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The U.S. military's initial order was ten units.
Luke knew exactly what that meant: they wanted to reverse-engineer the technology. Every major power did the same thing when purchasing foreign military equipment. Buy a few, tear them apart, try to replicate the design.
They'd fail, of course. Vanko's improvements relied on manufacturing processes that didn't exist outside Umbrella's facilities. But let them try. The attempt would keep them occupied while Luke cornered the market.
Five billion dollars in initial revenue. Even accounting for material costs and production overhead, the profit margins were staggering.
The irony wasn't lost on Luke. Stark Industries had dominated the defense sector for decades, but Tony's weapons were too advanced. The military only needed small quantities of cutting-edge missiles and aircraft—enough to maintain technological superiority, not enough to equip entire battalions.
The Nanosuit was different.
It enhanced individual soldiers rather than replacing them. It could be deployed in any scenario—surgical strikes, urban combat, peacekeeping operations, counterterrorism. Unlike a cruise missile that got used once, a Nanosuit operator could fight hundreds of engagements.
The economics were compelling. Why call in an airstrike against a handful of terrorists when a single enhanced soldier could handle the situation? The cost of the missiles alone probably exceeded the enemy's entire annual budget.
"Expand to international markets," Luke instructed Emil. "Every nation that can afford it."
Emil raised an eyebrow. "Any restrictions?"
"None that I can think of."
The CEO's smile turned predatory. He began booking flights.
Luke's approach to arms dealing was refreshingly amoral.
If Afghanistan wanted to buy, let them buy. Anything that complicated life for the existing superpowers was fine by him. And if someone tried to hold Umbrella accountable?
He was a weapons manufacturer. What buyers did with their purchases wasn't his concern. Maybe some friendly nation had resold their inventory. These things happened.
Besides, Umbrella Corporation wasn't technically an American company. Luke had structured it carefully—offshore registration, international subsidiaries, no direct ties to U.S. jurisdiction.
As for Luke himself, he'd never had American citizenship to begin with. His original arrival in this world had left him stateless. Getting documentation from his homeland would have been... complicated.
So he'd asked Gitano to arrange alternatives. Multiple passports, multiple nationalities, all from countries that wouldn't ask difficult questions. Flexibility was important in his line of work.
Russia placed an order for fifty units almost immediately.
Their domestic technology programs couldn't produce anything comparable, and they knew it. The military brass had probably discussed trying to reverse-engineer the suits, concluded it was hopeless, and decided to simply buy in bulk.
Other nations followed. Large countries, small countries, oil-rich kingdoms with more money than sense.
Saudi Arabia ordered a hundred units at once. Just casually dropped five hundred million dollars like it was pocket change.
This is too easy, Luke thought, watching the orders pile up.
Of course, orders weren't the same as deliveries. Production capacity was limited. Even running the manufacturing lines at maximum output, it would take years to fulfill all the contracts.
But the money kept flowing. Deposits. Progress payments. Governments were willing to wait for quality merchandise.
Hammer Industries was having a very bad year.
Justin Hammer had built his company in Stark Industries' shadow, accepting the scraps that Tony's genius left behind. Second-tier contracts. Inferior technology. The reputation of being "almost as good as Stark."
Now a third competitor had appeared—and Umbrella wasn't settling for scraps.
The Pentagon had already announced budget reallocations. Funding that would have gone to Hammer's conventional weapons programs was being redirected toward Nanosuit procurement. Contracts were being canceled. Orders were being reduced.
Hammer watched his empire crumble and had no idea how to stop it.
Nick Fury received Coulson's report with growing unease.
Luke Foster had resurfaced. The mysterious stranger from months ago—the one Fury had ordered surveillance on, then lost track of—had appeared in the middle of the Iron Monger incident piloting some kind of powered armor.
Armor that had outperformed Tony Stark's Mark II.
Days later, Fury's concerns crystallized into something much worse.
A SHIELD operative embedded in military procurement sent an urgent message: Umbrella Corporation had made contact with Pentagon brass. They were selling the technology from the video. The generals had approved the purchase without hesitation.
Fury watched the footage his agent had obtained.
The Iron Monger fight was one thing. But the testing videos were something else entirely.
A soldier in a Gray Wolf suit punched through a reinforced concrete wall. Two hits to breach steel-reinforced barriers. Movement speed that blurred on camera. Machine gun fire that pushed the wearer back but failed to penetrate.
"What exactly are they selling?" Fury asked, his voice carefully neutral.
"Biological armor. 'Gray Wolf Nanosuit' is the designation."
The name clicked. Umbrella Corporation. The company that had discovered Fosterium. The company founded by someone named Luke Foster.
The same Luke Foster?
Fury had assumed it was a coincidence. Common name, unrelated individuals. But the timing, the technology, the sudden emergence of capabilities that shouldn't exist...
"They're connected," Fury said quietly. "The mysterious organization. Umbrella. Luke Foster. It's all the same thing."
But what did they want?
Selling weapons for profit was the obvious answer. But Fury didn't believe it. A group sophisticated enough to develop technology that rivaled—and possibly exceeded—Stark's best work wouldn't be motivated by something as simple as money.
They had an agenda. He just couldn't see it yet.
"Coulson. The Stark situation is on hold. New priority: Umbrella Corporation and Luke Foster. I want everything we can find."
"Director..." Coulson hesitated. "Umbrella just secured a major military contract. They have Pentagon protection now. Investigating them will be... difficult."
"I'm aware."
Fury stared at the frozen image on his screen—a Gray Wolf operator mid-punch, concrete exploding around their fist.
The world was changing faster than he'd anticipated. Super-soldiers. Powered armor. Technology that could shift the global balance of power overnight.
And somewhere at the center of it all was a man named Luke Foster, who apparently had answers that Fury desperately needed.
Who are you really, Fury wondered, and what are you building?