"He's a major shareholder of Stark Industries, one of the old guard. He's probably here on their behalf."
Urd spoke calmly, as if this outco had been inevitable.
It made sense. Drex Valen's War Machines had exploded onto the global stage, devouring contracts that once belonged to missiles, tanks, and traditional military hardware. Before Drex and Blade Technology Industries appeared, every other defense contractor survived on scraps beneath Stark Industries' table.
Now?
The table had flipped.
Stark Industries was the one scavenging.
War Machines could replace the majority of conventional weapons. Entire nations were abandoning older arsenals in favor of these new systems. Only a narrow slice of specialized weaponry still had a place.
For a company used to dominating the feast, being forced to compete for leftovers was… humiliating.
Their stock had already begun to bleed. Shareholders were restless. Both Tony Stark and Obadiah Stane were under pressure to fix it.
In the past, Tony would have solved this with a breakthrough invention.
But this ti?
Unless he could produce sothing on the level of War Machines, it wouldn't matter. Even the U.S. military now viewed War Machines as more practical than tanks, jets, artillery, or missiles. Warfare itself had changed.
Obadiah had no choice.
So he ca in person.
To negotiate.
To probe.
To see if Stark Industries could get involved in producing War Machines.
After all, Blade Technology Industries was still new. No matter how fast they worked, they couldn't scale production overnight. These weren't ordinary machines. Their precision requirents were absurd. Even top-tier nations struggled to manufacture such equipnt.
Even with governnt approval clearing every bureaucratic obstacle, production was still painfully slow. Every machine had to et exacting standards. Any flaw ant starting over.
At this rate, building a complete, independent production line would take years.
Stark Industries, on the other hand, was a veteran titan. Multiple production lines. Mature infrastructure. That was why Tony Stark could turn blueprints into weapons almost instantly.
Drex Valen didn't have that luxury.
Those "two-year backlog" orders Urd had ntioned earlier?
Not because demand was too high.
Because supply couldn't keep up.
And since they were operating on Arican soil, U.S. military orders took priority. The bulk went to them, while Russia and China received smaller allocations with longer wait tis.
No one wanted to anger the three global heavyweights.
Even the U.S. understood that balance.
Obadiah, of course, wasn't here with good intentions.
If Stark Industries joined production, how long before they cracked the secrets behind War Machines?
Once that happened, they'd build their own versions.
Patents?
aningless.
Stark Industries had entire armies of lawyers who could drag lawsuits out indefinitely.
And from a geopolitical standpoint, the U.S. would likely prefer multiple suppliers rather than a single dominant player.
But before anything could begin—
The elegant secretary returned.
"Mr. Valen is currently occupied with another breakthrough project. He's unavailable to et."
Obadiah's hand tightened into a fist.
His face, however, remained perfectly composed.
n like him didn't believe excuses. To him, this was rejection. Disrespect. A deliberate slight.
The anger simred beneath the surface.
But refinent was a skill he had mastered long ago. Even Urd, a top-tier graduate and elite executive trusted by Drex to manage a multi-billion empire, couldn't detect the shift.
And she wasn't just a book-smart administrator.
To command a corporation with hundreds of billions in assets and valuation just months after graduation required ruthless competence. There were plenty of prettier faces in the world. Better figures too.
Yet Drex chose her.
That wasn't an accident.
Of course, with the ergence of the Black Queen system, Drex had begun offloading portions of managent and execution anyway.
Obadiah stood, still smiling.
"Another ti, then."
Polite. Controlled.
But as he turned away, his thoughts had already darkened.
Drex Valen wasn't soone he could attack directly. Not at this level. Not without consequences rebounding catastrophically.
So he would take a different path.
Once inside his car, he pulled out his phone.
"…Ten Rings? I need to discuss sothing."
—
Drex, naturally, had seen through Obadiah's intentions instantly.
It wasn't even subtle.
Did they really think he was like Tony Stark? A genius with zero political instinct?
Kryptonians might lack certain emotional complexities due to their genetic design, but Drex had once been human. Raised on Earth. In a culture where subtlety, manipulation, and layered intent were practically an art form.
Sches within sches.
A smile hiding a knife.
Sweet words masking poison.
Even if he hadn't mastered it firsthand, he'd absorbed enough through sheer exposure.
As for the production line issue—
Yes, it was real.
And yes, it was a bottleneck he couldn't ignore.
Those advanced machines required strict governnt certification. Every unit was tracked, logged, and regulated. Loss, damage, even scrap had to be accounted for and reclaid.
There were no shortcuts.
Which was why Drex had once considered acquiring Stark Industries' weapons division.
But that opportunity was still years away.
Eight, to be precise.
And given how drastically he'd already altered the tiline by stripping Tony Stark of his defining technological edge…
Who knew if that future would even unfold the sa way?
Drex leaned back, eyes narrowing slightly.
"…Or I could just crush Hamr Industries."
Now there was a thought.
Hamr Industries had its own production infrastructure. And frankly, letting Justin Hamr run it felt like handing a warship to soone who couldn't swim.
Though, to be fair—
That infamous "Ex-Wife" missile wasn't actually a failure of engineering.
It hadn't detonated because of friend-or-foe identification systems.
No explosion wasn't incompetence.
It was restraint.
Hamr Industries might be second only to Stark Industries globally, but they still operated under U.S. military standards. Selling defective weapons to the military?
That would be suicide.
Every weapon was tested before deploynt.
No exceptions.
Drex's fingers tapped lightly against the armrest.
A quiet rhythm.
Like the ticking of sothing about to happen.
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