Chapter 21: Government Relations
The Pentagon conference room smelled like leather, coffee, and calculated ambition.
Justin sat at the head of a table surrounded by officials whose combined authority could reshape American defense policy. Six months had passed since the Red Room operations. Hammer Industries' Prometheus Armor program had exceeded every expectation, and now the Department of Defense wanted more.
Much more.
"Mr. Hammer," General Hartley said, sliding a contract across the polished wood. "Your armor program has been transformative. We'd like to expand our partnership significantly."
Justin picked up the document, his Scientific Intuition analyzing it faster than most lawyers could read. Advanced weapons systems. Enhanced armor variants. Integration with existing military infrastructure. The contract was worth $8.7 billion over five years.
It would make Hammer Industries financially competitive with Stark Industries for the first time.
"These terms are generous," Justin said carefully. "What's the catch?"
"No catch. We want deeper access to your research divisions. Collaborative development. Shared intellectual property on certain projects."
There it was. The Pentagon wanted control disguised as partnership.
"I'm willing to expand our relationship," Justin said. "But I maintain intellectual property rights on all proprietary technologies. No joint ownership. No shared patents. You buy products. You don't buy the company."
Hartley frowned. "That's non-negotiable. These technologies have national security implications—"
"Which is why I'm selling them to you instead of to private military contractors who'd pay triple." Justin leaned back. "General, I respect the military. I want to support American defense. But I won't surrender operational independence. You want my technology? Buy it. You want to control how I develop it? Find another contractor."
The room went tense. Officials exchanged glances. Justin could see them calculating whether to push harder or accept his terms.
General Ross, sitting at the far end of the table, watched with predatory interest.
"We'll revise the contract," Hartley said finally. "Maintain your intellectual property rights, but with first-offer requirements on military applications."
"Acceptable," Justin said. "Assuming the compensation reflects that exclusivity."
They negotiated for another hour. By the end, Justin had everything he wanted—massive funding, operational independence, and legitimacy as a top-tier defense contractor. The Pentagon got cutting-edge technology without surrendering to corporate control.
Everyone left satisfied.
Except Ross, who lingered after the others departed.
"Walk with me, Mr. Hammer."
It wasn't a request.
Justin followed Ross into an empty corridor, every instinct screaming danger. The general moved like violence barely contained, all muscle and fury wrapped in a uniform.
"You've built something impressive," Ross said. "Advanced materials. Revolutionary armor. And from what I hear, a division of enhanced operatives. ARES, isn't it?"
"Private security and special operations. All volunteers."
"Volunteers." Ross's tone made it clear what he thought of that. "I've been trying to recreate the super-soldier serum for years. Resources keep getting diverted. Oversight keeps interfering. But a private contractor like you—you could bypass all that red tape."
Justin kept his expression neutral. "What exactly are you proposing, General?"
"A partnership. You give me access to your enhanced personnel program. I provide subjects—prisoners, volunteers from high-risk populations, people who won't be missed if things go wrong. Together, we create the next generation of American super-soldiers."
"People who won't be missed if things go wrong," Justin thought, rage building behind his professional mask. "He's talking about human experimentation on disposable people."
"No," Justin said flatly.
Ross's eyes narrowed. "Excuse me?"
"My enhanced personnel program is strictly voluntary. Every person who receives augmentation does so with full informed consent, complete understanding of risks, and the freedom to refuse. I don't create weapons from unwilling subjects. And I won't hand my people over to someone who sees them as resources rather than humans."
"You're making a mistake."
"I'm making a choice. There's a difference." Justin met Ross's gaze without flinching. "General, I control technology your military desperately needs. Armor that's revolutionizing combat operations. Materials that don't exist anywhere else. Advanced weapons systems that save American lives. If you push me on this, I'll take those contracts to private security firms who pay better and ask fewer ethical questions. Your call."
They stared at each other. Justin could see the calculation behind Ross's eyes—weighing his need for Hammer Industries' conventional technology against his desire for super-soldier research.
Finally, Ross stepped back. "This conversation isn't over, Hammer. Eventually, you'll realize that some goals justify any means."
"And eventually, you'll realize that means determine whether goals are worth achieving." Justin turned to leave. "Enjoy the armor program, General. It's all you're getting from me."
He walked away, feeling Ross's glare burning into his back.
"Made an enemy today," Justin thought. "A powerful one. But some lines can't be crossed, even for allies."
Frank Castle found Justin in his office that evening.
"Need to talk," Frank said.
"About?"
"The Ross situation. I was outside the corridor. Heard most of it." Frank closed the door. "You refused to give him ARES Division."
"I did."
"Why?"
Justin studied him. Frank had been head of security for eight months now, had proven himself capable and trustworthy repeatedly. He deserved honesty.
"Because Ross would use enhanced people as weapons without caring about their humanity. He'd experiment on prisoners, on desperate people, on anyone he could justify as 'expendable.' That's not what I'm building."
"What are you building?"
"A team of people who chose to be there. Who understand their enhancements and accept them willingly. Who maintain their agency instead of being reduced to tools." Justin leaned forward. "You've been with me long enough, Frank. You've earned the right to ask questions. So ask."
Frank was quiet for a moment. "ARES Division. The enhanced operatives. How does it work?"
Justin explained. The vault. Power extraction from willing donors or dying individuals who chose to give abilities rather than lose them. Enhancement protocols with full informed consent. The reality that some people's last acts were donating their powers to help others.
Frank listened without interrupting.
"If you had something that could make me better at protecting people," Frank said finally. "Stronger, faster, tougher. Would you offer it?"
"Eventually, yes. But only if you're certain. Enhancement changes you. Not always in ways you expect."
"What kind of changes?"
"Physical ones are obvious. But psychological? You'll see the world differently. Threats you used to fear become manageable. Problems start looking solvable through force. You have to maintain discipline, remember your values, or the power will reshape you into something you don't recognize."
Frank nodded slowly. "I'll think about it."
"Take your time. The offer isn't going anywhere." Justin paused. "But Frank? Thank you for asking instead of judging. A lot of people would hear 'power extraction' and assume the worst."
"You saved my family. Gave me purpose. Treated me with respect when you didn't have to." Frank stood. "I figure that earns you the benefit of the doubt."
After he left, Justin sat alone in his office, the void marks pulsing beneath his sleeves.
Ross would come back eventually. Would push harder. Would try to take by force what Justin wouldn't give freely.
But for now, Justin had drawn a line. Had proven—to himself, to his team—that he wouldn't compromise his ethics even for powerful allies.
It would cost him eventually.
But it was a cost worth paying.
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