Urd was on her way ho.
Because of Blade Technology Industries, her family had moved from New York City to Washington. The neighborhood they lived in was one of the city's wealthier districts, so the streets were clean, quiet, and well patrolled. On a normal night, there was little reason to worry.
But a planned abduction was a different beast entirely.
Before Urd could even react, a black sedan slid up beside her like a knife in the dark. The door flew open. Hands reached out. She was dragged inside before she had a chance to scream.
A few minutes later, Drex received the report.
The video on his screen showed Urd bound and frightened, her face drained of color. Clearly, she had never been through anything like this before. Panic and shock sat on her features in equal asure.
Drex raised an eyebrow.
As a smart Kryptonian, he had not exactly failed to anticipate this possibility. He had already prepared for it.
"Black Queen. Do you know where Urd is right now?"
He had built Black Queen to keep an eye on Urd in the first place.
His enhanced hearing was powerful, but not powerful enough to pinpoint soone's location across a city. Not yet.
"Yes, sir," Black Queen replied in her clean synthetic voice. "Miss Urd is currently at Stark Industries. She is being moved. Predicted route leads to an auto scrapyard."
The video also carried the kidnappers' demand.
No police. No backup.
Drex was to co alone.
Even an idiot could tell that was a trap.
The only real question was why they had bothered kidnapping Urd at all. Did they genuinely believe he would co charging in just because they had grabbed a beautiful secretary?
Drex's mouth curved faintly.
"Stark Industries," he said. "So it is Obadiah."
He knew the story well enough to identify the hand behind it almost imdiately. The rescue task, though, he handed over to Black Queen.
It was ti to see what the artificial intelligence could really do.
He would keep watch as well. If anything went wrong, he could intervene instantly.
Black Queen activated the four War Machines stored in the warehouse. These were the suits Blade Technology Industries used for internal security. Calling them guards was almost insulting, really. Their firepower was far beyond the standard comrcial model sold to outside buyers.
The terrorists did not realize they had already been locked onto.
Black Queen had tied into several Arican satellites and was feeding their position into her targeting model. Once the four War Machines reached the designated area, their sensors began tracking the targets inside the scrapyard.
She scanned.
She built trajectories.
She modeled enemy reactions.
Every possible outco was calculated, weighed, and reduced to the one route with the highest success rate and the lowest chance of error.
"Fire."
The command ca through in Black Queen's synthesized feminine voice.
The War Machines opened up.
Their integrated sniper weapons punched straight through the wall and killed ten terrorists with brutal precision.
"Snipers!"
"Return fire!"
"Get that bitch out here!"
"Hide! Move!"
The terrorists scrambled to form a defensive line, waiting for police or so other rescue force to breach the area so they could counterattack.
Too bad for them.
They were up against Black Queen.
No forced entry. No close combat. No heroic charge.
Just shots through walls and clean, exact kills.
Inside the room, Urd heard the gunfire and imdiately understood that her boss might be coming to rescue her.
The two terrorists guarding her were cursing in a language she could not understand, moving in to grab her.
Then the wall exploded.
A steel arm burst through the wreckage, seized the two n, and yanked them out with terrifying speed.
War Machine.
Urd recognized it imdiately.
So did the terrorists.
Panicked, they swung their rifles around and sprayed bullets toward Urd without caring about the hostage anymore. Urd shrieked and shut her eyes.
A War Machine stepped in front of her.
The rounds struck the armor and ricocheted harmlessly away.
"Are you all right, Urd?"
The voice ca through the suit, but it was Drex's voice, copied perfectly by Black Queen.
She could not reveal herself yet.
"I'm fine," Urd said, shaken but relieved. Her earlier fear gave way to sothing warr, more grateful.
"I'll take you ho first," Black Queen said.
Urd had plenty she wanted to say, but that would have to wait.
Then the situation changed.
Two more War Machines appeared, but these were painted differently. They charged straight into the fight and created a nasty obstruction, throwing off Black Queen's movent.
"Drex," Urd asked, bewildered, "why do they have War Machines too?"
If it had been Stark Industries, she might have understood.
But these were terrorists.
Why would terrorists have War Machines?
Drex knew exactly why.
Because War Machines had already been sold to terrorists at obscene prices.
They had paid six hundred million dollars per suit, two hundred million above the regular price. So Drex had played the part of a Blade Technology insider and quietly sold a few units to them.
Naturally, the money still had to be reported to the IRS.
Otherwise, tanks would show up at the door.
"No problem," Black Queen said vaguely. "They probably got them through so other channel."
Urd was sharp. Very sharp.
That answer was enough to make her connect a few dots on her own.
The United States might be backing so of those terrorist groups from behind the curtain. Money, weapons, support. If that was true, then these so-called terrorists might not even be terrorists at all, just foreign operatives sent to kidnap Drex.
That would explain the War Machines.
The two differently painted suits were just about to go all out when their screens suddenly went black.
Black Queen shut them down.
Every War Machine Drex had sold carried a backdoor.
Now that backdoor belonged to Black Queen.
One tap. Full shutdown.
From that point on, only Black Queen could restart them.
The two War Machines beca iron coffins in an instant. The terrorists trapped inside could kick and curse all they wanted. They were not getting out.
Then Black Queen had her War Machine wrap Urd in its arms and lift her clear of the scrapyard.
A second later, anti-materiel missiles slamd into the site.
Boom.
The explosion swallowed the scrapyard in fire and ruin. The whole place was blown flat, reduced to debris and smoke.
Every trace inside was erased.
As for the terrorists, they were taken away as material for the beast-soldier project.
This incident was not over.
Drex believed in paying back what was owed.
So when Obadiah was busy with a young model in his arms, two bullets punched clean through his right hand and left leg.
The consequences were brutal.
The rounds were poisoned.
Not enough to kill him outright, but enough to force an ugly choice if he wanted to survive.
Amputation.
Obadiah had no option but to cut off his right hand and left leg to stay alive.
The most maddening part was that he had no idea who had done it.
No target to retaliate against.
No enemy to crush.
Drex?
Impossible.
That secretary of his could not possibly know it was him.
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