blogombal Page 13
Page 13
Only Natasha herself knew that in the "extremely detailed" debriefing report that Fury demanded, regarding the "necessary contact" during those two hours, all she could probably write down was that objective, almost praising, but utterly worthless "physical assessment," because that was the only "detail" she could clearly recall.
The remaining sensory memories were already overshadowed by a powerful, unsettling sense of control and extraordinary skill, imprinted deep within bodily perception rather than on the agent's analytical log.
A moment later, Natasha took a deep breath and pulled up Hawke Lane's private contact information. The number was not public information; Hawke had personally entered it into her phone after she had made "necessary contact."
She took a deep breath, her fingertips tapping on the virtual keyboard, her words precise:
Mr. Hawke, my boss is very interested in your proposed coffee invitation. Are you free tonight?
Message sent.
Almost instantly, the reply popped up:
[Natasha, that's efficient. It seems your boss needs this conversation more than I thought.]
[Tonight at 9 PM, at the "Tears of the Muse" across from Bates Building.]
I've booked the entire rooftop terrace for myself.
[By the way, let me ask again, regarding the 'SmithKline squat,' were you satisfied with my performance?]
It's blatant flirting, tinged with a playful sense of control.
As Natasha stared at the words on the screen, she could almost hear Hawke's deep voice and his faint chuckle.
Her decision to respond in a more direct way, in a manner more in line with Hawke's expectations, was itself a test.
23 Natasha's Experience Report [Seeking Flowers and Favorites]
Her fingertips hovered over the virtual keyboard for a moment, then she typed her reply:
[Arrangements confirmed, Mr. Hawke. Midnight, rooftop terrace of Tears of the Muses.]
Regarding your question…
Satisfied? Hawke, you underestimate yourself.
Your unwavering focus and suffocating control were so precise that no one could escape.
[His strength is undeniable, but what's even more impressive is his damn experience and patience.]
You have a firm grasp on the rhythm; every probing attempt is anticipated, thwarted, and transformed into a deeper level of suppression.
[What's most crucial is that, Hawke, even at that moment, your eyes remained as clear as an icicle, as if you were merely assessing the limits of a precision instrument.]
To be honest...it's outstanding.
send.
It wasn't the cold "fitness assessment report" given to Fury, but rather a languid, almost hindsight-like realism, every word imbued with a vibrant, colorful quality.
Hawke's reply followed quickly, carrying a hint of pleasure in letting his prey flutter in his palm:
I received your 'first-hand user experience report'. Such honest and vivid feedback is very helpful.
[It seems that the expected results have indeed been achieved, both in terms of data and user experience.]
[By the way, if Ms. Natasha Romanov ever wants to relive this kind of extreme training again... my private gym is always open.]
This is no longer just flirting, but rather a provocation and an unbridled invitation.
Natasha's fingertips twitched slightly before regaining their composure. With a blank expression, she forwarded all of her chat logs with Hawke, along with the meeting confirmation, to Fury.
This was also part of the intelligence gathering effort, showing Fury how Hawke was trying to break down her defenses and how she herself was responding to the offensive.
No personal comments were added; it was purely an objective transmission of information.
A few seconds later, Fury's cold reply appeared:
【Received. Arrived on time.】
Agent Romanov, focused on the mission.
I didn't comment on Hawke's ambiguous remarks, but the last four words carried a heavy weight.
Natasha closed all communication interfaces and re-entered the shadows of her combat suit.
She began systematically checking the equipment and making logistical preparations for the evening's meeting.
The movements were precise and efficient, as always.
But in her meticulously crafted mind, Hawke's deep voice seemed to still echo: "...keep the door open at all times."
This wasn't a sweet talk; it was more like another test of the boundaries of her will.
My own replies were like adding fuel to the fire.
Tonight's meeting will see Fury confront Hawke directly, while Fury's position as a bridge, or rather, a "tool" being used, will be even more delicate.
Hawke Lane should never be seen as just a twenty-year-old boy.
He was like a deep, unfathomable pool; beneath his calm surface lay a ruthless scheming capable of devouring everything and an irresistible, dangerous charm.
On the rooftop terrace of Tears of the Muse, amidst the aroma of expensive coffee, the tension only intensifies.
Natasha needs to ensure that she is not influenced by any private, physiological memories.
Smith can do another hundred squats, but absolute mental calm is what she needs most right now.
As the clock struck midnight, the illuminated rooftop terrace of the Tears of the Muse seemed to become a floating island on the Manhattan skyline.
The night breeze carried the slightly salty moisture from the Hudson River, swirling the aroma of expensive coffee and cigar embers, yet it could not dispel the invisible smoke that permeated the air.
The dazzling city lights stretched out in the distance, outlining the sharp silhouettes of the meticulously trimmed potted plants along the edge of the terrace, and illuminating the three figures around the solitary glass round table in the center.
Nick Fury, dressed in his signature black leather coat, stood like a reef formed from the night, his one eye sharp as a hawk's, scrutinizing the young man opposite him.
Natasha Romanov stood silently half a step behind Fury, her combat uniform blending into the dimness of the corner, like a perfect shadow.
Hawke himself was the only discordant note in this tense atmosphere.
He leaned back comfortably in a sleek, modern armchair, his dark suit gleaming like silk under the carefully designed lighting, casually toying with an unlit cigar.
In front of him sat a nearly untouched espresso, its steam dissipating quickly in the cool night breeze.
“Chief,” Hawke’s deep, pleasant voice broke the silence, carrying a hint of languor, as if he were simply greeting a late friend, “the view of Manhattan at midnight, combined with your unique charisma, always has a special charm.”
His gaze swept over Fury's tense face, finally settling on Natasha, a slight smile playing on his lips. "Ms. Romanov, the night suits you perfectly."
Natasha's eyelashes didn't move at all. She mobilized all her willpower to compress and archive those physiological memories, locking them firmly in the read-only memory area.
“Mr. Ryan, ‘King’?” Fury’s voice was deep and menacing. “Busan was blown to smithereens, and Bates Capital was crushed like an ant by you. You detonated a financial nuclear bomb right under my nose, turning half of Wall Street upside down. Now, tell me, whose pawn are you? Or are you the one playing the game?”
His single eye was fixed on Hawke, trying to see through his elegant and composed facade.
Hawke chuckled softly:
"Director, if I didn't know your identity, I would have thought you were the chairman of the Federal Reserve or the SEC... You're even regulating the financial markets, isn't that a bit too much? Besides, the word 'game' isn't quite accurate. I prefer to call it 'risk elimination.' Bates Capital's level of danger has already threatened social stability. I'm just accelerating its metabolism."
His tone was flat, as if he were talking about the weather.
"Don't give me that bureaucratic talk!" Fury said gravely. "And those two girls, Koo Ja-yoon and Shin Shi-ah, they're weapons! Dangerous weapons! You're playing with fire! Biological weapons, the bloodshed of Wall Street... you've made this the epicenter of all the trouble!"
Hawke's smile deepened, but his eyes remained devoid of warmth.
"Chief, your intelligence network is as efficient as ever. As for the center of the trouble..."
He rose gracefully and strolled to the edge of the terrace.
Looking up at the Bates Tower across the street, I could vaguely see the rooftop helipad of the Bates Tower and a few well-dressed but dejected figures.
It was the core members of the Bates family and several executives, surrounded by S.H.I.E.L.D. agents, hurrying toward the waiting helicopter with several suitcases, clearly preparing to flee this place of sorrow.
"Sometimes, trouble needs to be completely eliminated before the surface of the water can return to calm."
Fury followed his gaze upwards, his pupils suddenly contracting.
He realized something, and a chill instantly crept up his spine.
24. Art is an explosion! [Please give flowers and add to your favorites!]
"Hawk Lane! What the hell are you trying to do?! There..."
At that very moment, Hawke Lane slowly turned around to face Nick Fury, a chilling smile spreading across his handsome face.
His voice was clear and calm, carrying a chilling sense of ritual, echoing distinctly on the cold terrace at night:
"Because, Chief Fury..."
Hawke’s gaze seemed to fall directly on the panicked Bates family members who were about to board the plane.
"...Art is an explosion."
The moment his words fell—
boom! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! !
A tremendous roar followed!
On the top floor of the Bates Capital Building, the expensive helicopter, along with the surrounding helipad area, was completely engulfed by a suddenly expanding, extremely bright orange-red fireball and billowing smoke!
The shockwave from the explosion instantly shattered all the reinforced glass on the top floor, and the fragments shot into the sky like deadly hailstones, reflecting countless points of light under the moonlight and lamplight.
You could even feel the shaking under your feet, and you could see with the naked eye that the top floor structure of the building had collapsed and twisted horribly!
The sound of the explosion pounded into Fury's eardrums!
He abruptly took a step back, his one eye fixed on the top of Bates Tower, his pupil dilated with extreme shock, his face filled with disbelief, rage, and the humiliation of being so blatantly provoked.
He can't believe it!
This impeccably dressed, eloquent young man, the darling of Wall Street, actually ordered the top floor of a skyscraper to be blown up right in front of him—the director of S.H.I.E.L.D.—with a casual yet incredibly arrogant line!
And this is a target that S.H.I.E.L.D. has declared to be under their protection!
This is no longer a battle in the financial field; this is a naked, terrorist-level murder!
Right under his nose!
"You...you madman!" Fury's voice was hoarse with extreme anger, and he subconsciously reached for the sidearm at his waist.
Hawke Lane remained standing, his cold smile unchanged, as if he had just witnessed not a devastating fireworks display that claimed a dozen lives, but a true artistic performance.
His voice was frighteningly calm: "Bates' script ends here. Their greed, stupidity, and the hidden dangers they left behind have all been completely wiped out in this 'final performance.' Please pass on my message to former Director Alexander Pierce: You're welcome."