December 1, 2007 S.H.I.E.L.D.
Headquarters, Triskelion Natasha Romanoff’s high heels clicked softly against the polished synthetic floor, the sound fading into the low, steady hum that filled this part of the Triskelion.
Heavy machinery worked nonstop behind the walls and ceiling, powering and protecting the massive complex floating on the Potomac River.
The cold air smelled clean and filtered, and every breath reminded her where she was: the heart of one of the most powerful and secretive intelligence agencies on earth.
The physical dossier in her hand felt unusually heavy.
Its dark gray hardcover bore no markings except for a shifting encrypted watermark in one corner: S.H.I.E.L.D.’s highest-level clearance marker.
The heavy composite armored door to the director’s office slid silently open, revealing the room beyond.
A massive floor-to-ceiling window covered the entire wall opposite the door, but right now it was draped in black night.
The dusk outside was blocked out completely, leaving only the cold, precise interior lighting cutting the room into sharp blocks of light and shadow.
Nick Fury stood with his back to the door, motionless as a statue against the darkness beyond the window.
His broad shoulders were tense, and the hem of his black leather trench coat hung perfectly still, as if he were rooted to the foundation of the massive building beneath his feet.
“Excuse me, Director,” Natasha said, her voice steady and clear.
Fury didn’t answer right away.
Time in the office seemed to stretch and stall, broken only by the faint blinking lights on the central console, each one marking a global intelligence node.
After a few seconds, he turned slowly.
His single piercing eye cut through the light and settled on Natasha and the ominous gray dossier in her hand.
“Natasha, I hope you bring some good news.” His voice was low and rough, like sandpaper scraping over stone.
“I’m afraid it’s not the ‘good news’ you’re hoping for, Director.” Natasha arched an eyebrow and stepped lightly forward.
She set the heavy dossier in the center of Fury’s huge desk, built from high-strength polymers and metal alloys.
The desktop was as smooth as a mirror, reflecting the cold, geometric light from the ceiling fixtures, and the dossier lying there looked like a sudden, unwelcome stain.
“Newly flagged target, internal codename: ‘Traveler.’ Priority: highest.
Threat level: extremely high.” She enunciated each word clearly.
“Identity confirmed: Hawk.” Fury’s gaze snapped to the file pouch as if pulled by a magnet.
“Lane?
As in that Lane family?” he asked, turning to Natasha with genuine astonishment.
“That’s right.
The very Lane family that made its fortune in mining.” Natasha nodded, her movements crisp and efficient.
Without waiting for Fury to sit down, she reached out and, with practiced ease, brushed her slender fingers lightly across the file pouch.
A faint blue light scanned her fingerprint, and the pouch opened silently.
Several specially encrypted virtual screens, visible only on this equipment, projected from the desktop at once and hovered in midair, sharp and clear.
“Hawk, male, twenty years old, currently a sophomore majoring in economics at Columbia University.” An ID photo appeared on the screen in the upper left corner.
The young man in the photo had smooth golden-brown hair with a slight wave, falling casually on either side of his broad forehead.
His smile was warm and radiant, without a trace of shadow, revealing even white teeth.
His light brown eyes were clear and bright, like warm sunlight shining through honey, and he radiated an innocent, sheltered vitality.
He was the very image of a rising star shaped by privileged upbringing and elite education.
“As for family,” Natasha said flatly, as if reading an ordinary report, “he is the adopted son of John Lane and his sole recognized legal heir.” That was public information anyone could find.
John Lane…
Fury turned the name over in his mind, then finally sank heavily into the sturdy chair.
The backrest gave a slight groan under his weight.
The wealth behind that name pressed in like a cold tide, instantly flooding every corner of the office.
“Lane Group.
Built on mining, a commercial empire spanning the globe.” Recognition crept into his deep voice.
“Lane Industries, Lane Mining, Lane Construction, Lane Capital…
a top-tier giant on par with Stark Industries.
I hear one-third of the buildings on Wall Street were built by them.” His gaze swept over Hawk’s youthful face on the screen.
“A spoiled rich kid born with a silver spoon in his mouth and an incredibly bright future ahead of him…
how could he possibly be connected to a top-tier threat?” “Just seventy-two hours ago, in Busan, South Korea.” Natasha gave a quick swipe through the air, and the screen in the upper right refreshed instantly.
Several blurry but striking images dominated the screen: a shocking scene of ruins.
Twisted, broken masses of metal jutted toward the gray, hazy sky like the bones of some monster.
The remains of concrete buildings had been torn apart and crushed by a violent force, scattered and piled up like mountains.
Charred marks spread across every large piece of debris like hideous scars.
The blast wave had clearly torn through the area.