If the IRS dares to rob me, then I dare to lose my temper!

Hawk did not take the matter to heart.

After returning home, he reconnected his computer to his smartphone's hotspot and began browsing related information online.

The Battle of New York had taken place in June, and three months had already passed since then. Consequently, photos and videos of people holding Chitauri soldiers' weapons were circulating online to varying degrees.

He could even find the market value of such weapons.

For instance, the website Hawk was currently browsing was a low-level dark web trading platform.

He had stumbled upon it while casually scrolling through web pages. Initially, he thought it was just an ordinary trading site, until he saw a video clearly displaying a live-bidding price for a certain Western European teenage girl.

However, Hawk merely glanced at it and moved on to other things.

First, as he had just told the Spider-spirit, he was not a saint—at the very least, he wouldn't grow softhearted and rush to help just because he saw others suffering.

Back when he needed help and needed someone to stand up for justice, no one had come to his aid.

Therefore...

Drop the savior complex, respect everyone's destiny.

Of course, Hawk figured that while he wasn't a saint, he certainly wasn't a villain either.

So he stopped watching the auction and chose out of sight, out of mind.

After a while.

Having browsed several other posts on the black market forum selling Chitauri weapons, Hawk gained a rough estimate of the value of the five trophies in his possession.

A Chitauri soldier's weapon—meaning the weapons of those four standard grunts—was priced roughly in the range of 150,000 to 200,000 dollars.

Naturally, that was the price for a single piece.

As for the weapon he had confiscated from the Chitauri squad leader, there were no similar listings on the forum, but he already had a baseline price in mind.

A minimum of 400,000 dollars.

Calculated at 160,000 dollars per standard weapon, four of them totaled 640,000 dollars. Adding the squad leader's weapon, the grand total came to 1,040,000 dollars.

Hm.

Let's just call it a million.

Thinking to himself, Hawk chose to create an anonymous post, placed his hands directly on the keyboard, and began to type.

"Selling four mint-condition Chitauri soldier energy weapons, plus one Chitauri squad leader energy weapon. Package price: one million. Interested parties, contact me."

Click, send.

Having posted the message, Hawk originally expected it would take a very long time for anyone to reply. To his surprise, just as he turned around to pour himself a glass of water, someone reached out to him.

Ding-dong.

Hearing the notification chime, Hawk carried his water glass back to the folding stool and opened the message.

"Can I see pictures?"

"...Sure, hold on a second."

Hawk rubbed his chin, replied to the message, then stood up and walked back to his bedroom. He dragged out the weapons, which were still wrapped inside a bedsheet, from under the bed.

After pulling out the bundle, he stared at the tightly wrapped bedsheet for a moment, blinked, and then shook his head. He unfolded the sheet to look at the five weapons inside, took out his phone to snap a photo, and then returned to the living room.

Soon.

The photo was successfully uploaded.

The other party quickly sent a new message.

"Received. Looks nice."

"Thanks. Interested?"

"Of course."

Hawk raised an eyebrow as he read the reply.

Well, well.

Could he really be this lucky? Was he actually going to sell them just like that?

Hawk found it somewhat magical.

On second thought, these were alien weapons, nonexistent on Earth and belonging to a scarce commodity—the kind where every piece sold was one less in existence. Naturally, anyone who saw them would immediately figure out a way to buy them.

Just then, the buyer sent another message.

"One million is fine, I'll take them, but it has to be a face-to-face transaction."

"..."

Reading this sentence, Hawk couldn't help but mutter to himself again.

He couldn't help thinking of a possibility: law enforcement officers, like the FBI or CIA, loved to lurk in low-level dark web networks for sting operations.

So, could the person chatting with him on the other side of the screen be a federal agent thrilled to have hooked a big fish?

Hawk hesitated for a moment.

But soon, he smiled.

Who was he?

He had even dared to break into the Quantico military base; why would he be afraid of the Federal Bureau of Investigation?

If that turned out to be the case, it would be just fine—it would completely cure him of any lingering illusions, and he could throw caution to the wind without the slightest psychological burden.

Thinking this, Hawk placed his hands back on the keyboard and replied.

"No problem. You pick the location or I do."

"You pick. My IP shows you're in New York City, and I happen to be in New York City too. Anywhere in the city works."

"..."

Hawk raised an eyebrow at the incoming message.

He dismissed the possibility that the other party might be a federal agent.

That made sense.

His computer skills were mediocre, nothing special, so it would be very easy for the other person to track his location via IP. If the other guy were a federal agent, by this point, agents should have already been pounding on his door and roaring, "FBI! Open the door!"

Thinking this, Hawk instinctively turned his head toward the front door.

Hm.

There were no comedic effects whatsoever.

The door didn't ring, and the hallway outside was completely quiet.

For some reason, Hawk felt a fleeting sense of disappointment. Then he turned back, looked at the words on the computer screen, thought for a moment, and began typing a reply to the other party.

"How about Calvin Park in Glendale?"

"Fine. Time?"

"Tomorrow morning?"

"Sure. Do you want cash or a check?"

"Heh."

Reading the question, Hawk couldn't help but chuckle. "Cash, of course. Checks are taxable."

Especially windfalls like this; the Internal Revenue Service was truly ruthless with their cuts.

To put it simply.

Once unexpected income exceeded 609,300 dollars, the IRS would take 37 percent.

In other words, if he accepted a check, the IRS would do absolutely nothing and yet take away 370,000 dollars of his money.

It was practically robbery.

And legal robbery at that.

"Aren't you afraid the IRS will spot the issue during next year's tax filing and come looking for you?"

"They can try."

This was money he had earned through his own genuine ability; why on earth should they tax him?

No matter what, Hawk was not going to pay this tax.

Given his level of strength, anyone else in his position would have already been living in a massive luxury mansion. He had been as law-abiding as they came, merely hoping to make a little money to improve his life. If, even after all this, the IRS still planned to rob him of his money, they wouldn't be able to blame him for losing his temper.

The other party seemed to pause upon reading Hawk's response.

After a short while, a new reply popped up.

"Fine. I've already arranged for someone to gather the funds. One million in cash is no problem. Then there's only one last question left."

"What is it?"

"When I get there tomorrow, how do I contact you?"

"I'll find you."

"Alright, it's a deal."

"It's a deal!"