Meeting

"Four-star General of the United States, Joseph Brooks, has participated in numerous famous battles and is currently the oldest qualified general in the military."

"He has extensive combat experience, and if the military goes into a state of readiness, he is the most likely candidate to be promoted to a five-star rank."

"He and his friend Williams joined the military and fought together, but Williams didn't survive due to multiple battle injuries; he passed away half a year ago."

"Williams remained unmarried throughout his life. It's confirmed that Survivor Number Three is related to him as a distant relative, but the connection dates back quite a while, even to the time of World War I."

"According to intelligence estimates, the likelihood of us retrieving Survivor Number Three from old man Joseph Brooks is infinitely close to zero."

In a dimly lit meeting room, over a dozen men in military uniforms fell into silence.

After a while, a voice spoke up, "What about Survivor Number One? Have our people captured him?"

"The latest information indicates his whereabouts have been found, but..." The middle-aged man looked around the room before continuing, "Others are watching Survivor Number One. Our soldiers have identified seven different groups of mercenaries."

"Can we figure out who's behind them?"

"What's the use of that?" the middle-aged man replied.

The room fell quiet again. Many violent organisations could easily disguise themselves as mercenary groups. Even if they identified the individuals behind them, they were likely on a similar level.

Completely untouchable.

They wouldn't forget they were in the United States, a society where capitalism reigned supreme.

As long as you had the money, there were plenty of lunatics willing to take on assignments.

"Tap, tap, tap~."

A finger tapped on the tabletop. "We need to pursue Survivor Number One. Even if we can't obtain him, we'll tear a piece of flesh from that group. In a few days, we can talk to Brooks, use the pretext of a medical check-up, and draw blood from Survivor Number Three."

Others exchanged looks; everyone knew it wasn't a good idea. Brooks wouldn't entrust Survivor Number Three to them for anything as mundane as a "medical examination."

"Will Survivor Number Three forever remain in hiding?"

A chill swept through the hearts of the crowd. Some had already started retreating mentally; they didn't want to wade through all the murky waters.

"Smith, watch your words."

"Everyone," the man named Smith stood up, "if we can't get Survivor Number One, would any of you do this?"

No one answered. The room fell silent.

"Bang!" Smith's large hands slammed onto the table, his gaze sharp as a venomous snake. He spoke solemnly, "You would, even if one out of ten would dare... Do you understand my point? In this world, an unexpected occurrence isn't significant."

Sitting at the end of the table, a man with stars on his shoulders chuckled, "Brooks would leave you with nothing but your underwear if he investigated you, then pin you to the pillar of shame forever. And then, during a military exercise, a tiny accident might just happen. Believe me, he can and has the capability."

"You..."

Smith's words hadn't finished when the man with stars on his shoulders stood up, "I know nothing about this matter, and I won't do anything. I'm still on vacation in Hawaii."

With that, he walked towards the door. As he grasped the doorknob, he half-turned back, "Gentlemen, take care."

...

Again, the meeting room sank into an eerie silence until a white-haired lieutenant general coughed, "Where were we?"

The younger man sitting beside him immediately picked up the conversation thread, "Our weapons order, Stark Industries, still hasn't completed the delivery."

"Yeah, and Tony Stark's latest weapons. We've been waiting for so long, and he keeps dragging it."

"I got it from Odessa. They said it's a new type of missile with broad-range capabilities."

"That sounds promising, doesn't it?"

"I don't care about that. I just want to know how those terrorists got their hands on Stark Industries' weapons."

The sound of fingers tapping on the table echoed again, "Tony Stark isn't that kind of person. Aside from weapons and beautiful women, his genius-like brain can't accommodate anything else."

"And hamburgers."

"..."

No one would have expected that a group of military leaders would be discussing such matters.

"As for who's behind the arms smuggling, I believe you all know in your hearts. Let them do what they want, anyway. No one can touch them now."

"They've pocketed all the wealth, and we'll have to figure out a way to trick them later."

"Hey, Smith, aren't you afraid of Tony Stark's wrath?"

"What can I do?" Smith spread his hands, "We only get so much allocated funding each year. Without money, the soldiers won't cooperate with you."

"You support Hammer Industries and still can't make any money? Are you kidding me?"

"Enough. When did I ever support Hammer?"

"Selling so many weapons yearly, you're practically a nouveau riche. Didn't he give you some hush money?"

"... Alright, stop discussing that. Who among you has clean hands?"

The old general spoke up, and the others fell silent.

"Let's talk about Umbrella. How's the investigation going?"

Smith glanced at the others and said, "The Little Red Skirt virus that spread globally not long ago, I suspect it was Ambrela's doing. They have incredibly mysterious funding, making it impossible to make a move."

"Some capitalists could do it too."

"What's their purpose?" Smith furrowed his brows, "They're pouring so much liquid capital into this to compete with Tony Stark? To see whose building is taller? More artistic?"

"Smith, you're too suspicious. They're a biotech company primarily focused on medicine."

"Oh." Smith chuckled lightly, "It seems their ambitions are huge. Do they want to monopolise the market?"

"Hahaha..."

Laughter filled the room, and everyone understood that it was an impossible task. Not even Stark Industries, the top dog in the arms industry, dared claim complete monopoly, let alone in the current competitive medical field.

"Those capitalists never make a loss."

The voice came from the mouth of the old general with a touch of conviction. Yet, Smith stubbornly wanted to jump higher.

"Why don't they just acquire a pharmaceutical company directly? Wouldn't that be easier? Doing it sneakily like this..."

"They're openly constructing across from Stark Tower. Plus, they're a biotech company with internet technology that even tech giants can't match. Yet, they're not focused on the internet. Isn't that quite comical?"

"Perhaps, they want to study and unleash a bio-virus to destroy the world."

Smith sat down, his expression turning darker as if the entire world owed him millions.

"Ladies and gentlemen, brace yourselves for what I'm about to say." A younger man stood up, "Behind Umbrella, there's Brooks' shadow."