Marvel Knight of Zodiac

The two friends walked down the dimly lit street, the silence stretching between them like a taut string. Finally, James broke the quiet. "We lost this one. It happens. There's no shame in admitting it."

Peter remained pensive, doubt flickering across his face. James handed him the black arrow he'd retrieved from the alley. "Take a look at this."

As Peter reached for it, he noted the way James's fingers tightened around the shaft.

"What's up with this arrow?" Peter asked, his voice laced with confusion. "There's no arrowhead!"

James's expression turned serious. "The archer never intended to kill us, hence the missing arrowhead. Otherwise..."

Peter cut in, recalling their recent skirmish. "Even if there were arrowheads, you would have dodged them. I saw you earlier. And those flames afterward? Was that your 'Thousand Tigers Dance' practice? What about that Barton guy—the archer from before? Do you know him?"

"Why the third degree?" James replied, shaking his head. "That was the result of the close combat training I've been teaching you." He let a small lie slip, hoping to bolster Peter's confidence.

Seeing Peter's eager expression, he continued, "As for the archer, I was skeptical at first, but his demeanor gave him away."

"I've only heard of Barton; never met him. He's supposed to be an expert archer with arrows that have nearly 30 different functions."

"If he had used those special arrows, we might not be standing here right now," James said, his tone grave.

Peter scratched his head, surprised. "That powerful, huh? Where'd you learn all this? Sounds like something out of a comic book."

James turned serious. "Peter, remember this. You may have a sixth sense for danger, but don't underestimate this archer. His name is..."

"Hawkeye!" Peter exclaimed, his eyes wide.

This was no exaggeration. Hawkeye, the only non-superpowered Avenger, had skills and combat prowess that rivaled even those with extraordinary abilities.

With that acknowledgment, they resumed their walk, the weight of the night hanging heavily in the air.

James's expression was serious. "What now? Let it slide? There were more than just those two in the van. Shouldn't we do something about it?"

James shook his head. "We can't ignore it, but we're not equipped to handle it."

As they contemplated the night's events, James couldn't shake the feeling that something larger was at stake. Clint Barton—Hawkeye—was a seasoned S.H.I.E.L.D. agent, but why was he guarding a gangster's hideout instead of participating in a covert mission with Black Widow?

Was there more to this kidnapping case than they realized?

Perhaps, like Gwen Stacy's father in "The Amazing Spider-Man," they were allowing small-time crooks to operate in order to catch a bigger fish.

But who was the big fish behind the Russian mafia? Was it merely the FSB, the Russian Federal Security Service?

James's mind wandered back to previous encounters with the Russian mafia, recalling the dark alleyways of "Daredevil." Was it the same group?

But that was after the New York War. How did it connect to their current situation? And where did S.H.I.E.L.D. fit into all of this?

As they arrived at the orphanage, the headlights of a silver pickup truck illuminated the street. A familiar figure leaned out the window.

"James! Peter! There you are!"

"Thompson?" James and Peter exchanged confused glances.

"You guys are late," Thompson said as they climbed into the truck. "I drove Uncle Will's car over. He told me not to worry and get you home. Let's roll."

"Since when did Uncle Will have this car?" James asked casually.

"Uncle's got interests you don't know about," Thompson replied, starting the engine and pulling away.

Back at the orphanage, Mother Hana awaited them in the lobby, her expression stern.

"Why are you back so late?" she asked, crossing her arms.

"We were with Uncle Will," James replied, using him as an excuse.

"Don't hang around with that old man," Joan scolded. "And don't go out. Miss Potts from Stark Industries is coming to pick up Clarice. You'll be responsible for her."

"Got it," James replied, feeling the weight of responsibility settle on his shoulders.

With Mother Hana's words echoing in his mind, James retreated to his room and dialed Peter's number.

"Hey, did Uncle Ben chew you out?" Peter's voice came through, slightly breathless.

"It's fine. I can handle it. What do you need for our gear upgrades? I've got the browser open," James said, determination creeping into his tone.

They had lost this battle, but the war was far from over.