[Justin Hammer's Penthouse – Midnight]
The shattered remains of a 50-inch television lay across the floor, sparks flickering from the broken screen. Justin Hammer stood in the middle of the wreckage, his chest rising and falling with ragged breaths, his hands trembling with anger.
Everything had fallen apart.
His project. His government funding. His reputation.
All because of Howard Stark.
All because of Nick Fury.
All because of that arrogant bastard Ross.
They humiliated him. Publicly. They exposed his failures, and turned the entire room against him.
For years, Hammer had been climbing, waiting for his moment to prove he was more than just "the guy in Stark's shadow." He finally had it... A project that would revolutionize warfare, put him ahead of Stark Industries, of everyone.
And they killed it before it could even begin.
Justin let out a sharp exhale, running a hand through his disheveled hair. His jaw was tight, his teeth grinding together.
"They think this is over?" he muttered under his breath, his voice shaking. "No… no, no, no. You don't get to embarrass me and just walk away."
He clenched his fists, his nails digging into his palms. His mind raced, filled with thoughts of revenge.
The phone on his desk vibrated, the caller ID flashing a familiar number.
He hadn't seen that number in years.
His stomach twisted. He almost didn't answer.
Slowly, he picked up the phone and pressed it to his ear.
"…Took you long enough," a voice slithered through the speaker, smooth and cold, laced with amusement. "I was starting to think you lost my number."
Hammer's grip tightened around the phone.
Years ago, Mandarin International collapsed overnight. Their empire was exposed and forced into the shadows once again. Back then, Mandarin had approached Hammer with an offer—an alliance.
He thought he didn't need them.
He thought he could rise to the top on his own. And what could someone who fell do for him?
Now he was at the bottom.
Justin forced himself to take a breath. "What do you want?"
Mandarin chuckled softly. "Not even a hello? No pleasantries? Tsk. You wound me, Hammer."
Justin wasn't in the mood for games. "I don't have time for your cryptic bullshit. You called me. Why?"
There was a pause. Then, Mandarin spoke, voice rich with mockery.
Justin's grip on the phone tightened.
"Oh, Justin…" Mandarin continued, his tone dripping with false sympathy. "How the mighty fall. Your grand project? Dead. Your reputation? In the gutter. And you? Just another embarrassed failure."
Hammer's face twisted with rage. "Shut the hell up."
Mandarin ignored him. "You should have accepted my offer two years ago. We could have avoided this pathetic display. Had we worked together, you would be on top right now, not groveling in the dirt. But you were arrogant. You thought you didn't need me."
Justin felt his heart pounding. He wanted to throw the phone across the room, but he forced himself to stay calm.
Mandarin continued, his voice smooth as silk. "But I am merciful. And I am patient."
There was a pause. Then...
"So I extend my hand once more."
The words hung in the air.
Hammer swallowed hard. He knew Mandarin wasn't offering this out of kindness. Mandarin didn't do kindness.
Right now, Justin had nothing.
And he wanted everything back.
He took a slow breath. "I'll work with you."
Mandarin chuckled. "Smart man."
"But I have conditions," Hammer's voice was sharp, laced with venom.
Mandarin hummed in amusement. "Oh? Conditions? How bold of you. Tell me, Justin. What do you want?"
Hammer's hands curled into fists. His blood boiled with hatred.
"And I want Howard Stark dead."
Mandarin's soft chuckle echoed through the speaker, slow and amused.
"Oh, Justin… you really do let your emotions control you, don't you?"
Hammer's jaw clenched. "I told you what I want. You're either in or you're out."
Mandarin exhaled, as if indulging a child's tantrum. "And I told you before, impatience is an ugly thing in this business. You want Ross dead? You want Howard dead? And Nick Fury?"
Then... Mandarin laughed.
A low, deep, amused laugh, like Justin had just told the funniest joke in the world.
Hammer's face twisted with rage. "What the hell is so funny?"
Mandarin sighed, the mirth still in his voice. "You really think Fury is an option? That man is untouchable."
Hammer blinked. "What?"
Mandarin's tone turned sharp. "Do you think the man who sat in that room was really Nick Fury? Do you think the Director of SHIELD, one of the most paranoid men on this planet, would show up himself to a public defense meeting, where his enemies could get a clean shot?"
Hammer's stomach twisted. "What are you saying?"
Mandarin chuckled again. "I'm saying the Fury you saw was a decoy. A fake. A stand-in. That man has so many shadows walking in his place that even I don't know where the real one is. And if I don't know?" He let that sink in. "Then you, my dear Justin, have no chance."
Hammer's breath was shallow. He hadn't even considered that Fury wasn't really there. But it made too much sense.
Mandarin continued. "You want to go after Fury? Fine. Do it. Watch as he dismantles your entire life before you even realize what's happening. Watch as your friends disappear, your finances crumble, and your name is erased from history. Because that's what happens when you poke Nick Fury."
Hammer swallowed hard. "…So you're saying he's untouchable."
Mandarin's smile was almost audible. "For now."
Hammer inhaled deeply. He couldn't afford another failure. Not again.
Fine. Fury was off the table.
"They humiliated me," Hammer growled. "They need to suffer."
Mandarin hummed, considering. "Yes. Yes, they did, didn't they?"
Hammer tightened his grip on the phone. "So do it. Kill them."
Mandarin sighed, as if he was dealing with an impatient child. "You want them dead? Just like that? A bullet to the head? A tragic accident?" He scoffed. "How boring."
Hammer's fingers twitched. "I don't care how you do it, I just want them gone."
Mandarin's voice dropped to a low whisper, dangerous and edged with malice. "Oh, Justin. You really don't understand true revenge, do you?"
Hammer frowned. "…What the hell does that mean?"
"It means," Mandarin said, voice smooth as silk, "that death is mercy. You want them to suffer? You want them to understand your pain? Then don't kill them."
Hammer's pulse quickened. "Then what do you suggest?"
Mandarin leaned in closer, even through the phone, it felt like he was standing right beside Hammer, whispering in his ear.
"You make them watch."
A chill ran down Hammer's spine.
"You make them live through it, Justin," Mandarin continued, his voice dripping with cruelty. "You let them wake up every day knowing they are losing. That their power is slipping, that their influence is fading. You make them live in fear, waiting for the next blow. Because that, Justin…" Mandarin's voice darkened, like venom sliding through the phone, "…that is real suffering."
Hammer was breathing heavily now, his mind racing.
Mandarin continued, slow and methodical. "Think about it. Howard Stark—the Howard Stark—living in constant fear. Every moment of his life, wondering what's going to happen next. Knowing that something is coming for him, but never knowing when."
Hammer's lips parted slightly.
Mandarin's tone turned almost playful. "And Ross? The 'Great General'? Reduced to a paranoid, broken man. Forced to watch his career collapse from a hospital bed, too weak, too powerless to stop it. Wouldn't that be beautiful?"
Hammer swallowed. "You'd… you'd do that?"
Mandarin smiled. "Of course. I'll keep them afraid, every second of every day. I'll make sure they experience what you feel right now. The shame, the humiliation, the desperation."
Hammer inhaled sharply. He wanted them dead. But this?
"Alright," Hammer muttered, nodding. "Do it."
Mandarin chuckled. "Now you're starting to understand, Justin."
Hammer exhaled, his body tense. "…And when they've suffered enough?"
Mandarin was silent for a long moment.
Then, he whispered—low, cold, absolute.
A cruel smile spread across Hammer's lips.
[New York City – Midnight]
The city lights flickered past in a blur as Howard Stark tightened his grip on the leather seat of his car. The air smelled of burnt rubber and gunpowder, and the sharp cracks of gunfire echoed through the night.
"Bloody hell!" Jarvis cursed as he swerved the black sedan, dodging another barrage of bullets.
The convoy meant to protect Howard? Gone.
His security vehicles, state-of-the-art, reinforced, and custom-made by Stark Industries, had been blown apart in coordinated explosions. Someone had planted bombs in them. And if that were the case…
Howard's mind raced. 'There could be one in here too.'
"Sir, remain calm," Jarvis said, eyes flickering over the rearview mirror. "I've already scanned the car. There's none." He was focused but Howard knew him well enough to recognize the slight tension in his jaw. Even he was rattled.
The enemies behind them weren't giving up. SUVs rushed forward, their windows down, masked gunmen leaning out and spraying bullets toward them. Flashes of light illuminated the dark streets as rounds struck the back of their car, pinging off the armor but leaving visible dents.
And then came the motorcycles.
Three of them, weaving between traffic, closing in fast.
Howard exhaled sharply. "Jarvis, take the tunnel. Now."
Jarvis didn't hesitate. He yanked the wheel hard, sending the car skidding onto a side road that led toward the underground tunnel.
It was empty. They planned everything.
Howard looked down, his fingers brushing over the handgun, 'Damn it.' He took it out.
The moment they entered the tunnel, the gunfire lessened.
A deafening whirr cut through the tunnel.
Howard's eyes widened.
"Are you bloody kidding me?" Howard muttered.
The chopper hovered just above the tunnel entrance, its rotors slicing through the air. Its side-mounted machine gun whined to life, preparing to fire straight into the tunnel.
Howard braced himself.
[Don't forget to 'favorite' the chapter]
If you like my work, you can support me on>: www.patr eon.com/XcaliburXc
[Read 16 advance chapters] [No double billing]