One Million Dollars an Hour 6: Chapter 6: Justice!
One Million Dollars an Hour Hawkeye didn’t want to recall what he had just experienced.
Dust filled the sky.
Just as Barton finished assembling the evacuation team, all sorts of shouting exploded in his communicator.
“Hulk is awake!
Hulk is awake!” “Sector C building collapse!” “Attention all units—” Barton pressed his earpiece and looked back.
In the gray haze, a green silhouette was standing straight up.
Bigger than before.
Or rather, more swollen.
Hulk’s eyes were bloodshot, his mouth was stretched wide, and his chest was heaving at an abnormal frequency.
He wasn’t awake; he had exploded.
Luke’s kick hadn’t calmed him down; instead, it had set him off.
Barton gritted his teeth.
“Assault Team One, enter from the east side.
Team Two, flank from the south.
Team Three, follow me to the front.
Bring the armored vehicles up, and helicopters provide cover fire.” The three forces moved simultaneously.
Armored vehicles crushed the rubble and charged forward, turrets turning toward Hulk.
Helicopters swept across the low altitude from the right, their machine guns pouring out a rain of bullets.
Hulk turned his head.
The twelve-ton armored vehicle was swatted away.
Hulk didn’t even look back, jumped backhanded, and grabbed the tail rotor of the helicopter.
The pilot ejected at the last second.
Barton, fifty meters away on a rooftop, drew his bow fully.
Explosive arrow.
His last one.
The arrow traced an arc and pinned itself precisely onto Hulk’s right shoulder.
Boom.
Hulk lowered his head.
He glanced at the scorch mark on his shoulder.
Then he brushed his left hand over his shoulder, flicking away the arrow fragments embedded in his flesh.
That single motion was like swatting a mosquito.
Barton crouched on the rooftop, his bowstring still trembling slightly.
He pressed the communication button, his voice unnaturally flat.
“Retreat.” No second sentence.
Barton jumped from the roof, rolled upon landing, and ran toward the east with the remaining team members.
He had been in the field for three years, and for the first time, he felt like a bow and arrow were just toys.
As for containment devices?
In a situation like this, what kind of containment is there to speak of!
…
On the helicopter.
On the tactical screen, blue dots were constantly retreating.
The defensive line of the entire area was like paper, being flattened layer by layer.
General Ross sat to the side, hands folded on his knees, his mouth twisting.
“Director Fury, didn’t you say your people could handle this?” Fury didn’t look at him.
His gaze was locked on a line of gray text in the corner of the screen.
[Luke — Offline] “Where was Luke’s last location?” Fury asked the communications officer.
The communications officer pulled up the record: “The last signal appeared at the entrance of the 149th Street subway station in the Bronx.
Preliminary judgment is that he actively disabled the tracker.” Actively disabled.
Fury stared at the gray text for three seconds.
Natasha was elsewhere, and the remaining Agents were dispatched to other locations.
The Avengers initiative had not been launched.
Although he extremely hated to admit it, currently, apart from Luke, maybe there really was…
He picked up the phone.
…
Queens.
In Peter Parker’s room.
Luke listened to the roaring on the other end of the phone and hung up without hesitation.
The phone rang again.
Luke glanced at the caller ID and flipped the phone over, face down on the floor.
It rang again.
Luke took a bite of the leftover pizza takeout on the table, chewed twice, reached out to pick up the phone, and pressed reject.
The third time.
Luke looked at the phone screen, then at Peter.
Peter’s expression was conflicted.
“Uncle Su, your boss has called three times.” “Hmm.” “This…
isn’t good, is it?” “What’s not good about it?
I’m off work.” Luke switched hands to hold the pizza.
The fourth call came in.
Luke answered.
“Hello?
Who is this?” There was silence on the other end for a second.
Fury’s voice came through the receiver, restrained, but very barely.
“Luke, where are you right now?” “At home, off work.” “Who authorized you to go off work?” Luke put down the pizza and wiped his hands.
“Clause 3, Section 2 of the contract, shift-based working hours.
Today was scheduled until 6:00 PM.
It is now 7:42 PM, which falls under my private time.” There was no sound from Fury’s side.
After five seconds, Fury said: “The situation in Manhattan is out of control.
Hulk is stronger than estimated, and existing forces cannot intercept him.
I need you to come back and support.” The tone was imperative.
Luke leaned against the leg of Peter’s desk, looking up at the ceiling.
“Director, this tone of yours…
are you begging me?” A faint sound of plastic casing being squeezed came from the other end of the phone.
Fury didn’t answer.
Luke pressed the mute button, turned his head to shake the phone at Peter, and made a face: “My boss, something’s wrong with his brain, like a teddy bear.
You let go, and he screams; you pay attention to him, and he gets even more excited.” Peter shrank back, lowering his voice: “Your boss…
sounds really fierce.” “What’s the point of being fierce?
I’m still the one who has to do the work.” Luke unmuted.
“I can go back, but on one condition: nine-to-five every day, off on time, not a minute later.” Before Fury could answer, Barton’s voice cut into the communication channel: “Director!
Hulk is moving toward the city center!
He’s about to escape the defensive line!” Fury’s temple twitched.
“Fine.” “Double overtime pay.” “…Fine.” “Every weekend off, statutory holidays off according to national standards, and I must be able to take leave when necessary.” Fury’s voice squeezed out from between his teeth: “Luke, you are an Agent of S.H.I.E.L.D., not a civil servant.” “Then forget it.
I haven’t even finished my pizza.” A loud noise suddenly came from the communication channel, followed by screaming.
Barton’s voice cut in intermittently: “Director!
The second line of defense—has been broken!
We—” The hand holding the phone was shaking.
Not out of fear, but out of anger.
He had been in intelligence for over a decade, led the most difficult Agents, interrogated the most arrogant war criminals, but none of it made his blood pressure spike more than this phone call.
He suppressed everything and lowered his voice.
“I agree to everything.
Come back now.” There was a pause on the other end.
Luke was actually a bit surprised.
This worked?
A thought popped up, and he couldn’t help himself.
“One last thing, I want to be the Director of S.H.I.E.L.D.
for a day.” Silence for five seconds.
A full five seconds.
Then Fury’s voice drifted out from the phone, popping out word by word, with half a second between each word: “You—really—don’t—push—it—too—far.” Fine.
As expected, that was a no-go.
Luke was just about to refuse overtime when a translucent panel suddenly popped up in front of him.
[As an Admiral, exceptions can occasionally be made, but you must fight for justice] [Overtime condition: Hourly rate of one million U.S.
dollars.
Below this standard, the system does not allow attendance during non-working hours] Luke almost spat out the cola in his hand.
It wasn’t like the system hadn’t popped up such prompts before; the conditions were always very outrageous.
Like before, when he had the guts to express it to Nick Fury, the other party’s attitude could be described as, hmm, not very good.
But this time…
One million U.S.
dollars an hour.
He lowered his head to look at the line of text on the panel, then at the small text below the panel.
“The time of an Admiral cannot be underestimated.” This justice was way too expensive.
But if the system said no, it meant no.
There were only seven days left, and he didn’t want any accidents at the last minute.
Luke cleared his throat.
“One million U.S.
dollars an hour, otherwise no deal.” On the helicopter.
When Fury heard this number, his forward-leaning posture froze.
Two seconds.
He stood up.
He walked three steps in the cabin, reached the end, turned around, walked another three steps, and walked back.
Then, facing the phone, his voice rose to a new height: “You’re an Agent!
Hourly rate of one million?
What is your status?
Are you a mercenary or an alien!?” “Do you believe I’ll fire you right now!?” Luke’s voice was without fluctuation: “Doesn’t matter.
If you fire me, I’ll go find another job.
I heard Stark Industries is hiring security, with full benefits and a year-end bonus.” Stark.
Fury opened his mouth.
He wanted to say something, but swallowed it back hard.
The alarm sounded on the tactical screen.
A staff officer rushed out from the rear cabin: “Director!
Hulk has broken through the third blockade!
Four kilometers from the Manhattan Bridge!
There are currently over three thousand civilians evacuating on the bridge.
According to Hulk’s current speed, he will reach the bridge head in seven minutes!” Fury turned to look at the screen.
That red dot was advancing at a constant speed on the map.
Fury closed his eyes.
When he opened them again, there was no extra emotion in that single eye.
Capturing Hulk would yield a higher return.
This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, this is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, this is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity…
After comforting himself ten times, he raised the phone again.
“One million, I approve it.
It’s calculated by the hour, starting from the moment you leave the house.” He paused.
“Now, immediately, right now, get to Manhattan for me!”