Hawk looked at the persistent female reporter before him, thinking that she had indeed helped tonight and wasn't entirely unreliable.
He needed to consider his relationship with the media; shaping a controllable, positive business image was sometimes necessary.
"Limited to economics and business." Hawk looked directly at April. "Not a single word beyond that. The content must be approved by my team before publication."
"Absolutely! I promise!" April instantly burst into immense joy, as if she had won the lottery.
Overwhelmed by excitement, she instinctively took a step forward, stood on her tiptoes, and quickly and loudly pecked Hawk on the cheek!
"Thank you, Hawk! You're amazing!" Her cheeks flushed. After realizing what she had done, her eyes flickered, but excitement quickly overshadowed her shyness. "I... I'll wait for your call!"
With that, like a startled but happy little rabbit, she quickly ran to the passenger seat of the truck, buckled her seatbelt, and waited obediently for Hawk.
The air seemed to freeze for a moment.
Emily stood a few steps away, taking it all in.
Her exquisite face showed no expression, but her crossed arms, slightly pursed lips, and a soft "hmph" clearly conveyed a strong sense of sourness.
Hawk's gaze turned to Emily, catching her fleeting jealousy.
A smirk played on his lips as he walked towards her.
Emily looked up at him, that hint of sourness not yet completely gone. She was about to say something, perhaps "It seems our Mr. Hawk's charm hasn't diminished," when Hawk unexpectedly wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her forcefully into his embrace.
"Jealous?" Hawk's low voice, warm against her ear, was no longer the business-like tone he used with April, but filled with possessive intimacy.
Emily's body stiffened slightly, then softened in his arms, and the sourness miraculously dissipated.
She looked up, suddenly realizing that no matter how enthusiastic April was, all she got was permission for a cold business interview. But she...
"Not at all, just a little reporter who doesn't know her place."
Emily's voice regained its usual languor and a hint of triumph, as if she had recovered her confidence from her days as Columbia's cheerleader captain. "She only gets an interview... but tonight, you, from head to toe, every minute, are mine."
Suddenly, Hawk's phone vibrated. He turned his back and opened the message.
[Natasha]: Your coordinates: *********** pointing to a renovated area of a deserted subway station deep in downtown Manhattan.
[Natasha]: The company fronting them: TCRI, a cutting-edge biotechnology and space physics research institution, previously reported by multiple sources as a hub for Foot Clan money laundering, but due to insufficient evidence, it was eventually dropped.
[Natasha]: Favor debt +2. Good luck, don't die too quickly. —Creditor.
Hawk's lips curled into a cold smirk.
TCRI... Shredder was playing a bigger game than he thought.
Biotechnology, space physics? Just from these two fields, he was sure Shredder had already teamed up with the alien Krang.
Thinking this, he pondered for a moment, deciding to wait until morning.
TCRI was also a somewhat well-known unicorn company on Wall Street, especially with its rather astonishing achievements in biotechnology in recent years.
Reported by multiple sources, it was highly likely the Foot Clan's front. As for evidence...
Did Hawk need that?
This piece of meat, Hawk wanted it!
But at this moment, S.H.I.E.L.D. had already descended upon the previous battlefield. If they knew the Foot Clan had such high technological capabilities, would there still be any meat left?
Now, the first thing needed was to know all of TCRI's overt and covert factories and laboratories to plan the next move. But time was of the essence. To dig up the desired intelligence as quickly as possible, he would have to call on professionals for external assistance.
Meanwhile, at the ruined site of Hawk's battle with the Foot Clan
S.H.I.E.L.D.'s Quinjet fleet, like angry steel vultures, tore through the night sky, roaring as they arrived over the coordinates.
Blinding searchlight beams instantly illuminated the ravaged battlefield below as if it were daytime.
Ground forces in armored vehicles followed close behind, their engines roaring as they sealed off all major routes. Fully armed agents poured out like a tide, their tactical flashlights sweeping across the ruins.
"Target area secured! Repeat, target area secured!" The commander's report came through the comms.
Nick Fury stood at the door of the lead Quinjet, overlooking the chaotic scene below: melted metal, collapsed structures, scattered fragments of strange ninja equipment, and some twisted, ominous-looking mutant limbs...
His hawk-like single eye sharply scanned the area; aside from the debris, no one was present.
"Traveler has disengaged!" A report from the ground team came in.
Fury's fist clenched silently.
Too slow again! He always slipped away like an eel!
However, at that moment, infrared thermal imaging and motion sensors simultaneously detected unusual activity.
"Sir! Unknown personnel detected rapidly approaching the combat zone! Large numbers!" The technical officer's voice was tense. "They... are cleaning up? Clearing traces, recovering some equipment remnants!"
Fury's brow furrowed.
Cleaning up a battlefield right under S.H.I.E.L.D.'s nose?
What audacity!
He immediately connected to an encrypted comm: "Hand, are the scan results for your toys ready? Whose people are those cleaning up down there?"
Victoria Hand, a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent, responded through the communicator with a slightly languid but efficient voice: "Energy residue analysis points to one of the primary combatants from before, but the new arrivals' equipment style is mixed, with cold weapon characteristics and high-energy biological reactions. Database comparison shows some features match a ninja organization in New York's underworld called the 'Foot Clan.' However, the recovered equipment fragments have even stranger signals, like... well... not from Earth? Interesting."