leaned against the cold, ballistic glass wall. "Forget you? Christina, that would be like forgetting a perfect hurricane." He feigned incredulity. "That night... and the day after... incredibly memorable." He paused deliberately, letting her recall those fiery moments.
A sexy, low, pleasurable laugh came from the other end of the line. "Oh, darling, I'm going to take that seriously. Tell me, what wind blew my big shot Lane awake? Craving another taste of 'Perfect Hurricane 2'?" Her tone was bold and direct.
"Perhaps." Hawk was noncommittal. "Speaking of which, some business for my company requires me to visit the island. I suddenly recalled that it happens to be the hometown of a certain superstar. So, I developed an interest in the place that's not strictly business-related."
"Staten Island?!" Christina Aguilera's voice instantly rose several octaves, full of surprise and clear excitement. "Oh honey, that's fantastic! You absolutely must come see me!" Her enthusiasm practically spilled out of the receiver.
"Listen, Hawk, you have to stay at my place. It's big enough and comfortable—guaranteed one hundred times better than those cold hotel suites in New York City. Pool, private screening room, outdoor BBQ... and," she lowered her voice, full of implication, "a space for uninterruptible reminiscing. What do you say? Give an old friend a chance to be the host?"
Hawk could almost picture her: a sly smile, her chin slightly lifted. He agreed with pleasure, his tone as relaxed as if accepting a weekend picnic invitation: "Sounds wonderful. It's truly impossible to refuse. I'd be delighted, Christina."
"Perfect!" Christina Aguilera's voice was jubilant. "Do you still remember the address? Hmm... It doesn't matter if you don't; I'll send it to you again. I need to prepare... to give you a surprise!" Her voice was full of exciting plans, as if Hawk's visit was the biggest event about to happen on the island.
"The address is... a bit hazy, I admit," Hawk chuckled. "Send it over. As for the time, within the next couple of days. I'll call you when I arrive. A surprise? I look forward to it."
"I guarantee you'll be 'surprised.'" Christina Aguilera promised with a laugh. "It's settled then. See you on Staten Island, Mr. 'Eye of the Storm.' Waiting for you. Mwah!" A blown kiss came over the airwaves before she reluctantly hung up.
Hawk put his phone away, glancing at Goo Ja-yoon, who was curiously poking at the barely visible hairline cracks in the ballistic glass with her finger.
"Hear all that?" he chuckled. "Looks like we're heading to Staten Island for a vacation, with a little business on the side."
"Vacation?" Goo Ja-yoon's eyes lit up; she was clearly more interested in the word "vacation." "And aliens? We just ran into some ridiculous Turtle guys a few days ago, and now we're going to encounter aliens? I should have left that wretched place Busan sooner. The outside world is far too exciting!"
"I hope it won't be too boring." Hawk's eyes narrowed, sharp as blades. "Go pack. We leave tomorrow."
On the other side, Emilia, looking exhausted from the major handover, walked in and interrupted. "My dear boss, the reporters are already gathered downstairs. The press conference is waiting for you."
This was the routine press conference regarding the TCRI acquisition—necessary to proclaim their dominance to the industry.
As Hawk prepared to leave, Emilia stopped him, hesitating slightly. "During the handover, we found two problems..."
She handed the stack of materials in her hand to Hawk.
The conference room door closed again, isolating them from the external clamor. Emilia looked at the faint bloodstains on the floor, took a deep breath, forcing down the physiological discomfort from the horrific scene, and pushed herself into professional mode. She quickly walked up to Hawk, a grave, incredulous look on her face.
"Boss, during the handover, we uncovered two rather tricky issues," Emilia's voice was lowered. "The first concerns a company named Advanced Idea Mechanics."
She handed the thick stack of files to Hawk. On top were scans of several highly encrypted technical cooperation agreements signed between TCRI and Advanced Idea Mechanics.
Hawk's gaze swept rapidly over the papers, his eyes narrowing: Advanced Idea Mechanics, or A.I.M.
The documents were obscure and esoteric, filled with terms like gene editing, neural linking, and extreme environment endurance testing. But the accompanying report images were shocking: photos of inhumane restraint equipment, subjects with abnormal tissue growth, and failure reports labeled "Physiological Limit Breakthrough."
"A.I.M. is ostensibly a leading biotech and AI research company," Emilia pointed to the document. "But our internal audit team found they are using TCRI's cutting-edge neural interface technology and gene stabilizers to conduct illegal, high-mortality human enhancement experiments. The goal is to create some kind of 'Super Soldier.' TCRI was not only their most important technical support and key raw material supplier, but some of our senior executives were deeply involved in setting the experimental direction and sharing data. The project is codenamed 'Extremis.' From the progress, it appears to be extremely unstable, rife with violence and unpredictability."
Hawk's gaze paused on a blurred on-site photo at the end of the report: the figure of a man in a white lab coat, with near-fanatical ambition burning in his eyes—Dr. Aldrich Killian.
A.I.M.... Killian... human enhancement... Extremis Virus... He understood completely.
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