30. Gwen, who planted a tracker on Hawk.

Hawk did not enter the town of Quantico in a taxi; instead, he hitchhiked his way in.

About a dozen kilometers outside the town, he had driven the taxi into a body of water and continued the rest of the journey on foot along the highway.

As it happened, his luck was decent.

After walking for about a kilometer, he encountered a woman, the spouse of a military officer living in the town, who was returning from a supply run. Upon learning Hawk’s destination, she cordially invited him into her vehicle.

Hawk did not refuse.

Once they entered the town, there was none of the cliché drama where the woman realizes the passenger is a stranger and invites him to stay at her home. She dropped Hawk off in front of a clothing store, and after a short walk, he arrived at the town’s motel.

Though he lacked a car, a motel did not require guests to arrive by vehicle. As long as you had money, you could get a room.

After paying the fee, Hawk received his room key, headed up to the second floor, and arrived at his door. Before entering, he turned his head to look at the entrance to the Quantico base, which was visible in the distance and not particularly far away.

The base was guarded by soldiers. Both vehicles and pedestrians had to stop for inspection to gain entry.

Hawk took only a brief glance before pulling his gaze away. It was too late today. He would go tomorrow. Reconnaissance by day, a hard strike by night. Then...

He would make a clean getaway. This way, even if the body of that black guy were discovered, by the time the investigation reached him, it would likely be far too late. After all, it was just one black guy who had died. In some countries, perhaps this would be a major event, potentially requiring an overnight resolution, but here, there were plenty of them.

Hawk figured that by the time law enforcement tracked him down, he might already be wearing his "holy armor." At that point... I am invincible; do as you will.

Moreover, Hawk did not believe they would ever find him. It was a joke, really: the surveillance camera at the airport taxi stand was broken. Hawk had seen it clearly when he got into the car; the only camera that could have captured him had been decapitated.

That was also why he couldn't be bothered to dispose of the body. On one hand, he simply didn't care; on the other, it was based on his understanding of the efficiency of federal law enforcement over the past decade or so.

The federal law enforcement system is relatively fragmented. Simply put, if you commit a crime in New York City and have your fingerprints recorded, and then commit another crime in California, it is highly likely that California will be unable to confirm your identity through those fingerprints, as the fingerprint databases of various state law enforcement agencies are not interconnected.

Furthermore...

Hawk had been a law-abiding citizen in this life and had absolutely no criminal record, so the New York City database did not contain his fingerprints. Therefore, even if the authorities found the body and recovered his prints, they would never be able to trace them back to him.

Half an hour later, Hawk practiced his boxing on the spot. After throwing his daily ten thousand punches into the air inside the room, he went into the bathroom to shower.

A while later, as he stepped out, he saw his phone on the bed, ringing. Just as he reached for it, before he could even catch a glimpse of the caller ID, the screen went black and the ringtone ceased.

"Huh? Out of battery?"

Hawk was slightly stunned. He thought about it for a moment but didn't take it to heart, nor did he feel like finding a charger. Just as he had never really used a phone before, he had no one in this world he cared about, and likewise, no one cared about him.

So...

Hawk shrugged, tossed the phone aside, pulled back the covers, and lay down. Sleep, sleep; he had important business tomorrow.

Within three minutes, he had successfully drifted off, and a faint snoring sound began to fill the room.

Back in New York City, Gwen, in her own room, frowned as she heard the "power off" notification after trying to call once more. She set her phone down, resting her chin on it, and placed her hands on the keyboard. She opened a website, checked her phone for a verification code, and entered it.

Soon, a map appeared on the computer screen. There was a glowing dot on the map.

However, the dot displayed on the map was not Gwen’s current location, nor was it anywhere in New York City.

It was... Washington, D.C.?

How did Hawk’s phone end up in Washington, D.C.? Was it stolen?

Gwen wondered. She swore to herself that she wasn't tracking Hawk. When she arrived home earlier, her mobile account had sent her a text notification stating that her phone’s location had left its usual spot in New York City and appeared elsewhere, which was why she received the alert.

Gwen suddenly remembered something. When she gave her old phone to Hawk, she had wiped the data, but she hadn't signed out of her mobile account. Hawk hadn't asked, so she had assumed she had logged out.

Now, looking at the location where Hawk’s phone had last refreshed before shutting down—Washington, D.C.—her first thought was that his phone had been stolen. After all, there were quite a few thieves in New York City.

No. Not quite a few—there were a lot.

Gwen recalled the first time she had bought a phone, only to have it stolen from her within three days, and a wave of resentment surged within her.

Forget it, she thought, I'll just give him another one when school starts.

Gwen shook her head, closed the location tracking website, and looked again at an electronic newspaper displayed on her screen. It was a paper published after the Battle of New York, complete with illustrations. One of the neighborhoods in Jackson Heights was almost flattened.

Gwen navigated through the web page, browsing the related reports. Just then, she heard footsteps in the hallway.

Gwen snapped back to reality. The next second, her eyes lit up as she thought of something. She closed the browser, stood up, ran to the door, and opened it.

"Dad!"

George, who made it a routine to report his safety to his daughter every time he got home, was startled to see Gwen suddenly open the door with such bright, expectant eyes.

George then broke into a smile and shook his head. "I don't have any new Spider-Man intel to share with you today."

Recently, a "Spider-Man" had appeared in New York City, wearing a mask and a suit, going around acting as a vigilante. The New York Police Department was furious about it. In a nutshell: if vigilantes were useful, what would they need the police for?

But outside of the NYPD, everyone else found it quite novel. The media was delighted, believing they had found the latest hot topic. Netizens were equally excited, with various forums gossiping about Spider-Man's true identity.

Gwen was curious too, especially with a police captain for a father. But...

Gwen shook her head. "Dad, I'm not interested in Spider-Man."

George laughed. "Then yesterday..."

"That was Mary being curious, not me." Gwen interrupted quickly, then moved on to the real matter at hand, blinking as she looked at George. "Dad, can I ask you for a favor?"