The order of one hundred and fifty units from S.H.I.E.L.D. wasn't exactly massive, but it was far from small.
After all, S.H.I.E.L.D. didn't have the numbers of a conventional military. For an intelligence and special operations agency, one hundred and fifty combat robots was already a formidable force.
If Nolan wanted to secure truly massive orders, he would have to wait. S.H.I.E.L.D. would only commit to larger purchases once they encountered events that forced them to recognize the true value of Lock Technologies' creations. Until then, cautious steps and trial deployments were to be expected.
What caught Nolan's interest, however, wasn't Fury's order, but rather the knockoff robots that Hammer Industries was pushing onto the market.
He had long mocked Hammer Industries as nothing more than a sloppy, second-rate factory. But even the worst factories had their strengths. After all, the military wasn't run by fools.
In a world crawling with geniuses, Hammer Industries had still managed to secure a military share second only to Stark Industries. With Tony Stark publicly pulling out of the weapons business, Hammer had conveniently climbed to the top.
Could an empire like that be dismissed as garbage? Hardly. Anyone who thought so was the real idiot.
Mockery, Nolan understood, was often just a mindset a way to soothe one's pride.
Much like Tony Stark. He mocked the world because, in his heart, he looked down on everyone.
Well, Tony at least had the genius to back it up.
As he watched Nick Fury depart, Nolan's lips curled upward.
Another deal closed. Another fortune made.
"For the peace of the universe," he muttered with a smirk, "I really do work too damn hard."
Shaking his head at his own sarcasm, he stepped into his private system laboratory. There were always experiments to run.
The deeper he delved into technology, the more he realized a simple truth: buying a complete, off-the-shelf technology was never as valuable as taking what you already mastered, combining it with fragments of the unknown, and forging something entirely new.
The SAR-1 combat robot was good. Reliable, effective, and already widely feared. But now that others were chasing after it, Nolan had no choice but to move on.
It was time to begin work on the SAR-2.
The SAR-2 was no mere upgrade it was the perfected successor, designed to surpass its predecessor in every measurable way. In the science fiction story Kill Command, such machines had even developed intelligence of their own.
But Nolan wasn't about to repeat fiction's mistakes. There would be no "evolution modules" in his design. No rogue AI uprising. His SAR-2 would be smarter, faster, and stronger without the danger of disobedience.
The system quoted the technology's value at one hundred and seventy million points, but with his knowledge, Nolan was confident he could bring it into existence for under a hundred million. Time, not money, was the greater price.
While Nolan quietly pieced together the future in his lab, Justin Hammer was making his own moves.
He had requested a meeting with Nick Fury.
"Lock?" Hammer scoffed the moment Nolan's name was mentioned. "I'll admit the man is clever. But Director Fury, you can trust Hammer Industries. Our technology is more than competitive."
His grin was brimming with confidence as he leaned forward.
"Hammer Industries doesn't just have a complete research and development chain we employ some of the finest minds in the world. And me?" He thumped his chest. "I hold multiple doctorates. That is the confidence of Hammer Industries."
Fury stared at him silently, his single eye unblinking, waiting for the salesman's bravado to run dry.
When Hammer finally paused for breath, Fury asked flatly, "I don't care about your degrees. I want to know: how capable are your so-called Falcon battle droids?"
A flicker of disappointment crossed Hammer's face, but he quickly recovered with a salesman's smile.
"Director, the Falcon is just one of our products. We also offer things like the Ex-Wife missile. Not only is it effective, it's affordable. Our prices are so good they'll drive your competitors insane! Surely you'd like to explore "
"Enough," Fury cut him off, his patience thinning.
Tony Stark might have been an arrogant playboy. Nolan Lock was a young wolf, dangerous and cunning. But Justin Hammer? He was nothing but a businessman.
Still, businessmen had their uses.
When Hammer finally offered a trial demonstration of the Falcon units, Fury agreed.
The results surprised him.
Damn Nolan Lock. Even Hammer's knockoffs had respectable performance. And the price absurdly low.
Fury clenched his jaw, calculating. He couldn't imagine how much profit Nolan was skimming off his sales if Hammer could undercut him this hard.
"Doctor Hammer," Fury said at last, his voice calm but his decision made. "I want one thousand Falcon units."
Hammer froze, stunned, before his expression exploded into joy.
"A thousand?" His grin nearly split his face. "Director Fury, with an order that large, let me show you some sincerity. I'll shave thirty thousand off each unit."
"Fifty-seven thousand apiece…" Fury's eye narrowed. Even lower than expected.
Damn it, Nolan. Just how much were you bleeding us for?
But this was war. And weapons were necessary evils.
For the first time in a long while, Fury allowed himself a small smile.
"From now on," he said, "Hammer Industries will be S.H.I.E.L.D.'s first-choice partner."
Hammer almost jumped out of his seat in delight.
"It's my honor, Director."
The deal was sealed. Two old foxes, both scheming for their own gain, shaking hands with polite smiles.
After Fury left, Hammer immediately phoned Ivan Vanko.
"Doctor Vanko, have you fixed that issue with the Falcon's joint actuators?"
Vanko sighed, shaking his head.
"It's complicated. I'm still working on it. I'll need more time."
Hammer waved the concern away.
"Doesn't matter. A one-in-ten-thousand failure rate is within tolerance. We just got a massive order. Begin production immediately."
Vanko frowned. To him, even a small fault in a weapon of war was unacceptable. But when he saw Hammer's smug, unwavering confidence, he said nothing.
Hammer wasn't worried. Faults didn't matter prices did. That was the secret of Hammer Industries. Lower costs, higher volume.
What was a little unreliability when the money rolled in?
"I need to share this good news," Hammer chuckled to himself. His eyes gleamed with mischief. "And who better to brag to than Nolan Lock?"
But when he dialed Nolan's number, the call was abruptly cut off with a cold dial tone.
Hammer's face darkened.
That bastard had hung up on him.
Across the city, Nolan set his phone down, shaking his head in amusement.
He didn't need to answer to know what Hammer wanted. Fury had thrown his money at the cheapest bidder.
But time would prove who truly built weapons that lasted. Nolan had no reason to worry. He already held the future in his hands.
His gaze drifted to the nearly complete SAR-2 prototype resting on the lab bench. A smile tugged at his lips.
"Boss?"
Jessica Jones's voice called from outside.
Nolan stepped out. "What is it?"
Jessica's eyes were glued to the television, her face alight with excitement.
"Look at that monster!"
Nolan followed her gaze. The screen showed breaking news.
The Hulk.
He was rampaging through New York City.
Nolan narrowed his eyes. So, the Hulk's story was beginning.
At a military base outside the city, General Ross's face was grim.
"Useless. All of you. Another failure to capture him."
He had hunted the Hulk for years. Always chasing, never succeeding. The beast was too powerful, too uncontrollable.
"Next time," Ross growled, "bring the T-800s. And those SAR-1s. Maybe this time our expensive toys will finally prove their worth."
He turned to one of his soldiers.
"Blonsky. Are you ready?"
"Of course."
Emil Blonsky's eyes burned with battlelust. He lived for combat, for the thrill of facing a stronger foe. And the Hulk was the ultimate opponent.
He had lost before. But this time would be different.
Because this time, Blonsky had taken the serum. His body was stronger. Faster. More durable.
This time, he wasn't just a soldier.
This time, he was a super-soldier.
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