"He's a major shareholder ofĀ Stark Industries, one of the old guard. He's probably here on their behalf."
Urd spoke calmly, as if this outcome 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 wasā¦ 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 time?
Unless he could produce something 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 came 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 requirements were absurd. Even top-tier nations struggled to manufacture such equipment.
Even with government approval clearing every bureaucratic obstacle, production was still painfully slow. Every machine had to meet exacting standards. Any flaw meant 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 mentioned earlier?
Not because demand was too high.
Because supply couldn't keep up.
And since they were operating on American soil, U.S. military orders took priority. The bulk went to them, while Russia and China received smaller allocations with longer wait times.
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?
Meaningless.
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 beginā
The elegant secretary returned.
"Mr. Valen is currently occupied with another breakthrough project. He's unavailable to meet."
Obadiah's hand tightened into a fist.
His face, however, remained perfectly composed.
Men like him didn't believe excuses. To him, this was rejection. Disrespect. A deliberate slight.
The anger simmered beneath the surface.
But refinement 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 emergence of the Black Queen system, Drex had begun offloading portions of management and execution anyway.
Obadiah stood, still smiling.
"Another time, then."
Polite. Controlled.
But as he turned away, his thoughts had already darkened.
Drex Valen wasn't someone 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.
"ā¦Ten Rings? I need to discuss something."
ā
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.
Schemes within schemes.
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 issueā
Yes, it was real.
And yes, it was a bottleneck he couldn't ignore.
Those advanced machines required strict government certification. Every unit was tracked, logged, and regulated. Loss, damage, even scrap had to be accounted for and reclaimed.
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 timeline by stripping Tony Stark of his defining technological edgeā¦
Who knew if that future would even unfold the same way?
Drex leaned back, eyes narrowing slightly.
"ā¦Or I could just crush Hammer Industries."
Now there was a thought.
Hammer IndustriesĀ had its own production infrastructure. And frankly, letting Justin Hammer run it felt like handing a warship to someone who couldn't swim.
Though, to be fairā
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.
Hammer 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 deployment.
No exceptions.
Drex's fingers tapped lightly against the armrest.
A quiet rhythm.
Like the ticking of something about to happen.