3 Aunt May: God, What Have We Done?
Coulson strode to the desk and, without so much as a nod to Natasha, shoved the tablet toward Fury.
It slid across the smooth desktop and stopped right in front of him.
The screen lit up on its own, and blinding white light flooded the dim office, illuminating Fury’s face, cold and hard as granite.
At the top of the screen, a line of bold crimson text glowed like dried blood: “Lane Foundation Charity Dinner – Final Confirmed Guest List” Fury’s gaze swept down the screen like a cold probe.
The list was packed with politicians, business leaders, and titans from every field, each name carrying real power and influence.
But as if pulled by an invisible magnet, his eyes locked on two names in the middle of the list.
The system had already flagged them, with flashing red alert boxes around each one: “Koo Ziyun!” “Shin Si-ah!” And in the prominent host slot, the name was printed clearly: Hawk Fury’s eyes moved slowly across the three names, from Koo Ziyun to Shin Si-ah, before finally settling on “Hawk.” In that moment, time itself seemed to stretch and warp.
The simulated night outside the window stopped shifting, and even the ever-blinking indicator lights on the consoles seemed to freeze mid-blink.
The pupil of his one good eye constricted to a pinpoint.
A moment later, he looked back at the virtual screens hovering faintly above the desk, glowing softly.
In the photo, Hawk’s light brown eyes, clear and full of sunlight, stared quietly back at him across time, space, and data.
In that instant, a memory surfaced.
A month earlier, he had personally cleared a four-person combat team from South Korea for entry, three women and one man, led by a petite, stone-faced young woman named Eun-bi.
Alexander Pierce had brought it to him personally, so he hadn’t thought much of it at the time and had just signed off.
Later, breaking news reported that Lane Group’s executive conference room had been raided by unidentified attackers, triggering a fierce firefight with heavy casualties.
In the end, the people inside were saved, but the bodyguard team had been nearly wiped out in the process.
Fury furrowed his brow.
As the world’s top spy, he put the pieces together instantly.
Supernatural forces had shown up at the Lane Group boardroom battle, though he had only learned about that afterward.
The four-man combat team had been hired by Bates Capital, Lane Group’s old rival.
He also knew Bates Capital was one of Alexander Pierce’s fronts, and that Pierce had long coveted Lane Group’s mining assets scattered around the globe.
As he was thinking this, Coulson’s voice came through again: “Director…
while investigating the wreckage of the Busan base…
when we dug into the servers for information…
we found a name…” “King.” “King…” Fury frowned, repeating it under his breath.
“One of those street heroes operating out of Brooklyn these past few years?” Natasha was drawn in as well.
What kind of story was this?
A super-rich magnate waging a one-man war on crime at night?
Bruce Wayne?
She thought of a character who only existed in comic books.
Granted, Brooklyn’s “King” was just a hero who fought street-level crime, but whoever had carried out that shocking atrocity in South Korea was clearly operating on a completely different level.
Were the two “Kings” the same person?
Fury didn’t spare another glance at Hawk’s sunny smile; his one good eye turned toward the thick, artificial darkness outside the window.
The temperature in the office seemed to drop several degrees.
His voice was ice cold.
“How brazen…” Late at night in Manhattan, New York.
Steinway Tower, top-floor penthouse.
The night was like expensive velvet, gently wrapping the sleepless city towering into the clouds.
Below, a shifting galaxy drifted by as millions of lights merged into an unending sea of glow between the Hudson River and the East River.
Hawk leaned back against the headboard, the amber liquid in his crystal glass swirling with the slightest flick of his wrist.
Everything around him lay in complete disarray, and lamplight fell across Aunt May’s bare back on the rumpled bed.
Her sweat-damp brown hair clung to the slender curve of her neck.
As she pushed herself up, the velvet blanket slipped away, her bare skin prickling in the cool air, and she could still feel Hawk’s young fingers resting in the hollow of her waist.
Memories from two hours earlier came flooding back: his hands had lifted her and pinned her against the cold floor-to-ceiling window, her sweat-slicked back leaving misty swirls on the glass.
“God, what have we done…” Aunt May sat up slightly, her eyes wide with shock, her lips moving without a sound.
She clutched the rumpled blanket to her chest and curled her toes as the wool fibers of the Persian rug tickled her soles.
“This is crazy…” She could have sworn she had only run into this man by chance, the same man who was constantly in business and entertainment headlines.
She never expected him to say he knew her nephew, Peter Parker, and that he could pull some strings to get him into Midtown School of Science and Technology, all for one dinner.
Sensing the movement beside him, Hawk turned his head.
“Crazy?” Hawk rubbed his chin and smiled.
“Well…
how should I put this?
Aunt May, you’re already a widow, and I can’t just let you keep living like one!
And since Peter Parker is your nephew, that makes him my nephew too!” Aunt May stared at him wide-eyed, listening in disbelief to such outrageous words!
That encounter had also made Hawk marvel at how well-preserved Aunt May was.
At this point, Peter Parker hadn’t started high school yet.
Aunt May was only in her thirties, her skin so fair it practically glowed, soft and supple, a woman at her most alluring.
And that refined, elegant air about her was even more captivating.