Weapons. The stockyard was completely full of them. The entire island - packed completely full. Cases and storage units, underground bunkers, outbuildings and air hangers. Guns, tanks, mortar shells, weaponry ranging from rocket launchers down to pistols. You name it, it was there. Contracted to foreign countries that were rife with civil war and needless violence. His new office was full of contracts, receipts and letters. Indications of what his adoptive father had been meddling with. A weapons dealer. One of the most grotesque and hellish forms of income. But greed usually won out over morals.
He could take this job over – continue down the same path. The ties were still there, customers hot and ready. The income would be unimaginably high, he would have anything and everything. His mere name would strike fear and hatred into people's hearts. Weapons and artillery flaunting his name as they tore through countries and destroyed people's lives. Through his dealings, he would become a hidden warlord. But it wasn't for him. This wasn't the influence he wanted to have on the world. He had made a promise. A promise to his younger brother, and a promise to himself. No – he wouldn't use other people's sorrows and deaths for his own gain. It would be something that would weigh heavily on his conscious, and if his brother ever found out –
Well.
He had made a promise.
And he'd be damned if he didn't pull through with it.