The woman politely invited him into the house.
Frank's home was modest. The furniture was simple, the walls plain, with no trace of luxury just the quiet warmth of an ordinary family's life. For a man like Nolan, who grew up surrounded by polished boardrooms and the sterile gleam of laboratories, the contrast was striking.
"Frank's out working right now," she said softly as she poured him a glass of water. "But by the time the sun goes down, he should be back."
Nolan nodded. He already knew this, of course. That was precisely why he had come tonight. Timing mattered, and in this case, his timing was perfect.
He had only been seated a few minutes when the door opened.
Frank Castle stepped inside, carrying the weariness of a long day on his broad shoulders. His sharp gaze fell immediately on the stranger in his living room. His instincts screamed danger.
"Who are you?" Frank demanded, his voice edged with suspicion.
Just last night, he had clashed with an unknown opponent in the shadows of Hell's Kitchen. Now, a stranger showed up at his home? That was no coincidence. His pulse quickened, not for his own safety, but for his wife and children his only anchor, his only weakness.
Nolan stood calmly, a faint, courteous smile on his lips. "Nolan Lock. Perhaps you haven't heard the name before, but I believe you've heard of Locke Technologies."
Recognition flickered across Frank's face, though his expression remained guarded.
"I don't see what business you and I could possibly have," Frank said gruffly.
Nolan didn't miss a beat. "It's simple, Mr. Castle. Through certain channels, I came across information about you. You're an excellent soldier, a man who knows combat better than most. And right now, Locke Technologies is looking to recruit someone precisely like you. I'd like to hire you as our Chief of Security."
The words hung in the air.
Frank's wife blinked in surprise, her heart leaping at the offer. Frank's current work was ordinary stable, but hardly rewarding. A position like this, with a respected company, sounded like salvation.
But Frank himself didn't flinch. His jaw tightened, and he shook his head. "I'm not interested. Not at this time."
Nolan's smile did not fade. Instead, he leaned forward slightly, his voice warm yet unyielding. "Perhaps you don't understand what I'm offering. Locke Technologies isn't looking for just a watchman. We need someone who can handle real threats, who can protect our people and our innovations from the kind of enemies most companies can't even imagine. For that, we're willing to pay accordingly."
He paused, then let the figure roll off his tongue.
"One million dollars a year."
Frank's wife gasped. Even she couldn't hide her reaction. A million. In an era where most families lived on a fraction of that, the sum sounded unreal.
Frank remained silent, but Nolan's sharp eyes caught the slight shift in his posture, the way his fingers twitched. He was tempted. Even a man as hardened as Frank Castle could not pretend otherwise.
Nolan's smile widened almost imperceptibly. In this world, money was the greatest superpower. With enough of it, even the most stubborn warrior could be swayed.
Finally, Frank exhaled slowly. "…Fine. But if I'm to work for you, you'll get proof I'm worth every cent."
"Excellent," Nolan replied smoothly. "And you're right. This isn't a one-way decision. You'll prove to me you're worth the title and the salary. I don't doubt you will."
Frank's confidence was absolute. "That's easy."
With Castle secured, Nolan wasted no time. He returned to the company, the weight of the night pressing down on the city. Distant sirens wailed through Hell's Kitchen as shadows lengthened, but Nolan's mind was already elsewhere.
Tonight, he would move against Kingpin.
From the rooftop across the street, Nolan surveyed the crime lord's fortress-like residence. Armed guards patrolled the perimeter. The walls practically radiated menace. But Nolan wasn't here to sneak in. He wasn't here for subtlety.
He was here to unleash war.
With a gesture, he activated the machines lurking in the dark.
Thirty Kill-Bots and two towering T-800s stirred to life, metal grinding against metal as their optics glowed red. Drones circled overhead like silent vultures, locking every escape route.
"Advance," Nolan commanded coldly.
The night exploded in fire.
Gunfire rattled through the streets as the T-800s tore through Kingpin's men like paper. Their chain guns roared, spraying bullets with inhuman precision, reducing walls to rubble and bodies to ash.
The Kill-Bots swarmed, merciless and unrelenting.
Seven minutes. That was all it took.
The mansion fell silent. Not a scream, not a breath, not a heartbeat lingered.
Through the T-800's thermal sensors, Nolan had seen it a massive figure cut down in the carnage. Broad-shouldered, built like a human tank, clad in an expensive suit. The image matched every description of Wilson Fisk, the Kingpin of Crime.
Had it really been so easy?
Nolan frowned. Part of him doubted it. Men like Fisk didn't fall so simply. Yet with the firepower he'd deployed, survival seemed impossible.
"Whether it was truly him or not," Nolan muttered, "this city will feel the difference tonight."
With Kingpin gone or at least, presumed gone the stranglehold of the underworld would weaken. Nolan could finally shift focus.
He needed power. Real power.
The system he possessed granted him machines, inventions, and tools, but not the kind of strength that ran in Steve Rogers' veins or bloomed in Wakanda's heart-shaped herb. Unless he chose to risk cybernetic augmentation something he refused his own body would remain unchanged.
And yet, as much as he craved that strength, the opportunity had not yet come. For now, patience was necessary.
Life moved forward. Nolan buried himself in research while keeping one eye on news of Fisk, waiting for confirmation of his death. But just as important, another event caught his attention.
Tony Stark had flown to Afghanistan.
The moment Nolan heard it, his eyes lit up.
At last.
This was the opportunity he'd been waiting for the perfect chance to bleed Stark Industries of its worth.
Meanwhile, halfway across the world, Tony stood proudly before a crowd of military officers. The desert winds howled as he unveiled his latest masterpiece: the Jericho missile. With arms spread wide, he basked in the storm of fire and dust it unleashed.
Behind him, a mushroom cloud rose into the sky, casting his silhouette in godlike grandeur.
Tony Stark. Genius. Billionaire. Playboy.
No man on earth, he believed, could force him to bow his head. Certainly not Nolan Lock. That name, to him, was nothing more than a footnote.
But destiny had other plans.
The very next day, headlines swept the globe:
"Tony Stark Missing in Afghanistan After Missile Test."
"Stark Industries in Crisis as Its Heir Apparent Vanishes."
"World's Most Notorious Weapons Dealer Disappears Without a Trace."
The news was everywhere, sending shockwaves through governments, markets, and military circles alike.
Nolan sat in his office, eyes fixed on the screen. Slowly, a smile curved across his lips.
The age of superheroes was about to begin.
But for now, there was money to be made.
He picked up the phone and called Simon Phillips. "Monitor Stark Industries' stock closely. Gather every dollar we can move. I'm going in to buy the dip."
Simon almost choked. "Boss, if Stark doesn't return, Locke Technologies could sink right along with him!"
Nolan chuckled. "This is Tony Stark we're talking about. He's not the type to die in a cave. I'd bet everything he's coming back. And when he does… I want to be ready to strip him of every last ounce of profit. I can't wait to see the look on his face."
The line went silent.
Nolan leaned back, his smile sharp as a blade.
The game was changing. And he was already three moves ahead.
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