Justin Hamr returned to his company fuming with rage...
In his eyes, Sean Cyphers was just as much of an arrogant bastard as that playboy Tony Stark. At least Stark's hubris was well-known... who would have thought that Sean, who seed humble and mild, was the sa?
Hamr could reluctantly accept Tony Stark's insolence and debauchery. After all, Stark Industries had once been an untouchable behemoth at the top of the industry, while Hamr Industries had lurked in its shadow, barely clinging to a fraction of the market share with its own resources and connections.
But Sean's Umbrella Corporation? A fledgling research institution with shallow roots, propped up solely by a few promising high-efficiency drugs.
It had rely gotten lucky, hitching a ride on the coattails of Stark Industries and Koch Industries... how dare they ignore his offer of cooperation?
Hamr's fury burned hotter as his fingers drumd violently against his desk, curses spilling from his lips...
He had spent an astronomical sum acquiring Stark Industries' weapons factories precisely to make a grand entrance into the arms industry... He aid to shatter years of frustration and devour the vacated market share.
Not only that, he had poured massive funds into reverse-engineering Tony Stark's Iron Man armor, hoping it would secure a long-term contract with the Departnt of Defense.
Behind the scenes, he had even pushed for the military committee's hearings against Stark Industries, intending to force the seizure of their armor so he could snatch up the technical data.
Yet Tony had outmaneuvered him, making a deal with Nick Fury and gaining S.H.I.E.L.D. as a powerful new backer. The military's pressure tactics instantly crumbled, and Hamr's plan collapsed yet again.
With the Military Weapons Symposium approaching, Hamr Industries' so-called Iron Man armor remained nothing more than a glorified mock-up.
Without a functional prototype, no amount of influence or connections would secure that DoD contract... Thinking of the wasted fortunes slipping through his fingers, Hamr felt an agonizing twist in his gut.
"Sean Cyphers… Umbrella Corporation..." he muttered, his anger gradually simring down.
Perhaps this was an opportunity in disguise. A cold smirk curled across Hamr's lips, his eyes glead behind his glasses.
He was an arms dealer, not so law-abiding citizen or philanthropist. If legitimate business asures failed, there was no harm in resorting to… other thods.
"Send Fernando in." Hamr buzzed his secretary.
Half an hour later, a tall, powerfully built man with a buzzcut walked in...
Fernando Torres, forrly a Lieutenant Colonel in the U.S. Army's 75th Ranger Regint R.S.T.B. (Special Missions Battalion). A consummate soldier, after retiring, he had joined Hamr Industries' private security division, becoming the commander of a rcenary team.
Across his twenty-year career, he had assassinated a president of an African nation, incited tribal wars, guarded oil and mining magnates, and even trained militaries for South Arican juntas.
Now, he was Hamr Industries' head of security, personally overseeing Justin Hamr's safety.
"I need an elite team," Hamr demanded from his sofa, exuding his usual domineering air.
As a successful arms dealer, Hamr Industries had its own private military company, with two top-tier rcenary squads composed of ex-special forces from elite units like the U.S. Marine Corps and Green Berets.
rcenary work wasn't as mysterious as the public imagined. Many ex-soldiers with combat experience took up the dangerous trade for money or survival.
The rank-and-file cannon fodder got sent to war zones to guard corporate assets, while the more skilled handled VIP protection and security ops for small nations. The absolute best were recruited into PMC squads to carry out wetwork for corporate entities or governnt agencies.
How does a combat-hardened veteran make $2 million in a year?
Join a private security firm, and without climbing the ranks, the salary caps at $500K. But sign on as a rc, survive a year, and seven figures is practically guaranteed.
For soldiers already gambling with their lives, the rewards were too tempting. Of course, few actually walked away wealthy, let alone alive.
"We have two teams... one is in Liberia, the other in the Middle East," Torres replied deferentially (purely for the paycheck), "I can recall them imdiately. If ti is tight, I can scramble another group."
"No. I want the best. Sothing untraceable, no links to Hamr Industries," the arms dealer growled, loosening his tie, voice dripping with nace, "I need cold-blooded professionals who leave zero evidence."
Torres stiffened. He knew exactly what his boss ant... Either soone had pissed off Hamr Industries, or sothing had been marked for acquisition.
This wasn't his first ti receiving such an order, but for Justin Hamr to be this serious? It was rare.
'Is he actually planning to assassinate Tony Stark?' A dark joke flickered in Torres' mind.
"Causing trouble in New York… won't be easy," he answered carefully after a pause.
Beyond the sheer number of intelligence agencies under the DoD keeping tabs on holand security, any rc or foreign operative on watchlists would get flagged instantly (even with fake passports), then politely 'invited for tea'...
"Fernando, I pay you seven figures a year to solve problems, not list them." Hamr's fist slamd the desk, "Money's no issue. Just find people who get the job done."
If Sean Cyphers could be taken off the board, perhaps that Russian weapons specialist could be swayed. Even if Umbrella couldn't be absorbed whole, the spoils would still be worth it.
He wanted that Arc Reactor. Nothing else mattered. The risks of killing New York's golden boy were imnse... even with allies in the military committee, he might not escape unscathed.
But the potential rewards? For a ruthless businessman like Hamr, the temptation was irresistible. Replicating Iron Man's armor would guarantee Hamr Industries a 25-year DoD contract, catapulting it to the heights Stark Industries once enjoyed.
The security chief's eye twitched at the sharp reprimand. Then a na flashed in his mind.
Hesitantly, he said, "I know soone... Wade Wilson. He's one a hell of a rc."
"Then what are you waiting for?" Hamr snapped.
Blinded by greed, the arms dealer cared only about securing the Arc Reactor. Without it, the gleaming toys in his weapons factories would rot in obscurity.
Sean had to be dealt with...
Hamr couldn't wait to stride up to that playboy and flaunt his own functional armor, mocking him with all the vengeance of past humiliation...
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