Hawkeye, the Worn-Out Ducati

A figure descended by rope, clad in a black robe-like combat suit, hooded, with a quiver on their back, landing before Merlin.

The Avengers ADC, Hawkeye.

"Kid, you alright?" Clinton walked quickly to Merlin and asked with concern.

The moment Clinton arrived on scene, he saw the Lizardman charging at a high school student. Without a second thought, he instinctively nocked and fired.

Though it was a pity he didn't catch the Lizardman in the end, saving the person was some consolation.

"I'm fine, thanks!" Merlin smiled, not bothering to explain much.

Clinton's eyes lingered on the revolver at Merlin's waist for a split second before shifting to his face.

"Merlin Shaw." The identity surfaced in his mind immediately.

The recent turmoil in Apple City had naturally caught S.H.I.E.L.D.'s attention. Fury had sent him and Natasha.

He was tasked with tracking the Lizardman, while Natasha handled Hell's Kitchen's Punisher and the Plague Mysterious Person.

And as the newly prominent genius high school student, Merlin had naturally entered their sights. Through investigation, he seemed to have some connection to the Punisher in Hell's Kitchen.

Fury told them that if they encountered him, they could feel out the situation and extend an invitation.

Though the Punisher and the Mysterious Person had made a huge impact in Apple City, S.H.I.E.L.D.'s assessment concluded that these people were talented—better to cooperate with or recruit them.

Organizations like the Special Zone Mysterious Department and the FBI often used threats, bribes, and other methods to pick suitable criminals for collaboration.

Such practical and efficient methods were commonplace in Eagle Country.

Clinton was about to strike up a conversation to learn more when sirens drew near, and police cars quickly surrounded the scene.

"Merlin!" George got out of the car anxiously. Upon learning that Merlin was at the scene and had been targeted by the Lizardman, he was terrified.

After confirming Merlin was fine, he turned to look at the mysteriously dressed Clint beside him.

"Who are you?" He frowned. From the man's demeanor, he was likely some kind of agent.

FBI?

"I'm Clint Francis Barton, a member of the Strategic Homeland Defense Attack and Logistics Support Bureau."

"Strategic Homeland... what's that?" George frowned at the lengthy name, only repeating the first part before cutting to the chase.

"We're a special forces unit that handles anomalous incidents. As for more than that, I can't disclose." Clint pulled out his S.H.I.E.L.D. ID and handed it over.

George's eyes flicked between the ID and Clint's face. After confirming it was legitimate, he returned it.

"Is there anything you need from us?"

"No, just proceed as usual."

Clint pocketed his ID and replied.

"Alright. If you need anything, feel free to reach out." George didn't press further. Instead, he pulled Merlin over.

"You, kid—don't run around lately!" He hooked an arm around Merlin's neck and dragged him back into the car.

Clint watched Merlin being hauled off for a scolding, opening his mouth as if to speak, but then thought better of it. The Lizardman matter was more important.

He glanced at the nearby manhole, frowned slightly, and climbed down into it.

On a rooftop not far away, a black-and-white figure quietly withdrew.

The next day, Sons of Silence Club.

Dressed in casual wear, Merlin stepped out of the car, looked up at the name carved into the signboard, and walked into the shop.

The moment he entered, his eyes lit up.

Row after row of brand-new motorcycles and bikes lined the shop, their sleek bodies reflecting a metallic luster under the light that tugged at the heart.

Honda, Yamaha, BMW, Augusta, Harley-Davidson... a dazzling array of brands.

"Vroom!!" The roar of an engine echoed through the shop. A burly, bearded middle-aged man sat astride a black Harley 883, test-driving it.

Merlin had arrived early, so the shop was mostly empty. The bearded man soon spotted him.

"Here for parts?" Jack recognized Merlin and asked as usual.

Merlin usually bought parts from them for his bike modifications, and because of his age, Jack knew him well.

He could tell the kid genuinely loved bikes, though it was a shame he wasn't into the tough-guy style.

"No, I'm here to buy a bike." Merlin shook his head and walked over to the Ducati section to browse.

"Buy a bike? Why? What happened to your Ducati?" Hearing that he was here to purchase, Jack was puzzled. He knew Merlin did his own mods; unless it was really bad, he could usually fix it.

"Some monster smashed it to pieces with a manhole cover. Can't exactly put it back together like Legos." Merlin said helplessly.

"Monster? The Lizardman?"

"Yeah."

"Oh, my God, that was you on Sixth Avenue yesterday! No wonder the bike looked so familiar." Jack exclaimed in realization, abandoning his test ride entirely.

"Tell me what it's like getting up close with a Lizardman?"

Merlin looked speechlessly at the bearded man who had eagerly leaned in. "I came to buy a car, not tell stories."

"No rush on that. We can chat while you pick." Jack said casually.

"What car are you buying this time? Still a Ducati 916?"

"Yeah, but no need for a brand-new one. I'm buying it to modify."

Merlin figured riding a motorcycle every day was a bit risky, so he thought he'd pick up a beat-up bike and turn it into a Tyrant MK2—flight and ground dual-use, equipped with Deadlock Missiles. That way, if something unexpected came up later, he'd be ready.

"Modding, huh..." Jack pondered for a moment, then suddenly thought of something and clapped his hands.

"Come with me. There's a Ducati 916 someone dumped at my shop recently. Aside from the engine being able to start, there's hardly a single good part left on it."

"I was planning to strip it down in a few days anyway."

He led Merlin outside. In an inconspicuous spot sat a motorcycle so battered it barely looked like one. At first glance, it seemed more like a scrap heap.

"This thing can actually start?" Merlin eyed the rust-covered, wobbling machine that looked ready to fall apart any second, his doubt plain.

"Of course. Let me fire it up for you." Jack twisted the key directly.

"Tchk tchk tchk..." The moment it sparked, the engine let out a sound like a tractor.

Merlin: "..."

"Vroom..." But soon, the harsh clatter faded, and the engine smoothed out.

"It really does start." Merlin was a bit surprised.

He gave it a thorough check and found the powertrain was still in decent shape, but the frame felt like it was about to fall apart.

"I'll take this one. How much?"

For some reason, just as Merlin said he wanted to buy it, the Ducati's front end gave a slight, subtle lift.