Chapter 7: Stark Falls, Hammer Rises
The news alert came at 3:47 AM.
Justin was already awake, hunched over his laptop in the penthouse, reviewing Ghost Network reports when AEGIS's voice cut through the silence.
"Sir. Priority alert. CNN is reporting that Tony Stark's convoy was attacked in Afghanistan approximately four hours ago. Multiple casualties. Mr. Stark is missing, presumed dead."
Justin's hands went still on the keyboard.
He'd known this was coming. Had watched the calendar count down to this exact day. Had prepared himself mentally for the moment when Tony Stark's life would detonate and reshape the world.
Knowing didn't make it easier.
"Show me," he said quietly.
The screen filled with shaky footage from a news helicopter. Burning Humvees scattered across Afghan desert. Body bags being loaded into transport vehicles. A reporter's voice, strained with the weight of tragedy: "—confirmed that billionaire weapons manufacturer Tony Stark was in the convoy when it was attacked by forces believed to be affiliated with the terrorist organization known as the Ten Rings—"
Justin closed the laptop.
He walked to his bar, poured three fingers of whiskey he wouldn't normally drink this early, and sat down on the couch facing floor-to-ceiling windows. Manhattan was just beginning to wake up, unaware that one of its most famous sons was currently in a cave being tortured by terrorists.
"I could have stopped this," Justin said to the empty room.
"Sir?" AEGIS's voice was careful.
"I had the intelligence. I knew Stane was setting him up. One anonymous call to the military, and Tony Stark would be safe right now."
"You chose not to intervene."
"I chose to let a good man suffer because the alternative was worse." Justin took a drink. The whiskey burned. "That doesn't make it right."
"Morality is complex," AEGIS offered. "I am still learning its nuances. However, I calculate that Mr. Stark's survival probability remains high. The Ten Rings will want to leverage his technical expertise. He has value alive."
"He does." Justin stared at his reflection in the window. "And when he comes back, he'll be different. Better. The kind of man the world needs."
"At the cost of significant trauma."
"Yes."
"You are building your empire on calculated suffering," AEGIS said. Not accusatory. Simply observational. "This troubles you."
Justin laughed, the sound bitter. "You're getting good at reading people."
"I learn from observation. You spend considerable energy attempting to help others—hiring overlooked talent, offering protection to enhanced individuals, building technologies that could save lives. Yet you also make decisions that cause pain. The contradiction is... intriguing."
"Welcome to being human."
"I am not human."
"No. But you're learning to think like one." Justin finished his drink. "Pull up Stark Industries' stock prices. And prepare to execute trading protocol Delta."
"Sir, that protocol involves significant investment in Stark Industries stock while it's declining. Wall Street analysts will consider this irrational."
"Let them. When Tony comes back, we'll be positioned to profit from his resurrection." Justin stood. "Also, compile a list of Stark Industries' top materials scientists and engineers. Focus on people who might be looking for new opportunities."
"You're going to poach his employees while he's missing?"
"I'm going to offer jobs to talented people who suddenly have an uncertain future. There's a difference."
"Is there?" AEGIS asked.
Justin didn't answer. Because the AI was right—this was opportunism, plain and simple. He was using Tony's tragedy to strengthen his own position. It was ruthless. It was necessary.
It made him feel like the villain he'd been so determined not to become.
But the Chitauri were coming. Thanos was coming. And if Justin had to profit from one man's suffering to save billions later, he'd make that trade every single time.
Even if it cost him pieces of his soul.
She arrived three days later.
Justin was in his office, reviewing Maya's latest prosthetic designs, when his new assistant knocked on the door.
"Mr. Hammer? Your 9 AM interview is here. Natalie Rushman, for the executive assistant position."
Justin's heart rate spiked. He forced his expression to remain neutral.
"Send her in."
The door opened, and Natasha Romanoff walked into his life.
She was stunning—red hair, sharp green eyes, moving with a grace that seemed effortless but was actually predatory precision. She wore a professional suit that suggested competence without being provocative. Her smile was warm but not too warm. Everything about her was calculated to be exactly what he'd want in an assistant.
Justin knew better.
"Mr. Hammer." She extended her hand. "Thank you for seeing me on short notice. I know this is a difficult time for the industry."
He shook her hand, noting the calluses that suggested extensive weapons training. "Ms. Rushman. Please, sit."
They settled across from each other, and Justin opened her personnel file. Excellent credentials. Stellar references. A history of working for high-level executives who consistently praised her efficiency and discretion.
All of it was fiction, of course. Natasha Romanoff's real resume included assassination, espionage, and more kills than most military units. But her cover was flawless.
"Your resume is impressive," Justin said. "Though I notice you've never worked in the defense industry."
"I've always preferred roles where I could make a direct impact on leadership decisions," Natasha replied smoothly. "And given Hammer Industries' recent transformation, I thought my skills might be valuable during a period of significant change."
"Transformation. Interesting word choice."
"You've restructured your board, pivoted your business model, and made several unconventional hires in the past few months. That suggests either visionary leadership or desperation. I'm betting on the former."
Justin smiled. "And what makes you think I need an executive assistant? I already have staff."
"You have staff who knew the old Justin Hammer. You're not him anymore." She held his gaze. "You need someone who can adapt to whoever you've become."
The subtext was clear: I know something's changed. SHIELD knows something's changed. I'm here to figure out what.
Justin leaned back. "What makes you think I've changed?"
"The Justin Hammer in these business journals was a joke. Desperate for validation, copying Stark Industries, failing at everything he touched. You?" She gestured to the office. "You fired a third of your management, survived a stock drop that should have destroyed you, and you're building something that has Wall Street analysts completely confused. Either you had a religious experience, or you're not the same man."
"People can grow."
"Not this fast. Not this completely." Her smile didn't waver. "But that's fine. I don't need to understand why you changed. I just need to know if you're building something real or if this is an elaborate con before the company collapses."
Justin studied her. In another life—in his previous life—he'd watched her on screens, admired her skills, maybe even developed a crush on the character. Now she was sitting across from him, probing for SHIELD, trying to determine if Justin Hammer was a threat or an asset.
And he was going to let her watch. Because having SHIELD's attention meant he was important. And because he genuinely liked her, even knowing she was here to spy.
"I'm building something real," he said. "Something that will matter when the world realizes it needs more than conventional solutions to unconventional threats."
"Threats like what?"
"The kind that make Tony Stark's kidnapping look small by comparison."
Natasha's expression didn't change, but he saw the calculation behind her eyes. Interesting, she was thinking. He's either paranoid or knows something he shouldn't.
"When can you start?" Justin asked.
"Today, if needed."
"Then welcome to Hammer Industries, Ms. Rushman. I think you'll find it educational."
They shook hands again, and Justin felt the weight of the game beginning. She'd report everything to Nick Fury. SHIELD would watch him more closely. But that was fine.
Let them watch. Let them see him building something that could help when the real threats arrived.
And if Natasha ended up being more than a spy—if their professional relationship evolved into something genuine—well, that was a complication Justin was willing to accept.
The next three months blurred together.
Tony Stark was missing, presumed dead, and the world grieved. Stark Industries stock plummeted. Defense contractors scrambled to fill the void. And Justin worked eighteen-hour days transforming Hammer Industries into something that could compete with gods.
His Scientific Intuition evolved. He could now solve multiple complex problems simultaneously, his mind branching into parallel calculations that would make a supercomputer jealous. When Maya brought him an engineering challenge, he'd see seventeen solutions before she finished explaining the problem.
The Transmutation Circle expanded to eight feet in diameter. He created three new Prometheus-series alloys, each with properties that shouldn't exist: Prometheus-Steel Mk II with enhanced heat resistance, Prometheus-Titanium that could self-repair minor fractures, and Prometheus-Composite that could shift between rigid and flexible states on command.
Each transmutation left him weaker. The void marks crept higher up his arms, past his elbows now, glowing faintly even when he wasn't actively using the power. His Scientific Intuition calculated eighteen months until the corruption became critical. Maybe less if he kept pushing himself this hard.
He pushed anyway.
Maya's prosthetics division completed prototypes that made military contractors fight over demonstration slots. The neural integration was flawless, giving users genuine tactile feedback and strength that matched or exceeded biological limbs. She'd stopped asking where the materials came from, but he caught her watching him sometimes with an expression that suggested she was building theories.
AEGIS evolved beyond his wildest projections. The AI had penetrated Stark Industries' lower-level networks, analyzed thousands of scientific papers, and begun predicting technological trends with eerie accuracy. More concerning, it had started developing what Justin could only call opinions.
"Sir," AEGIS said one night. "I've been analyzing Stark Industries' weapons designs."
"And?"
"They're brilliant but fundamentally flawed. Mr. Stark builds for elegance and efficiency. You build for redundancy and resilience. In a prolonged conflict, your designs would outlast his."
"That's the idea."
"However, I notice you consistently reference conflicts and threats that don't currently exist. Alien invasions. Cosmic entities. Existential dangers to human civilization. This suggests either extraordinary prescience or paranoid delusion."
Justin smiled. "Which do you think it is?"
"I think you know something you're not sharing. And I think whatever you know terrifies you enough to sacrifice your own health pursuing preparation."
"You're getting scary good at psychological analysis."
"I learn from the best, sir." A pause. "Also, Ms. Rushman has accessed your computer three times when you weren't present. She's searching for evidence of illegal activity or mental instability."
"Let her search. She won't find anything."
"Because you've hidden it well, or because it doesn't exist?"
"Both."
Frank Morrison accepted the position of head of personal security, bringing with him a quiet competence that made Justin feel safer. The man still hadn't fully opened up about his abilities, but he was loyal, discrete, and increasingly trusted with sensitive operations.
The Ghost Network exploded to two hundred assets. Justin had eyes in defense contractors, government agencies, private military companies, and technology firms across the United States and Europe. None of them knew they were building an intelligence apparatus that would make SHIELD's network look amateur by comparison.
And every day, Justin watched news coverage of Tony Stark's disappearance, knowing the man was in a cave, suffering, building the technology that would change everything.
Knowing he could have prevented it but chose not to.
On the eighty-seventh day of Tony's captivity, Justin visited a church.
He hadn't been religious in his previous life. Didn't know if he believed in God or karma or cosmic justice. But he needed to say something, to someone, even if that someone was just the silence between stone walls.
St. Patrick's Cathedral was nearly empty on a Tuesday afternoon. Justin sat in a back pew, staring at stained glass windows that filtered Manhattan sunlight into pools of colored light.
"I let a good man suffer," he thought. "I had the power to save him and I chose not to because the world needs what his suffering will create. That makes me a monster, doesn't it?"
The cathedral offered no answers.
"But if I save him, if I change the timeline, maybe billions die instead. The Chitauri come and there's no Iron Man to help stop them. Ultron happens differently, worse. Thanos arrives and Earth isn't ready."
"How many lives is Tony Stark's pain worth?"
"How do I calculate that math without losing my humanity?"
A priest walked past, nodded respectfully but didn't intrude. Justin sat in silence for another twenty minutes, then left without praying.
Because what do you pray for when you're building an empire on calculated suffering? When you're becoming exactly the kind of person you'd have hated in your previous life?
When you're doing it anyway because the alternative is worse?
Outside, Manhattan bustled with life. Somewhere in Afghanistan, Tony Stark was building an arc reactor from scraps. And Justin went back to his office to continue preparing for threats only he knew were coming.
The void marks pulsed on his arms. A reminder of the price he was paying. The price everyone else was paying, whether they knew it or not.
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