"Physical infiltration, but bypassed all electronic detection. Psychological blind spot infiltration; fifty professional mercenaries saw nothing. This requires extremely high tactical proficiency and some kind of supernatural ability we haven't grasped yet. The killer could have easily faked an accident or cleaned up all traces, but he didn't."
Coulson glanced at the finished martini on the table and continued.
"He's like someone telling everyone in this way: I can kill anyone anytime, anywhere, whether it's a billionaire or a beggar; your defenses are a joke in my eyes."
"Any suspects?"
"No direct evidence yet, but the motive points clearly." Coulson sighed, his gaze landing on the document crumpled by Hammer on the corner of the table.
It was a draft for the acquisition of Umbrella Biotech.
"Umbrella Corporation, that little girl named Alice?"
"No evidence yet, Officer. Last night she was with Sarah Mason the whole time, no record of leaving. And can a fifteen-year-old high school girl do something that even top Agents can't do?" Coulson gave a bitter smile.
"In this crazy World, nothing is impossible, especially since she came back alive from that island."
Fury said coldly.
"Put her on the potential threat list."
...
Manhattan, top floor of Osborn Tower.
In front of the huge floor-to-ceiling window, Norman Osborn was wearing a well-tailored morning suit, holding a glass of expensive brandy.
On the giant screen opposite him, the live broadcast of the Hammer estate was playing.
When he saw the stretcher covered with a white sheet being lifted into the car, Norman suddenly burst into laughter.
"Hahahaha!"
He laughed so hard he doubled over, even slapping his thigh neurotically, and tears welled up from his tear ducts.
"Well done, truly well done!"
He raised his glass, toasted the corpse on the screen, his eyes flashing with excitement.
As someone who had been physically persuaded by Alice not long ago, he knew better than anyone what terrifying power was contained within that seemingly weak girl.
The monster who could pin him, after he had injected the enhancement serum, to the ground and rub him into it—killing a Hammer was simply easier than pinching an ant to death.
"This is the beauty of power."
Norman muttered to himself, touching his already unswollen corner of his mouth, not only without anger, but with a fanaticism of having found a kindred spirit.
He pressed the communicator on the table.
"Leonard, this is Norman."
"Take advantage of Hammer Industries' stock price crash and launch Project Vulture immediately. I want to acquire their biological labs, weapons production lines, and all their Military order channels. Don't leave any meat for Stark; I want to swallow Hammer Industries down to the very bones."
"But boss, Hammer just died, won't doing this now arouse suspicion?"
"Suspicion, who would suspect?" Norman sneered, green light flashing in his eyes. "Everyone will only thank Osborn Group for stabilizing the market in this turbulent time. Go, this is a gift from that little lunatic; it would be too impolite not to accept it."
...
Across the ocean, the textile factory.
The huge loom was still roaring, and the warp and weft threads were weaving the tapestry of fate as they shuttled back and forth.
Sloan stood on the high platform, looking at the binary code that had just been deciphered below.
Hammer was dead.
The financier who paid double was dead.
According to the rules of the killer World, if the employer dies, the contract is automatically void.
This should have been a bad debt.
But Sloan did not give the order to retreat.
His gaze was fixed on the piece of cloth that had just been woven in his hand.
In those intricate patterns, the binary code had jumped out with that name again.
Alice Mason.
"This is no longer business."
Sloan turned around and looked at the two figures standing in the shadows.
One was the hot-bodied Fox, wiping a custom M1911.
The other was Cross, the silent man carrying a long-range sniper rifle.
"This is a chaos factor. the loom shows that if she continues to exist, she will tear apart the fate lines of countless people."
Sloan's voice echoed in the empty factory, carrying a kind of religious fanaticism.
...
New York, Queens.
Umbrella Biotech, CEO office.
The sun was bright outside the window, as if last night's storm had never happened.
But all of New York was in an uproar.
The news on TV was looping the tragedy at the Hammer estate; Hammer Industries' stock opened at the daily limit down, and countless investors were wailing.
And at the center of the storm.
Alice Mason was sitting in front of the wide desk, gracefully eating a whole-wheat sandwich.
She was wearing a white shirt, her long hair draped loosely over her shoulders, looking like an ordinary girl next door, clean and harmless.
"The news says Hammer is dead, killed after someone broke into his house last night."
Sarah was sitting on the sofa opposite, holding that day's Daily Bugle, trembling with excitement.
Alice stopped eating and picked up a napkin to wipe the corner of her mouth.
"Don't think about those dead people, Auntie. Look at this, Target just faxed over, they decided to extend the flash pop-up plan for the Target Pioneer store by three months and added an order of five million dollars."
"Get ready to work, Ms. CEO. Our war has just begun."
------------------------
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