Marvel: The Enlightened One#86+87: A New Home for a Sister and a New Home for Hawk! A Father’s Murder, an Irreconcilable Feud!

Is it hard to get a driver’s license in the United States?

Not at all.

Compared to the rigorous, multi-stage exams in other countries, getting a license in the US is ridiculously easy.

As long as you could shift gears, turn, and hit the brakes, you could get a license.

Of course, there was one catch. You had to bring your own car. The examiner would sit in the passenger seat, observing your habits and proficiency, and then decide if you passed.

And so, at the entrance to the Manhattan DMV, Gwen was waiting. Her eyes lit up as she saw her yellow Corolla make a turn and head toward her, and she hurried over to meet it.

Hawk unbuckled his seatbelt and got out.

The examiner got out from the passenger side.

Gwen walked up to Hawk, watching the examiner scribbling on a clipboard. She whispered, “How’d it go?”

“Should be fine.” Hawk whispered back.

He wasn’t entirely sure. When he was making a U-turn on 19th Avenue, some idiot jaywalker had decided to ignore the red light and step right out in front of him.

Hawk had slammed on the brakes.

His first instinct had been to hit the gas and send the idiot flying.

But he had hesitated. Though glancing at the examiner’s face at the time, he got the distinct impression the examiner would have preferred he’d hit the gas.

He wasn't sure if he'd imagined it.

As Hawk and Gwen were whispering, the examiner finished his notes and looked up at Hawk.

“Mr. Hawk.”

“Yes.”

“A person who follows the rules should not have to yield to those who don’t.”

“...”

Knew it...

Hawk thought to himself. He met the examiner’s eyes—which still held a hint of disappointment that he hadn’t sent the jaywalker into orbit—and nodded seriously. “I’ll remember that.”

The examiner saw the understanding in his eyes and smiled, handing the clipboard to Hawk.

“Congratulations, Mr. Hawk.”

“Thank you.” Hawk’s face lit up as he took the form.

With this piece of paper, he could walk right back inside and get his official driver's license.

But Gwen was clearly even more excited than he was.

It was a rite of passage. The boyfriend drives.

What others had, she would have too.

And sure enough, the moment they walked out of the DMV, Gwen immediately surrendered the driver’s seat to Hawk, whose new license wasn’t even warm yet...

Before, he didn’t have a license, so she drove. Now that he had one, if she still drove, what was the point of him getting it?

Her logic was flawless.

Hawk had no counterargument.

By the time he opened the door and got back in the car, Gwen was already in the passenger seat, buckled in, a wide smile on her face as she looked at him.

"Alright, Mr. Chauffeur, let's go."

“...” Hawk’s lip twitched. He looked at Gwen, who was clearly happier about him getting his license than he was, but didn’t say anything. He buckled his own seatbelt and pulled the car away from the curb.

“Where to?”

“Didn’t you say you wanted to go to St. Mark’s Church?”

“Yeah.”

“Then let’s go.”

“Alright.” Hawk said nothing more and drove onto the road.

“Hiss.”

"Oh my god, today's the last day of the break." Sitting in the passenger seat, Gwen was about to pull out her phone to take a picture of Hawk’s new license when she noticed the date.

Winter break was always shorter than summer break. It felt like they hadn’t done anything, and now it was already over.

It had been almost half a month since that evening when she had picked him up from the private airfield.

He had returned on December 27th.

It was now January 7th.

But not January 7th, 2012. It was 2013.

Seven days ago, both Hawk and Gwen had turned eighteen, the legal age to marry in the state of New York.

But neither of them could work up the courage.

Gwen might have.

Hawk hadn’t.

He was terrified that the second they walked out of City Hall—George “Bullseye” Stacy would appear and put eight bullets in his back.

Of course, Hawk wouldn’t die. But he couldn’t say the same for George.

And so, To avoid such a tragedy, Hawk had not eloped with Gwen on the day he officially became an adult.

...

Half an hour later, they arrived at St. Mark’s Church.

Located near Second Avenue in Manhattan, St. Mark’s Church in-the-Bowery was a historic landmark, built in 1799, and one of New York City’s most famous buildings.

But Hawk wasn’t here to see the sights. He was here to move his sister.

Calvary Cemetery was no longer an option.

It had been nearly half a month since the military’s disastrous raid, and the cemetery was still a complete wreck.

Shattered headstones were everywhere.

And the protests were endless.

It was too loud.

Besides, the day he'd returned, he'd already decided to find Anya a new place.

He had money now.

And since Gwen lived in Manhattan, and NYU was in Manhattan, he would eventually be moving to Manhattan as well.

It wouldn’t make sense for him to move to Manhattan and leave his sister behind in Queens.

So for the past few days, he had been searching for cemeteries in Manhattan online.

And he had found St. Mark’s.

Though its cemetery was small, it was quiet and shaded by trees. The first mayor of New York City was buried there. It was a place of peace and history.

Unfortunately, like Trinity Church Cemetery, because of its limited space, St. Mark’s was generally no longer accepting new burials.

But this was New York City.

A city where money talks, and rules walk.

...

"Ding!"

“Thank you for your generous donation, Mr. Hawk. God bless you.”

“I’d rather he bless my sister.”

“He will!”

A smiling priest stood on an empty plot of land in the cemetery, holding a credit card machine in one hand while enthusiastically shaking Hawk’s with the other.

After setting a time for the move from Calvary tomorrow, Hawk and Gwen left the church.

The priest waved them off with a wide, warm smile.

Gwen glanced in the rearview mirror at the priest, who was still smiling and waving from the church steps, and her lip curled slightly.

“That priest is very enthusiastic.”

"Of course he was. He had to be."

Having found a new home for his sister, Hawk was in high spirits. He laughed. “I bet you if I’d donated five million dollars, that priest would have dug up the first mayor of New York and given his spot to my sister.”

Faith?

That had gone out the window a long time ago.

Ever since the Vatican had set the example with their fondness for little boys, there was no faith left to speak of.

Gwen couldn’t help but laugh at his words. Then, remembering she was a believer, she playfully punched his arm.

“Don’t say that. God will hear you.”

“Didn’t you say you’d follow me to Hell?” Hawk glanced at her with a smile. “Having second thoughts?”

Gwen rolled her eyes at him, then turned, her expression suddenly serious. “I will follow you to Hell. But I’ll also drag you up to Heaven with me.”

Hawk glanced at her and just shrugged, saying nothing.

He decided against telling her the harsh truth—that while a Heaven Dimension might exist somewhere, it certainly wasn’t connected to Earth.

For them, it was Hell or nothing.

Gwen, seeing he had nothing to say, simply smiled and turned her attention back to the road. Then she blinked, confusion crossing her face as she watched Hawk turn onto a residential street near the church.

“What are we doing here?”

“Buying a house.”

Hawk looked at a middle-aged woman in a realtor’s blazer standing in front of a house with a “For Sale” sign on the lawn.

He pulled the car over to the curb and glanced at the surprised Gwen.

His sister was moving. It was only right that he did too.

Besides, now was the perfect time to buy.

After the Battle of New York last year, the city's, and especially Manhattan's, real estate market had taken a nosedive. By the end of the year, prices had dropped by nearly 30%.

Though they were still falling, the rate had slowed considerably. He figured that in less than three months, they would start to climb again.

The house Hawk was looking at was a classic American home.

It had a large lawn on either side of a stone walkway that led from the street to the front door.

To the right was a two-car garage, connected to the first-floor living area.

Next to the garage was a shed for lawn equipment.

It looked a bit like the white house from Mr. & Mrs. Smith, but the exterior of this one was a warm orange.

The interior was even more impressive.

A massive, open-plan living space.

A fully equipped kitchen with a large center counter.

A spacious master bedroom with a walk-in closet.

A luxurious master bath.

Hawk followed the realtor on a tour of the three-story house, then they returned to the spacious, first-floor living room, with its massive fireplace.

Gwen stared at the fireplace, her mind already painting a picture—snow falling outside, a fire roaring in the hearth, the two of them wrapped in a blanket on the floor.

Hawk saw the look on her face and turned to the realtor.

“How much?”

“As we discussed on the phone. Twelve million dollars, paid in full.”

“Alright.” Hawk nodded, then took the bank card from his Stark Bank account out of his pocket and handed it to her.

"I'll take it. Do you accept cards?"

“...”

<><><><><><><><>

Manhattan’s East Village.

This was the heart of Manhattan, where land was scarce and obscenely expensive.

Before the Battle of New York, a single-family home like this one—with six thousand square feet of living space, custom floor-to-ceiling windows, high-end construction, and a fully integrated Stark Smart Home system—would have been listed for around twenty million dollars.

So, Twelve million was a steal.

The moment Hawk said, “I'll take it,” the real estate agent felt like her soul was about to leave her body.

Gwen, who had been lost in a daydream of snowy days by the fireplace, was jolted back to reality. Her eyes went wide as she watched the agent take Hawk’s bank card.

Hawk’s expression remained perfectly calm.

It was just as he’d said before. After awakening his Cosmo, money was no longer a necessity.

Lured by the promise of a massive commission, the agent promised Hawk she would have the deed transferred and the sale finalized within three hours.

A moment later, she was peeling away in her Porsche, racing to the city records office.

Hawk and Gwen turned and went back inside the house.

And then—

Gwen had him pinned against the wall.

Hawk, his back pressed against the drywall, blinked in surprise at Gwen, who had her hands braced on either side of his head, her eyes fixed on his.

“What’s wrong?”

“Hawk.”

“Yeah?”

Gwen’s face was serious. “What exactly did you do in Quantico?”

Hearing this, Hawk laughed. “I was wondering when you were going to ask.”

It had been two weeks since the Quantico incident. He had expected her to ask what had happened, but she never did, and he was not one to volunteer information. He assumed she never would.

Gwen dropped her hands and shrugged. “I wasn’t going to. But now, it’s obvious I have to.”

She knew Hawk had a million dollars even before he went to Quantico. She knew exactly where it had come from. And with some effort, she could accept the two-million-dollar donation to the church.

But twelve million?? She couldn’t even wrap her head around it.

Her father could work for the NYPD for a hundred years and his salary and bonuses combined probably wouldn’t add up to that much.

Hawk didn’t have this kind of money before he went to Quantico. He had it when he came back. He must have gotten it there.

So—

What the hell happened in Quantico?

Gwen had no idea.

The woman, Natasha, had never explained, only saying they had found Hawk. To be safe, Gwen hadn’t pressed for details over the phone and had simply told Hawk to come home soon.

By the time she reached the airfield at the address Natasha had given her, the woman was already gone, and she still had no idea what had happened.

At first, Gwen hadn’t worried about it.

She had figured she’d see it on the news in a few days, so she’d kept a close eye on the headlines, especially any reports from the D.C. area.

And the result? Business as usual.

Everything was quiet on the home front. Not a single news story even mentioned Quantico. She'd figured it must have been some minor incident.

But now here was Hawk, casually dropping twelve million dollars like it was pocket change.

...

Gwen stared at him, her eyes wide. “What did you do that day? Why would they give you so much money?”

“Uh...” Hawk opened his mouth.

Just as he was about to speak, Gwen raised an eyebrow, stopping him. She took a few steps back, her brow furrowed.

“Did you rob the base’s treasury?”

“Of course not.”

Hawk’s denial was immediate. “Even if I did, it would have been in cash. Do you think I could just deposit it into my bank account like this?”

I just blew up their treasury. That’s all.

Gwen nodded, accepting his logic. “Then you...”

“War reparations.”

“What?”

“They started the war. If they wanted it to end, they had to give me a way out. The money was the price they paid.”

“...” Gwen drew in a sharp breath, staring at him in shock, a single phrase echoing in her mind.

War reparations.

“How much did they pay you?”

“Thirty-three million.”

“What??” Gwen’s voice cracked. “That much?”

“Is it?” Hawk smiled. “One million per person. Thirty-three people. Honestly, I feel like I asked for too little.”

Hawk felt a brief pang of regret, but then let it go.

What was he going to do with that much money anyway? Thirty-three million, minus the fourteen he'd spent today, still left him with nineteen.

That was more than enough for him and Gwen to live on.

That was all that mattered.

Money was secondary. Power was what mattered. As long as he had his fist, he would always have money.

...

Hawk looked at Gwen, who was still staring at him, her mouth slightly agape, and smiled. “I should really thank Ross.”

Gwen snapped out of her shock, a suspicious look on her face. “Why?”

“If it wasn’t for him, I never would have had the chance to get those war reparations.”

Business was business.

Hawk was happy that Thaddeus Ross had given him the opportunity to make some money. But he was not happy about what Ross had done.

So, Ross was dead, and his family cemetery was a crater.

But, there was no need to tell Gwen that part. She was too kind-hearted to hear about such things.

Hawk smiled, changing the subject as he took her hand. “Come on.”

“Where are we going?”

“The realtor was here before. I didn’t get a good look. Let’s go explore our new house.”

“...I like the walk-in closet in the master bedroom.”

“You don’t want to change anything?”

“No.” Gwen shook her head, glancing at him from the corner of her eye.

She knew he was dodging the question. Gwen knew Hawk and the U.S. military.

For them to pay out "war reparations," something monumental must have happened at Quantico that day—so significant that the entire story was buried.

She tightened her grip on his hand.

Hawk felt the change in pressure and looked at her. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” Gwen smiled, and her smile was so brilliant it seemed to light up the entire room.

...

Some people laugh, and some people cry.

Betty Ross was crying.

It had been ten days since her father, General Thaddeus Ross, had been buried, but in her D.C. townhouse, she was still weeping.

One moment, she had been happy, having just gotten back together with her ex-boyfriend, Bruce Banner.

Next, she was being told her father was dead.

Decapitated.

And to this day, she still didn’t know the real cause of his death. All they would tell her was that it was a “military accident.”

A military accident my ass.

Her father had been murdered—brutally and violently. Betty Ross wasn't stupid. She was a scientist. The second she saw her father's body, she knew exactly what had killed him.

Someone had stomped his head into the ground.

The question was, who?

Since the funeral, Betty had been calling all of her father’s old friends and colleagues.

But they had all stonewalled her, insisting that his death was a military accident.

Just as Betty was on the verge of losing her mind, one of them had sighed and said he would come and see her after work.

...

In the living room, Betty stared at a picture of her father on her phone, making a silent vow.

She would make her father’s killer pay.

No matter who it was.

A blood debt for a father’s murder can never be forgiven.

Just then, the doorbell rang.

Betty wiped her eyes, which were red and swollen from days of crying, and ran to the door.

She opened it.

“Oh, Betty.”

Nick Fury stood in the doorway. He looked at her haggard face and red-rimmed eyes, and his voice was filled with genuine sympathy. "You have to stay strong. This is what Ross would have wanted...”

Betty closed the door and looked at him. “I will be, Mr. Fury. As soon as you tell me who killed my father.”

Nick Fury sighed. “What happened at Quantico has been classified at the highest level.”

“I know.”

Betty led him to the sofa and brought him a glass of lemonade. She sat down across from him, her jaw tight. “No one at the Pentagon will tell me the truth. But I have a right to know, Mr. Fury. He was my father!”

Nick Fury shook his head with a pained expression, then looked around the empty living room. “Is Bruce here?”

“He went out to get some things.”

Betty said, assuming he was trying to change the subject. She looked at him expectantly.

“Mr. Fury, who was it?”

“The killer is...”

Fury paused, a look of genuine conflict on his face.

Seeing his hesitation, Betty didn’t wait. She dropped to her knees in front of him. “Please, Mr. Fury. You’re the only one who will tell me the truth.”

"Get up, Betty."

Fury shot to his feet, trying to pull her up.

But Betty wouldn’t move. Her voice was choked with tears. “Please, Mr. Fury. Tell me who killed my father."

“...” A series of emotions flickered across Nick Fury’s dark face. The next second, he let out a long, heavy sigh.