Hawk walked out of the old gymnasium, leaving the lingering tension of the locker room behind him without a second thought. The late afternoon sun was warm on his skin, a stark contrast to the gym's perpetual cool dimness. He moved with a steady, unhurried pace across the school's near-empty grounds, his single-strap backpack slung over a shoulder that ached with a deep, satisfying burn.
What happened after he left was of no concern to him. The petty dramas of high school were like background noise, a static he had trained himself to filter out in pursuit of a signal that truly mattered. Spider-Man might be a household name in this world, an icon of heroism, but Peter Parker was just a face in the crowded hallways. Their paths were parallel lines, never meant to intersect. Hawk's focus was singular, aimed squarely at the threshold of a new dawn that was less than twenty-four hours away. Everything else was an irrelevant distraction.
By the time he reached the parking lot, only one vehicle remained: the last, bright orange school bus. Its door was open, and through the windshield, Hawk could see the familiar, grizzled silhouette of the driver.
Mr. Hall, a man whose fierce, bearded visage concealed a surprisingly gentle nature, was slumped over the steering wheel, fiddling with a portable radio that was crackling with afternoon news.
"Good afternoon, Mr. Hall," Hawk said, his voice polite as he stepped onto the bus. It was a familiar routine, one of the few stable points of human contact in his solitary life. "Any special news today?"
Mr. Hall looked up, his tired eyes crinkling at the corners. "Same old story about that Quantico building collapse. Feds are calling it a terrorist attack now." He glanced at the watch on his thick wrist, then back at Hawk. "You're two minutes late today, kid. Everything alright?"
Hawk offered a slight shrug, a ghost of a smile touching his lips. "Sorry. Got delayed in the shower."
"Heh. Good thing I know you're my last regular stop here, or I'd have left for the main gate already," Hall grunted, straightening up and gesturing with his head. "Go on, sit down. We're leaving."
"Okay."
Hawk nodded and walked towards his usual seat at the very back, the worn vinyl cool against his skin as he sat. Just as Mr. Hall reached for the lever to close the door, a frantic pounding of footsteps echoed across the asphalt.
A split second before the doors hissed shut, Peter Parker scrambled aboard in a desperate, graceless lunge. He was panting heavily, his clothes disheveled and his face flushed with panic and exertion.
Mr. Hall flinched back in his seat. "Ho-ly…" He caught himself, swallowing the curse. His gaze flickered from the gasping Peter to the figures who had just skidded to a halt outside the bus: Flash Thompson and his three loyal goons. They stood there, chests heaving, their expressions a mask of impotent rage as they glared at their escaped prey.
Mr. Hall's easygoing demeanor vanished. He fixed Flash with a stern, unimpressed frown. "Hey! You boys getting on or just admiring the paint job?"
Flash's jaw tightened. Bullying a classmate in an empty locker room was one thing; confronting a school staff member with witnesses was another. He was a bully, but he wasn't stupid. He shot one last venomous look at Peter before turning and stomping away, his crew trailing resentfully in his wake.
After Mr. Hall closed the door with a final, definitive hiss, Peter, still catching his breath, mumbled a thank you. The driver just glanced at him in the rearview mirror, his expression unreadable. He knew the score, but his domain ended at the doors of his bus. What happened elsewhere wasn't his problem.
Peter turned, his eyes scanning the now-empty bus, and they landed on Hawk, who was sitting silently by the window in the last row. After a moment of visible hesitation, he squared his shoulders and walked down the aisle.
"Thank you," Peter said, his voice earnest.
Hawk, who had been staring out the window, lost in thoughts of the cosmos and the coming morning, slowly turned his head. His face was a blank mask. "I didn't do anything for you. You don't need to thank me."
His voice was cold, not with malice, but with a profound, clinical detachment. He wasn't trying to be cruel; he was stating a fact. His departure was for his own sake, not Peter's. The boy had simply been lucky enough to capitalize on the moment. After speaking, Hawk turned his gaze back to the window, the conversation, as far as he was concerned, concluded.
He didn't know if this version of Peter Parker had been bitten by that radioactive spider yet. It didn't matter. Even if he was already swinging through the city at night, Hawk wanted nothing to do with him. The words "superhero" and "disaster" were inextricably linked in his mind. Before the system, his only goal had been to live a long, quiet life. Now, with the promise of immense power on the horizon, his goal was fundamentally the same, just amplified: to live an even longer, more carefree, and completely undisturbed life.
The prerequisite for achieving that goal was unwavering: stay the hell away from superheroes and their chaotic lives. He knew about Peter Parker and Gwen Stacy, of course. But he'd made a conscious choice to remain a ghost in the halls of Midtown. Gwen was the brilliant and universally beloved student assistant, but the idea of pursuing a relationship with her was something he'd dismissed instantly. He wasn't qualified to even think about love. His life was not his own yet; it was a crucible, a training ground, and attachments were a vulnerability he could not afford.
Peter stood awkwardly in the aisle for a long moment, wanting to say more, but Hawk's impenetrable aura made it clear that no further words were welcome. Defeated, he finally turned and slumped into a seat across the aisle.
Soon, the bus reached the main school gate and the quiet was shattered as a crowd of students boarded, filling the space with chatter and laughter. An hour later, the bus rumbled into Jackson Heights, Queens.
"See you tomorrow, Hawk," Mr. Hall said with a smile as Hawk stood at the open door.
"See you tomorrow, Mr. Hall."
Hawk stepped off the bus and walked towards a weathered, five-story apartment building with a mottled orange exterior. It was New York City Housing Authority property—functional, anonymous, and cheap. His apartment on the fifth floor was small, but it came with a priceless feature: easy access to the flat rooftop via the fire escape outside his window.
Back in his room, he dropped his backpack, retrieved the plastic bag of damp clothes, and climbed out the window. The iron rungs of the fire escape were cool and familiar under his hands. On the rooftop, high above the bustling streets, he hung his clothes on a line stretched between two ventilation shafts.
With his chores done, he walked to the edge of the roof and leaned against the railing. This was his sanctuary. He would watch the planes arc across the sky, descending towards or ascending from the nearby LaGuardia Airport, their lights blinking in the twilight. It was one of his few hobbies, watching them escape, symbols of a freedom he craved.
But recently, another hobby had taken precedence. Stargazing.
As night finally fell, cloaking the city in a blanket of deep indigo, Hawk sat on the rough tar paper, leaning against a ventilation shaft. He enjoyed the cool summer breeze as he tilted his head back, his eyes fixed on the heavens.
The New York sky, usually washed out by light pollution, was different for him now. For the past six months, as his training neared its zenith, he had felt a strange, growing kinship with the vast, starry expanse. It was a faint hum in his soul, a sense of connection he couldn't explain.
Tonight, that hum was a resonant thrum. The feeling was stronger, clearer than ever before. Constellations that had been blurry smudges to his naked eye just last night now blazed with impossible clarity and brilliance.
Pegasus… Draco… Cygnus… Andromeda… Phoenix…
The forty-eight constellations of the Bronze Saints, figures from a childhood memory, were laid out before him like a celestial map. It was no illusion. They seemed to be calling to him, their ancient light pouring down, resonating with something deep within him that was finally ready to awaken.
A profound sense of awe and destiny settled over him. The exhaustion in his muscles evaporated, replaced by an electric, vibrant energy. He felt as if he was on the precipice of a great revelation.
It seemed.
Tonight.
The entire Universe would shine for him.