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The Amsterdam is a pool hall and bar on Long Island not far from 34th street by the John F Kennedy Bridge. The front entrance leads into the bar area which is occupied mostly by people around the age of 22 of which most are carrying pool cue carriers. Their conversations all comingle into a loud din of imperceptible noise that is only overcome by the music that’s playing, some modern pop rock. There are a couple of pool tables in the front but they are only used sparingly by the people crammed in all around them. Through a door the bar takes a hard transition from the sleek and modern appearance that the main entrance provides. In back, which has a second door that opens into an alley that most of the patrons back here use, doesn’t have the same crush of people and instead has a mix of hard rock from its entire history. The conversations are quiet and drawn mostly along pool table lines. The patrons ignore the other tables except to not bump into each other while playing. The couple of tables that aren’t in use are all about to be and no one has brought their own sticks back here. The occasional fist is thrown but the fights tend to be quick or are moved outside.

A handful of people sit at the bar itself, Brian Hall amongst them, here he doesn’t stand out as much dressed in his fatigues compared to the others who are all dressed like him with a smooth transition to leather jackets and other motorcycle safety equipment.

Brian has a two empty shot glasses standing in front of him and a short glass with some other alcohol in it that he keeps sipping. He isn't talking to anyone and he's mostly just looking at the bottles behind the bar with a blank look on his face. When either of the doors open Brian glances just long enough to get the feel of the person and resumes not paying attention to anyone.

Brian glanced at the figure that didn’t fit in with the rest of the crowd, White suit with a pink shirt, in this bar? Must have used the wrong door. This theory was disproved by Vince getting a drink.

So distracted by this odd display that Brian almost totally missed who this person was, Vince Shaw, owner of Shaw Industries which is the second largest arms producer in the world, just behind Stark Industries. Brian pushes away from the bar and strolls casually over to the table Vince is getting ready to play on.

Brian sips his drink and waits for Vince to make his first move in his game, once done Brian, whom has already annoyed the bodyguards by his presence than says, “You’re Vince Shaw, owner of Shaw Industries, right?”

The room was passively interested in the exchange even though it was mostly diffused.

“Master Sergeant Brian Hall, retired,” Brian said as he straightened up his posture, “I just wanted to say that I’m a real fan of your work.” Brian offered a hand to shake while he smiled. “The improvements your company has made on the last generation of artillery and mortars are a real godsend in the field.”

The two biggest names in arms manufacturing in as many weeks, I should’ve moved to New York sooner.

The crowd lost interest and went back to their drinks and games. Brian had already put two in the hospital before this night and had quickly earned a ‘don’t ******** with me’ reputation amongst the regulars.

Brian noticed the ring but paid it no mind because he didn’t recognize the symbol.

Brian laughed uncomfortably at the comment of being in the avengers, “If I find I’m in a situation where I need artillery I think I’ll be in a situation well over my pay grade, Mr. Shaw.” Brian continued jokingly, “If you need me to test a rifle before it goes into production that I think I can do.”

Now, responding to the question, “I do play pool, when the mood strikes, I’m not too good at it but if that’s an invitation I’ll go grab a stick.”

Brian went to one of the racks and collected one of the less warped cues. He returned and looked at the table and asked, “what game we playing?”

“Oh, I retired ‘cause they wanted to make me an officer. Before you start giving me a look like I’m insane I had made it into Delta and was glad to be out of the normal military. Delta guys get to cut their hair whatever way they want, choose the weapons they want and there’s none of this dumb saluting all the time and if you think your CO has a dumb idea you get to tell ‘em in Delta. If I got promoted I was going to have to leave all that behind, shave my head and start acting like normal people picture the military,” Brian sipped more of his drink, “I figured I’d give civilian life a chance before I got forced into that.”

“Eight ball is probably the game I’m best at,” Brian chalked up the cue stick and put a little powder on his hands to dry them out for better grip on the stick.

“Calmer’ is one word for it,” Brian laughed, while he was still chalking the cue, “boring’ is the one I’d use. I was about to explode from boredom after two years of civilian life, nothing ever happens. I was about to give up and go back when I got it in my head to try bein’ a hero, now I’m here, back in the saddle of the exciting life.”

“Sucks about your cousin, though,” Brian replied, darkness in his voice, “where was he deployed?”