The easy, masterful control he displayed at the press conference vanished, replaced by a kind of ignited, highly aggressive heat. He immediately rose, his tall physique instantly generating intense pressure, crossing the distance to April's sofa in a few strides. Lowering his head slightly, he easily captured her breath.
All the war of words regarding the exclusive interview dissolved into silent, burning collision. The red light on the recording pen died; the entire world was reduced to the mingling of their breath deep within the sofa and the rising heat of their skin.
....
S.H.I.E.L.D. Headquarters.
"Sir, the energy analysis results are in," Coulson hurried into Fury's office, carrying the data from the tests. His voice was firm. "The Heat Ray from Hawk's video—zero correlation with Scott Summers of the X-Men!"
Fury was staring at the financial news flash on his monitor about the TCRI ownership change, his brow deeply furrowed. "Zero correlation? Elaborate."
"Summers' ability is sourced from unknown cosmic rays; it's stable and controllable. Hawk's... is purely and utterly extreme high-temperature radiation." Coulson's words came fast.
Fury was silent for a few seconds, his single eye fixed on the image of Hawk in front of the TCRI building.
"...This guy," he muttered, slamming his fist onto the console. "Natasha only just finished scouting those secret TCRI facilities yesterday, and the next thing we know, it's been swallowed whole?! It's been days! That's a multi-billion dollar market cap company, not a corner convenience store!" Even for Fury, who had seen his share of world-ending events, Hawk's speed of acquisition was shocking.
"Any word yet from the two agents we stationed at Columbia University?"
Coulson regretfully shook his head.
Fury sighed. "Still... we're not empty-handed." He pulled up another interface displaying the analysis report of the alien technology fragments and Foot Clan gear recovered during "Operation Iron Curtain."
"A pile of alien tech junk. Enough for us to reverse engineer for a while. Hawk... I'll strip away every single one of your secrets eventually. Keep a tight leash on him!"
....
Europe, Ancient Manor.
Alexander Pierce gracefully set down his teacup. Across from him sat Ishikawa Keigo, the representative of Bonbu, a sharp-eyed, cold older man dressed in an elaborate kimono.
"Mr. Pierce," Ishikawa's voice was quiet but barbed. "Your influence in the United States apparently can't handle a single fanatic who destroyed a Busan base? Hawk Lane, along with my two traitorous test subjects, Goo Ja-yoon and Shin Si-ah, must pay the price immediately!"
Pierce smiled, his defense seamless: "Mr. Ishikawa, anger clouds judgment. Hawk's power is bizarre. To launch a large-scale offensive in New York right now would be inviting trouble and exposing our precious 'Project Witch.' Vengeance requires strategy and timing."
"Timing?" Ishikawa's lips curled into a cold sneer. "I know what concerns you. Bonbu's roots are in East Asia and Europe. Your worries mean nothing to me. If your organization is afraid, we will handle it ourselves."
Pierce's smile remained unchanged: "Caution is the bedrock of victory. New York is a powder keg right now, and Hawk is a spark. It's ill-advised for us to personally ignite it." He masterfully employed diversion, his mind focused on Project Insight, which must not be derailed by Bonbu's quest for revenge.
"Hmph!" Ishikawa rose abruptly, his kimono sweeping faintly. "Our ways diverge. Since your organization cares for its feathers, we will crush Hawk in our own manner. You needn't bother escorting me." He gave a shallow bow, technically correct but full of disdain, and swept out.
Pierce's eyes cooled. "The foolish old man..." he murmured to himself. Once Ishikawa was gone, he immediately opened an encrypted line: "Monitor all Bonbu movements in the US closely. If they lose control... eliminate all loose ends, if necessary."
Leaving the ancient manor, Pierce got into a black sedan, looking out at the gloomy European sky. Hawk Lane... a troublesome piece had disrupted the entire board. Bonbu's rage was unstoppable; he could only try to guide and compartmentalize it. Now, he could only hope Bonbu was foolish enough, or Hawk Lane was crazy enough, to stir the waters even further, buying Hydra enough time.
....
The next day, Hawk and Goo Ja-yoon arrived on Staten Island. Christina Aguilera's villa was nestled in a secluded, scenic bay.
As Hawk drove in, the villa's owner, like a cheetah long anticipating its prey, was lounging barefoot against a Roman pillar on the porch, wearing a silk robe that hugged her perfect curves. The evening sea breeze fluttered her golden hair; the setting sun gilded her edges, giving her an aggressively beautiful glow.
"OMG, the Lion King of Wall Street has finally graced my little island?" Christina Aguilera's voice held a lazy huskiness. She greeted him with a smiling, heated embrace, unabashedly. The seductive scent unique to a mature woman instantly enveloped him.
Hawk naturally returned the hug, his palm tracing a line down her smooth back. The familiar heat immediately reignited certain memories.
"Chris, you are as impressive as ever." His gaze swept over the meticulously arranged environment—chilled champagne, faint jazz music drifting in, and the undisguised desire in her eyes.
"Not as impressive as the one you left on me, Hawk."
She pulled him inside, then noticed Goo Ja-yoon following Hawk, looking around like a curious child. A flash of barely perceptible scrutiny and slight alarm crossed Christina Aguilera's eyes.
"And who is this?"
"My highly capable assistant, Goo Ja-yoon," Hawk introduced casually. "Ja-yoon, this is Ms. Christina Aguilera, our gracious host."
"Hi~" Goo Ja-yoon waved guilelessly, her attention quickly drawn to an oddly shaped flamingo sculpture by the pool.
Christina Aguilera raised an eyebrow, her smile still alluring, but her tone carrying a suggestive edge: "Oh? It seems our 'Eye of the Storm' has... developed unique tastes?" She subtly indicated Goo Ja-yoon's somewhat plain face.
Hawk chuckled, leaning close to her ear, his low voice magnetically dangerous: "Don't worry, Christina. A 'hurricane' is always unique."
This phrase was like a switch, instantly igniting the flame in Christina Aguilera's eyes.
....
Meanwhile, at the core lab of Dr. Killian's Extremis project at A.I.M. Headquarters, the air was thick with disinfectant, a charred smell, and an indescribable metallic tang, like an overloaded circuit board.
On the massive screen wall, complex, obscure gene sequence maps and neural discharge models flowed. Several researchers in white coats were holding their breath, their backs drenched in sweat, staring at a test subject violently convulsing on the central platform, its body flickering with unstable, orange-red light.
Dr. Aldrich Killian stood at the control panel, his glasses magnifying his bloodshot eyes, his tightly compressed lips revealing suppressed brutality. He had just personally adjusted the latest stabilizer formula and was now rigidly monitoring the subject's vital signs.
"Hold steady... stabilize for me!" he growled hoarsely, his finger hovering over the emergency freeze button. He wouldn't abandon any data set until the very last second.
Just in this critical moment—
"Doctor! Doctor!" Project assistant Maya Hansen stumbled in, pale-faced, clutching a tablet. "TCRI! Lane Capital has control of TCRI... they... they issued a statement!"
Killian didn't turn around, his tone utterly impatient: "Can't you see I'm busy? What statement? Tell them to go to hell! Our experiment..."
"They unilaterally terminated all cooperation!" Maya's voice was tearful as she shoved the tablet right under Killian's nose. "All of it! Technical support, raw material supply, expert deployment... completely cut off! An official statement!"
The tablet screen displayed the announcement just posted on the TCRI official website, stamped with the new company seal. The title was concise and powerful: Lane Capital Statement on the Termination of Cooperation with Advanced Idea Mechanics (A.I.M.).
Killian's eye immediately caught the core content:
[...A comprehensive compliance review uncovered major potential ethical risks in certain cooperative projects, which severely violate our company's new values and operating philosophy... All cooperation agreements are unilaterally terminated effective immediately... We reserve the right to pursue legal liability...]
"Ethical risks?!" Killian violently snatched the tablet, his eyes practically bulging out, his voice suddenly rising. "Goddamn ethical risks?! Our research is paving the future! It's breaking limits! Hawk Lane? That wet-behind-the-ears punk? What the hell does he know about science?!"
Smash!
In a fit of rage, Killian violently slammed the tablet onto the floor. The expensive equipment instantly shattered, fragments flying. The loud noise terrified everyone in the lab, and even the nearly-exploding test subject seemed to pause for a moment.
"Garbage values! Garbage Lane Capital!" Killian's chest heaved as he paced back and forth in front of the control panel like a cornered beast thoroughly enraged. "Who do they think they are?! Without my 'Extremis,' without TCRI's technical support... Wait!"
He suddenly froze, his bloodshot eyes fixed on a flashing warning light on the control panel representing the dwindling inventory of the crucial neural interface stabilizer—one of the core materials supplied exclusively by TCRI! The stock was critically low! "Where are our experts? Where are the joint tests we were running?" He whirled toward Maya Hansen.
Maya recoiled, terrified by the murderous glare in his eyes, her voice trembling: "We just received notice... all TCRI experts stationed at A.I.M. have been emergency recalled within the hour. The reason is... a request to report back to headquarters. The lab's access to all data has also been forcibly terminated."
"You... Bastards—!"
Killian ground the words out through clenched teeth, a vein throbbing in his forehead. He felt a destructive fire shoot up to his scalp, his vision darkening.
This move by Hawk was brutal. Pulling technology, cutting off raw materials, recalling experts, and publicly slapping him with the "ethics" label. This was pushing the Extremis project toward total collapse!
"Doctor! Doctor! Subject S-77..." a researcher screamed in horror.
The orange-red glow on the test subject instantly became blindingly bright and unstable, like an erupting volcano.
"Wastrels! All of you!" Killian roared furiously, but his actions were lightning fast, slamming his fist onto the emergency freeze button.
Hiss—
A massive volume of white, cryogenic gas instantly spewed out, engulfing the test subject. The orange-red light struggled briefly in the mist before being completely extinguished with a teeth-grinding sound of freezing. The alarm light flashed a few times, then went still.
The silence lasted for what felt like an eternity.
Maya Hansen, now calmer, stepped forward: "But we have to visit and sue for peace. Our core material inventory will only last 72 hours. The synthesis pathway for the neural link stabilizer is entirely dependent on TCRI's core catalyst. Without it, 'Extremis' is just a pile of explosive scrap. Then what? The project completely stalls? Is your decade of work going to end like this?"
Killian listened to every word. He wasn't stupid. His initial rage was as much about years of suppressed frustration over the unfinished Extremis Virus as it was about the sudden crisis. He looked around: the researchers' terrified eyes, the glaring red stock warning light on the control panel, and the key data stream for a special test subject still flickering on a monitor in the corner.
"You're right. Without TCRI's support, we'll be set back at least one or two years. Hawk dares to do this—he's either ignorant and fearless, or... he's sitting on something we don't know about. Direct war is the worst option." Killian gradually calmed down.
He stared intently at Hawk's name on the screen, then turned and said, "Maya, immediately compile the data from our closest successful 'Extremis' experiments—the core data that proves its immense potential, but hold back the crucial stabilizer parameters."
"Notify Legal and Finance," Killian's eyes were razor-sharp. "Prepare an equity transfer agreement for ten percent... no, fifteen percent of A.I.M.'s shares."
Maya gasped, immediately understanding his intention: "Doctor?! Fifteen percent? That's too high a price..."
"High?" Killian sneered. "Actually, cooperating with Lane Group might be for the best. Lane's power is far greater than TCRI's. They can surely give me an environment where I can continue my research openly. What is a little bit of stock if 'Extremis' succeeds? Lane Capital? When that time comes, the one who controls the core technology is the true winner."
He adjusted his messy white lab coat as if donning a suit of armor, though the humiliation and burning ambition in his eyes remained complexly intertwined.
"Schedule a time with Hawk. I'll go pay my respects to this new dock owner," Killian's voice held the resolve of a man committing to a desperate, make-or-break move. "And we'll bring our 'sincere offer.'"
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