Chapter Text
Hawk didn't dwell on the matter.
Back in his apartment, he connected the laptop to his phone's hotspot and started browsing online.
The Battle of New York had been three months ago, and by now, the internet was starting to see the first trickles of its fallout. Photos and videos of scavenged Chitauri weaponry were beginning to surface in the darker corners of the web.
He could even find a rough market value.
Hawk was on one such site now, a low-level trading forum he'd stumbled upon by accident. At first, he'd thought it was just another online marketplace, until he saw a live-streamed auction for a young Western European woman.
Hawk glanced at it for a second, then moved on.
First, as he had just told Peter, he wasn't a good person. He certainly wasn't the type to go soft and jump in to help every time he saw someone suffering.
When he was the one who needed help, when he was the one who needed someone to stand up for him, nobody had been there.
Hawk lived by a simple, brutal philosophy: Everyone fights their own battles.
So he didn't keep watching the auction. Out of sight, out of mind.
...
After a little while.
After browsing a few other posts selling Chitauri tech on the forum, Hawk had a rough estimate of what his five trophies were worth.
The standard Chitauri rifles—the ones from the four grunts—were going for somewhere between one hundred fifty and two hundred thousand dollars.
Each.
As for the spear he'd taken from the Chitauri squad leader, there was nothing comparable on the forum. But in his head, he'd already set a floor price.
Minimum four hundred thousand.
At an average of one hundred sixty thousand per rifle, the four of them would be six hundred forty thousand. Add the captain's spear, and the total came to one million and forty thousand.
He'd settle for an even million.
Hawk opened a new, encrypted connection and created an anonymous post. His fingers flew across the keyboard.
FOR SALE: Four (4) Chitauri energy rifles, 99% condition. One (1) Chitauri captain's energy spear. Package deal, $1,000,000. Serious inquiries only.
He hit 'enter'.
Hawk had expected to wait for hours, maybe even days, for a response. But by the time he had stood up, walked to his small kitchen, and poured a glass of water, his computer was already dinging.
Ping.
Hearing the notification, Hawk carried his glass back to his folding chair and clicked on the message.
["Can I see a photo?"]
Hawk stroked his chin.
["...Sure, one sec."]
He got up, went into his bedroom, and pulled the sheet-wrapped bundle out from under his bed. He unwrapped the weapons, laid them out, and took a quick, clear photo with his phone before heading back to the living room.
He uploaded the image.
The reply was almost instantaneous.
["Received. They look nice."]
["Thanks. Interested?"]
["Of course."]
Hawk raised an eyebrow.
Well, that was easy. Is my luck finally turning?
It seemed almost too easy.
But then he remembered—this was alien tech. You couldn't get it anywhere else on Earth. It was a rare commodity, and with each one sold, there was one less in circulation. It made sense that anyone who saw the listing would want to jump on it immediately.
Just then, another message came through.
["One million is fine. I'll take them. But the deal has to be face-to-face."]
"..."
Hawk read the message and felt that flicker of suspicion again. He remembered something about law enforcement—the FBI, the CIA—loving to run sting operations on these black market sites.
So, was the guy on the other side of this chat an excited federal agent who thought he'd just hooked a big one?
He hesitated for a second, then a cold smile touched his lips.
So what if it was?
He'd already stormed a military base in Quantico. Was he really going to be afraid of the FBI? If it was a sting, so be it. It would just force his hand, and then he could go completely off the rails with a clear conscience.
With that thought, he replied.
["No problem. Your place or mine?"]
["You pick. I see your IP is in New York. I'm here as well. Anywhere in the city works for me."]
"..."
Hawk's eyebrow shot up again.
He immediately dismissed the possibility of this being a federal agent.
His own tech skills were average at best, tracking his IP would be child's play for a real pro. If this was a Fed, they wouldn't be chatting with him. They'd be kicking in his door, screaming, "FBI! OPEN UP!"
Hawk instinctively glanced at his front door.
Nothing. No dramatic entrance. The hallway outside was silent.
For some reason, he felt a little disappointed. He turned back to the screen, thought for a moment, and typed his reply.
["How about the old Calvin warehouse in Glendale."]
["Works for me. Time?"]
["Tomorrow morning?"]
["Good. You want cash or a check?"]
"Heh." Hawk couldn't help but laugh at that question. "Cash, obviously. I'd have to pay taxes on a check."
Especially not the exorbitant windfall tax the IRS levied on "unexpected income." If he took a check, the government would just swoop in and legally steal thirty-seven percent of it—three hundred and seventy thousand dollars—for doing absolutely nothing.
It was legalized theft.
["You're not worried the IRS will notice and come knocking when you file next year?"]
["They can try."]
This was money he had earned with his own power. Why the hell should he pay taxes on it?
There was no way in hell he was giving them a dime...
Anyone else with his abilities would already be living in a mansion. He was already being a model citizen—just trying to make a little money to improve his life. If the IRS still wanted to rob him after all that, then they shouldn't be surprised when he got pissed.
The reply on the other end took a moment.
["Okay. I've already dispatched someone to gather the funds. One million in cash is confirmed. That just leaves one last question."]
["What?"]
["When I get there tomorrow, how do I contact you?"]
["I'll find you."]
["Deal."]
["Deal."]
"..."