Hawk stood behind the desk, staring at the photo in his hand—then at the woman who had just stepped through the door, as if she had walked right out of that very picture.
Madame Viper, Ophelia Sarkissian, also stared back. Her eyes locked on the intruder who had somehow appeared in her office without a sound, holding a framed photo of herself with Anna.
The instant their gazes met, she felt as though she'd been pulled into a foreign cosmos.
Loneliness.
Cold.
And a bone-deep chill.
But she recovered quickly.
Without a word, she closed the office door behind her, then stood still, calmly facing his gaze.
Hawk glanced again at the photo of Anna and the green-haired woman, then replaced it on the desk with deliberate care.
"Your name."
"…Ophelia."
She answered at once, her voice lacking the seductive lilt she had used earlier when speaking with Alexander Pierce. Instead it was calm, steady—even reassuring.
Hawk arched a brow, hands in his pockets, studying her tall, rigid stance.
"Madame Viper?"
"…Yes."
She nodded.
Hawk gave a small laugh.
Ophelia. Hydra.
Green hair like polished jade.
Only Madame Viper—the so-called Lady Hydra, infamous even in whispered histories—fit all three marks.
He had guessed right.
This universe lacked mutants. There was no Wolverine here. No X-Men.
But the woman before him was altered—an Inhuman, not a mutant. Hawk felt the strange pulse of energy beneath her emerald uniform the moment his senses brushed her.
Legends said her kiss carried venom enough to drop even Wolverine to his knees.
He wondered if that part was true.
Still, that wasn't why he had come.
Hawk's gaze lingered once more on the photo of Anna and Viper.
"What's your relationship with Anna?"
"Friends."
Ophelia paused, then added softly, "Close friends."
"Is that so?"
His lips curved faintly. "I'll confirm that myself. You'd better not be lying."
Then, as though he owned the office and she were merely a guest, Hawk pointed at the sofa by the panoramic window.
"Sit."
"…Thank you."
Relieved, she obeyed, smoothing her skirt as she sat—formal, composed, almost meek.
Hawk strolled past, not taking the other sofa, but instead standing before the window, looking down at the glittering expanse of Tokyo's most expensive district.
Ophelia didn't move a muscle.
Hawk's voice drifted, low and cold.
"On my way here, I thought about leveling this place with one punch. Turning it white and clean, like Wakanda."
He turned, finally lowering himself onto the sofa across from her.
"But then I saw that fire. It cooled me down. And I saw your photo with Anna. So I'll only ask once: was it you who pretended to be Anna on the phone with me?"
He already knew Anna wasn't in Japan.
The instant he landed, his sixth sense had swept across the entire island. No trace of her.
That was why he'd called Sharon for the S.H.I.E.L.D. base's location.
But now, watching Viper's body stiffen the moment she saw him—he was certain.
The "Anna" who had spoken to him at S.H.I.E.L.D. New York wasn't real.
So where was the real one?
Surely not gone since Wakanda? Surely not always a fake?
If that were true, Hydra's little uprising was a joke.
Ophelia shivered under his killing intent and quickly shook her head.
"It wasn't me, Mr. Phoenix."
"Is that so?"
His gaze bore into her. "Then who set Yasukuni Shrine on fire? Don't tell me Anna asked you to do it."
"No. It was Alexander Pierce."
She didn't hesitate. She betrayed him instantly.
Pierce had promised her a favor in return.
But favors meant nothing if she didn't live long enough to use them.
She knew the only reason she still breathed was because of that photo of her with Anna.
If she lied, this entire city would become ash in seconds.
"Pierce, hmm?" Hawk's voice was flat.
"Yes," she said quickly, recounting word-for-word Pierce's earlier call and his orders to burn the shrine.
Hawk had already suspected Pierce. Her testimony only confirmed it.
But then—
"Outside Wakanda, Pierce told me Anna had been assigned here. That she was running things in Japan."
"No."
Ophelia shook her head firmly. "Japan is my territory. Anna's my friend—I welcomed her visit. But she worked under Pierce. He and I only cooperated."
Hawk smiled.
To her, it looked like the smile of a predator just before it bit.
But he forced down the fire boiling inside and asked again:
"Then where's Anna?"
"I don't know."
Her tone was honest, almost pleading. "We haven't spoken in a long time."
Hawk's brow furrowed. "Some friend. You didn't wonder?"
"I asked. Pierce told me she was on assignment. I didn't press further."
"I see."
His gaze drilled into her. "When was the last time you actually spoke to Anna?"
Ophelia thought carefully, then answered: "Mid-July. Last year."
"July?"
"Yes."
Hawk froze. That was right before he had asked Anna to keep an eye on Jane Foster's arrival in London.
And after that—he had lost contact.
So she'd been missing, or imprisoned, ever since.
But not dead.
He would have seen her soul in his Underworld if she were. Mephisto had already conceded that much to him.
So missing. Or caged.
Enough.
His lips curled into a cold smile.
Why speculate? Better to ask Pierce directly.
Hydra's "Second Uprising"? Finished.
He rose to his feet, ready to leave for Washington and join the fight.
Then he noticed Viper stand as well, startled, mirroring him.
He paused, eyes narrowing.
"You'd better really be Anna's friend."
"I swear it."
She spoke with grave sincerity.
Hawk studied her for several seconds, then finally turned away.
"Then you'd better pray that when I find Anna, her answer matches yours."
"Otherwise, you'll die worse than Pierce."
And with that, Hawk vanished from the office.
An instant later, a sonic boom split the sky.
He had become a streak of crimson light, racing toward Washington, D.C.
…
(End of Chapter)
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