radicalducati Page 50
Page 50
“The ‘web weaver’ you’re hunting…” she said, each word distinct and clear, “was declared dead in a legal sense the moment Title 18, Section 3521 of the Federal Code came into effect.”
After saying that, she ignored Vivian's frozen expression and walked straight out the door.
There, Hawke's figure stood against the strong light streaming in from the window at the end of the corridor, like a silent statue.
Six fully armed federal marshals wearing USMS badges stood on either side, like a guard of steel.
Cipher walked briskly toward Hawke, her long, wine-red hair billowing in a wild arc behind her.
She didn't even glance back at the cell filled with cold metal and an aura of defeat.
Hawke didn't say anything more, he simply stepped aside to make way.
As Cipher brushed past him, a faint, cool fragrance brushed against his nose.
Six federal marshals followed closely behind, their heavy leather boots clattering rhythmically and imposingly on the metal corridor.
Hawke turned his head, looked at Vivian who was also standing at the end of the corridor, somewhat lost in thought, smiled, walked straight over, and stopped a step away from Vivian. With a hint of amusement in his eyes, he looked the woman in front of him up and down, who was completely different from "Teacher Vivian".
“Vivian…Sir?” Hawke spoke, his voice low and teasing, “Or should I call you ‘teacher’? After all, I haven’t earned my actuarial credits from Columbia yet.”
Hawke's "mockery" was like a thorn, precisely piercing Vivian's most agitated nerves at that moment.
Vivian raised her head, her delicate face tense, her eyes filled with a mixture of frustration and suppressed anger.
The CIA's dark uniform was sharply tailored, making her look slim-waisted and long-legged, and she was indeed beautiful, but it also exuded a cold sense of distance, a stark contrast to her languid appearance in the loose knitwear in the faculty apartment.
“Hawk,” her voice was a little dry, “have you seen enough? Your 'tainted witness' has been safely handed over, are you satisfied?”
The words "tainted witness" seemed to be squeezed out from between his teeth.
Hawke chuckled softly, the sound particularly clear in the empty corridor.
He leaned forward, getting close enough to smell her fresh, clean scent, which overpowered the faint aroma of coffee that used to fill the office.
"Satisfied? This 'tuition fee' is not cheap. Just dealing with the roar of those old fogies on Capitol Hill is enough to give me a hard time."
Hawke continued, his tone relaxed, as if everything was over:
“Procedural justice, Vivian. I’m just making sure everyone plays by the rules. As for Cipher…” He paused, a meaningful smile playing on his lips, “who she is, what she’s done, you and I both know the story. But right now, she’s my good witness, and that’s enough. Just like you were my good professor at Columbia, weren’t you?”
Hawke stabbed her again.
Vivian got angry at his confident look.
"Rules? You used money and influence to smash the rules to pieces! Just to protect a criminal?"
She lowered her voice, but the flames inside were clearly visible...
“Criminals?” Hawke raised an eyebrow. “Vivian, you and I both know that in the files of that building in Langley, which name doesn’t have a bit of ‘dust’ behind it? Sometimes, the words ‘national security’ are the most useful fig leaf.”
Langley is a place in Virginia, located on the banks of the Potomac River, and is the headquarters of the Central Intelligence Agency.
He took another half step closer, making Vivian want to back away, but she stubbornly held on.
Hawke's gaze lingered on her tightly pursed red lips, his interest undisguised. "To be honest, you look even better in this uniform than in that professor's outfit... If you had been wearing this uniform in the dorm that day... I might have broken my usual principle of voluntariness..."
Vivian could clearly hear her own heartbeat quickening, and turned her head away without replying.
The resentment of losing this round, the embarrassment of having her pretense torn off in front of her, and the damned, aggressive gaze of the man in front of her all threw her into a tangled mess.
Hawke smiled, suddenly abandoning his aggressive demeanor, his tone becoming casual, even somewhat gentle:
"Alright, there's no point in standing here stabbing each other in the back. Judging by your appearance, you haven't had a good night's sleep in three days, have you?" He tilted his head slightly and pointed to the elevator at the end of the corridor. "I know a pretty good coffee shop nearby. Want to go out for some fresh air? And... chat a bit?"
Vivian was taken aback. 4.8.
"Having coffee with you? Hawk Lane, what do you think our relationship is?"
Hawke laughed, revealing a set of white teeth with a wicked smugness: "Teacher-student relationship, Professor Vivian. It's perfectly normal for a student to invite their teacher for a cup of coffee to express concern for their studies and, incidentally, to discuss certain gray-area practices, isn't it?"
Vivian looked at him, the anger she was holding back was stirred up by his nonchalant attitude.
The mission was a disaster, the pressure is immense, and the bureau is probably seething with anger right now. Luckily, I got a lead on the Wolf King, but that lead is probably irrelevant to me now...
She definitely needed a strong cup of coffee, and more importantly, she needed to catch her breath and get away from this hellish place filled with the atmosphere of failure...
Even against this opponent who had just pinned her to the ground and rubbed her against the wall.
91 The dramatic origin story of the "King"...
Vivian took a deep breath, and that familiar calmness that belonged to a secret agent seemed to return a little, but there was still weariness deep in her eyes.
She didn't speak, but simply raised her chin: "Which shop? Let's make it clear first, I only drink the most expensive."
Hawke's smile deepened, like a successful fox: "Don't worry, teacher, go change into some casual clothes."
He strode ahead, his gleaming leather shoes clicking on the floor with confidence and composure.
Vivian watched his retreating figure, gritted her teeth, and finally followed him.
A moment later, Vivian, now dressed in casual clothes, stepped on the cold metal floor with her high heels, the sound echoing in the empty corridor.
At the same time, the Ministry of Justice held its regular press conference.
Facing a barrage of flashing camera lights, the spokesperson read the statement in a clear and articulate voice:
"...This action demonstrates the efficiency and impartiality of the U.S. judicial system in handling complex transnational cases. The Lane Group's cooperation with the investigation and proactive disclosure of information sets a positive benchmark for rebuilding business ethics. We believe that cooperation within the legal framework is the only correct way to solve global challenges..."
The spokesperson's formulaic voice amplified through countless loudspeakers, becoming the most grandiose background noise as this silent battle came to an end.
Since it's a coffee shop, Hawke naturally chose a place that overlooks the Hudson River and offers excellent privacy.
Outside the huge floor-to-ceiling windows, sunlight danced on the river, creating a stark contrast to the cold, gloomy corridors of the disciplinary center.
Vivian took a sip of the scalding hot double concentrate, the intense bitterness slightly easing her tense nerves.
She leaned back in the comfortable sofa chair, watching Hawke calmly stirring his cappuccino across from her, and that feeling of frustration welled up again.
“So,” Hawke put down his spoon, breaking the silence, “'The Web Weaver' is dead in law. Professor Vivian, the prey she hunted for years, was finally ‘executed’ by legal documents.”
Vivian snorted coldly, not responding, her gaze sweeping across the bustling city skyline outside the window.
She needed to change the subject, not wanting to be led by the nose by Hawke any longer. "...You know, there are a lot of strange and wonderful things in this world." She suddenly spoke, her voice carrying a hint of wistful reminiscence, "I listened to a lot of lectures from veteran agents during my onboarding training, and some of the files...tsk tsk."
Hawke raised an eyebrow, showing interest: "Oh? Like—?"
“Take the mutants that caused such a stir decades ago.” Vivian picked up her glass, her eyes sharpening. “That wasn’t a comic book. The records show that humans with real superpowers… were far more dangerous than most people can imagine. The situation back then was much more complex and chaotic than it is now.”
She paused, her tone tinged with professional pride: "But the CIA's predecessors, under immense pressure and unknown risks, tracked down, assessed, and even intervened when necessary to deal with some of the most dangerous individuals. That sense of responsibility and courage is the true cornerstone of national security."
These words were both a reflection and a subtle rebuttal to Hawke's previous mockery of the CIA's "gray" nature—you tycoons only care about profits, while we protect something far more profound.
Hawke listened, his fingers tapping unconsciously on the table.
"Mutants...that's certainly an interesting topic. The official report says it's a herd mentality, they're practically extinct now." He changed the subject, a hint of sarcasm in his voice, "But speaking of guardians...isn't the most famous one that Captain Ice Pop? Who fell into the Antarctic or the Arctic, I think? The legend from World War II, Steve Rogers? The guy who injected himself with the magic serum, became a super soldier, and smashed Hydra with his shield?"
“Captain America is a symbol, a spirit,” Vivian said seriously, correcting Hawke’s flippant analogy. “He represents courage, justice, and the purest form of sacrifice. The serum did make his body extraordinary, but what truly made him a legend was his heart of gold.”
“It’s alright, maybe one day it will be dug out of the ice… As for a heart of gold…” Hawke smiled and nodded, looking at Vivian, “It sounds wonderful. But Vivian, gold… on Wall Street, it usually refers to a different measure of value.”
Vivian was about to retort, but Hawke didn't give her the chance, picking up his cup: "Finished your coffee? Want to take a walk by the river? The scenery here is much better than those damn bulletproof windows in the station."
The evening breeze, carrying the moisture from the Hudson River, dissipated the rich aroma of the coffee.
The two walked side by side on the riverside path, the setting sun bathing everything in a warm golden hue.
Hawke stood with his hands in his trouser pockets, looking relaxed.
Vivian turned her head to look at Hawke, who looked relaxed and the golden light of the setting sun outlined his well-defined jawline and high nose.
It must be admitted that, setting aside his stance and those infuriating tactics, Hawke Lane himself is extremely charismatic—handsome, fit, wealthy, and possessing an almost arrogant confidence.
He shook his head, banishing those abnormal thoughts, took out a photograph from his pocket, and handed it to Hawke.
"The reason I infiltrated your inner circle stems from this photo from three years ago, a screenshot captured by a surveillance camera."
Hawke took the photo, glanced at it, and laughed, "She was indeed too young and immature back then, but there wasn't really anything thrilling about it. It seems that Cipher's private intelligence network in New York was destroyed by her rival, another top hacker, and she was on the run."
He recalled the scene three years ago when he first met Cipher. At that time, Cipher was being hunted in New York, her men were all lost, and she was isolated and helpless. It was Hawke who saved her.
"Is it really that simple?" Vivian turned her head.
Hawke shrugged: "What else do you want?"
Well, that's only half the story. Later, in order to repay him and also to forge a connection with the Lane family, Cypher offered himself to Hawke.
Hawke was only 17 years old at the time, and hadn't yet drawn the enhanced ability he had when he was 18. It's normal that he didn't serve Cipher well.
Later, Cipher hinted to Hawke to take the back path, but Hawke was still young at the time and afraid of twisting his ankle in the dead of night, so he backed down. As a result, Cipher kept mocking him for not growing up...
However, Hawke also tasted success from this experience, which led him to decide to wear a bodysuit and roam the streets of Brooklyn, rescuing countless innocent girls... and incidentally cracking down on crime!
Hawk initially named himself "Hungry Ghost Path" because his abilities were somewhat similar to the Hungry Ghost Path of Pain in Naruto. However, Cypher mocked him for being too anime-like, so he changed his name to "King".
This is the dramatic origin story of Brooklyn's superhero, "The King"...
“Vivian,” Hawke suddenly spoke, his tone direct and devoid of the banter from the coffee shop, “We were talking about standards of value… have you ever considered a different way of measuring your abilities?”
Vivian paused, not looking at him, but gazing at the shimmering river: "What do you mean?"
“Leave that lousy place, Langley.” Hawke stopped, turned to face her, his gaze intense. “Come to Ryan Corporation. I’ll give you a completely new platform.”
(Li's Zhao) Vivian finally turned to look at him, her eyes filled with undisguised surprise and scrutiny.
Hawke smiled, with the confidence of a top-tier tycoon:
“Annual salary? Don’t worry about the numbers, it’ll absolutely satisfy you so much you’ll forget about the CIA’s pitiful allowance. Authority? Far beyond the constraints of being an agent supervisor in Langley. Freedom? You only need to report to me, instead of bowing and scraping to a room full of bureaucrats, and you won’t need to write those lengthy reports that no one ever reads. As for challenges…” He pointed to the bustling Manhattan across the river, “the battlefield here is bigger, more exciting, and also… cleaner. At least, the rules are written out in the open, and it’s all about skill and intelligence.”
He leaned forward slightly, his voice seductive: "Think about it, Vivian. No more hiding behind a mask teaching some damn actuarial science course at a university, no more being yelled at by idiots on Capitol Hill, no more having years of hard work go down the drain because of a procedural flaw. You can legitimately use your talents, your judgment, and your damn keen intuition. Enjoy the life that truly belongs to the strong."
The river breeze carried the naked temptation of Hawke's words.
92 Na Lan [Seeking flowers and subscriptions]
Vivian's heart skipped a beat.
The salary figures, the allure of resources, the freedom to escape the bureaucratic system... these are all very real, like bombshells hitting her weary heart at this moment.
Looking at Hawke's handsome and ambitious face, for a moment, she truly wavered.
Escape the pressures of the CIA and embrace a different kind of power and luxury where you control everything... the temptation is too great.
Hawke clearly captured the struggle in her eyes and the fleeting flutter in her heart.