Hawk looked at the persistent reporter. He considered that she had genuinely helped them tonight and wasn't entirely unreliable. He needed to manage his relationship with the media, and maintaining a controlled, positive commercial image was sometimes necessary.
"Strictly economics and business," Hawk told April, his gaze steady. "Not one word outside that boundary. And the content must be cleared by my team before publication."
"Absolutely! I promise!" April instantly exploded with joy, as if she'd won the lottery. Overwhelmed by excitement, she instinctively took a step forward, stood on her tiptoes, and planted a quick, loud kiss on Hawk's cheek!
"Thank you, Hawk! You are the best!" Her cheeks flushed. Realizing what she had done, her eyes flickered with momentary shyness, but the excitement quickly overcame it. "I… I'll wait for your call!" She then scurried toward the truck's passenger seat like a startled, happy rabbit, buckling her seatbelt to patiently await Hawk.
The air seemed to momentarily solidify.
Emily, standing a few steps away, had witnessed the entire exchange. There was little expression on her delicate face, but her crossed-arm stance, slightly pursed lips, and a soft "Hmph" clearly conveyed a thick sense of jealousy.
Hawk's gaze shifted to Emily, catching her fleeting moment of pique. A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. He walked up to her.
Emily looked up at him, the sour mood not entirely gone. She was about to say something, perhaps, "Looks like our Mr. Hawk's charm hasn't faded," when Hawk unexpectedly wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her possessively into his embrace.
"Jealous?" Hawk's low voice, warm with breath, brushed against her ear, no longer the business-like tone he used with April, but filled with intimate possessiveness.
Emily's body stiffened slightly, then melted into his arms, and the sour feeling miraculously vanished. She lifted her head, the thought suddenly occurring to her: no matter how enthusiastic April was, all she got was a cold permit for a business interview. But her?
"Of course not. Just some overeager little reporter," Emily's voice regained its usual languidness and a hint of triumph, the confidence of her days as a Columbia cheerleader returning. "She only got the interview… but tonight, you are mine, head to toe, every minute."
Suddenly, Hawk's phone vibrated. He turned his back slightly and checked the message.
[Your coordinates: 40.7122° N, 74.0060° W, pointing to a converted, abandoned subway station deep in Lower Manhattan.]
[The company in sheep's clothing: TCRI, a front for advanced biotech and spatial physics research. It's been reported multiple times as a hub for Foot Clan money laundering, but the cases always stall due to lack of evidence.]
[I.O.U. +2. Good luck, and try not to die too quickly. — The Creditor.]
Hawk cracked a cold smile.
TCRI… Shredder was playing a bigger game than he thought. Biotech and spatial physics? Based on those two fields, he was certain Shredder had already teamed up with the alien Krang.
Pondering this, he briefly considered his next move, deciding to wait until daybreak. TCRI was a moderately well-known unicorn company on Wall Street, especially famous for its astonishing achievements in biotech over the past two years.
Reported by multiple people? That highly suggested it was the Foot Clan's corporate shell. As for evidence… did Hawk really need it?
He was taking this target!
But right now, S.H.I.E.L.D. was descending on the previous battlefield. If they discovered the Foot Clan had such high-tech capabilities, would there be anything left for him?
First, he needed to know all of TCRI's visible and hidden factories and labs before taking the next step. Time was pressing, and to dig up the necessary intelligence as quickly as possible, he would need to call in professional external help.
....
Meanwhile, at the ruins of Hawk's Battle Site.
S.H.I.E.L.D.'s Quinjet fleet, like angry steel vultures, tore through the night sky and roared into position above the coordinates. Blinding columns of searchlight instantly illuminated the ravaged battlefield below like daylight.
Ground force armored vehicles followed closely, their engines roaring as they sealed off all major access points. Fully armed S.H.I.E.L.D. agents poured out like a tide, their tactical flashlights sweeping across the debris.
"Target area secured! Repeat, target area is sealed!" The commander's report crackled over the comms.
Nick Fury stood at the door of the lead Quinjet, looking down at the wreckage: melted metal, collapsed structural elements, scattered pieces of strange ninja gear, and some oddly contorted, unwholesome-looking modified limbs… His hawkish single eye scanned sharply. The site was deserted, save for the wreckage.
"The Traveler has departed!" the ground team reported.
Fury's fist silently clenched. Too slow again! He always slips away like an eel!
However, at that moment, infrared thermal imaging and motion sensors simultaneously registered abnormal activity.
"Sir! Unknown personnel rapidly approaching the warzone! Large numbers!" The tech officer's voice was strained. "They're… cleaning up? Erasing traces, recovering partial equipment remnants!"
Fury's brow furrowed into a knot. Cleaning up the battlefield right under S.H.I.E.L.D.'s nose? They have nerve!
He immediately opened an encrypted communication channel. "Hand, did you get the scan results back on your little toys yet? Whose people are those cleaning crew down there?"
S.H.I.E.L.D. Agent Victoria Hand's slightly languid but efficient voice came through the comms. "Energy residue analysis points to one of the main combatants from before. But the new arrivals have mixed-style gear—some close-combat weapon signatures, some high-energy bio-signatures. Database matching confirms partial characteristics align with a ninja organization in the New York underworld called the Foot Clan. However, the recovered equipment fragments have even stranger signals, like… hmm… not of Earth origin? Interesting."
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