The Military Expo concluded with dazzling success.
Nolan Lock's smile hadn't left his face since the moment the generals arrived at his booth. He had expected attention, but the scale of interest exceeded his wildest hopes.
The SAR-1 Combat Robot had already proven itself as a mature, reliable piece of hardware.
The Army, being the most enthusiastic about ground warfare, placed a pre-order for three hundred units on the spot. The Navy and Air Force were more cautious, together committing to a hundred.
Four hundred machines in total. Not a staggering number, but enough to show how seriously they were taking Lock Industries.
Of course, these were just preliminary contracts. The real profits would come only after the SAR-1 passed live field testing.
Even so, the math was exhilarating. Each unit brought in half a million dollars of profit. Four hundred meant two hundred million.
Unfortunately, what Nolan received upfront was only twenty-two million in deposits. Better than nothing, but still just a fraction. For his system, such an amount could only buy scraps secondary technologies, side-grade parts, nothing groundbreaking.
The expo hall gradually emptied. Generals exited with their aides. Weapon dealers trickled away with guarded smiles, whispering about Lock Industries in tones that carried both skepticism and respect.
Just as Nolan prepared to pack up, two familiar figures walked over.
Tony Stark and Obadiah Stane.
Stane wore a businessman's smile, calculated and professional. Tony, however, looked as though he'd rather be anywhere else. His expression dripped with disdain, a clear declaration:
Nolan Lock was beneath him. Not worthy of being a rival.
That was Tony Stark arrogant brilliance wrapped in a billion-dollar suit.
No one could read his mind, but his face spoke volumes.
"Mr. Lock," Stane began, voice smooth as silk, "I am Obadiah Stane, from Stark Industries. I've taken the liberty of observing your company's products. Many of them occupy the high-end weapons market. As you surely know, Stark Industries' intelligent systems are the most advanced in the world. Perhaps, if circumstances allow, we might cooperate."
"Cooperate?"
Nolan's eyes flicked toward Tony.
Every time he looked at that smug face, the only word that came to mind was irritating.
He chuckled, sharp and deliberate.
"Unless Tony Stark himself comes begging me for help, I wouldn't even consider it."
His voice rose slightly at the last words, making sure the audience nearby heard.
Tony's eyes flashed, and he shot Stane an annoyed glance.
"I told you from the start, trying to deal with him was a waste of time. This clown's mechanical knowledge is pathetic. He even paraded half-finished junk as if it were revolutionary. That alone shows what kind of man he is sloppy and desperate."
"Is that so?"
Nolan's laugh carried no warmth.
"And tell me, is there anyone more insufferable than Tony Stark, the man who walks around as if his eyes are planted in his forehead?"
Perhaps it was fate, or perhaps it was simply that men in the same field instinctively disliked one another.
Whatever the reason, Nolan and Tony could never see eye to eye. Only one of them would walk away with dignity intact.
Stane's smile faltered.
He hadn't come here to pick fights. He had recognized the T-800's potential. The flaws were obvious, yes, but flaws could be fixed. And Stark Industries had the resources to fix them better than anyone else.
A partnership, in his mind, could mean unimaginable profits.
But Nolan wasn't playing along.
He studied Stane carefully, his smile curling with a hidden edge.
"Mr. Stane, your relationship with Tony Stark… it reminds me of my relationship with my Uncle Charles."
"Oh?" Stane raised a brow, curiosity piqued. "And who is this Charles?"
Nolan's eyes softened briefly, though the look was more theatrical than genuine.
"He was my father's right-hand man. My godfather, really."
At that, Tony Stark's expression flickered. For once, recognition lit his gaze.
"Yes," Tony muttered, almost to himself. "That does sound familiar."
"And why isn't he here?" Tony asked aloud after a pause.
"Dead, probably," Nolan answered lightly.
A silence fell.
"…My apologies," Tony said at last, his arrogance giving way to awkward sympathy. Even Stane's smile faltered into a look of guilt.
Both assumed Nolan was recalling a painful memory.
But Nolan only smiled faintly.
"No need for pity. The truth is, I don't feel sadness."
He shifted his gaze directly to Stane, his tone sharpening.
"I once saw him as a godfather, someone I could trust without question. But when the company hit its darkest moment, I realized the truth. He had resented me all along resented me over the shares I inherited.
"When my father died, his patience ended. And then he tried to kill me."
The words landed like a blade.
Stane's face stiffened instantly.
Too similar. Far too similar.
Because Obadiah Stane had harbored the same ambition toward Tony.
For a brief, terrifying heartbeat, he felt exposed as if Nolan had stripped away his mask and laid his betrayal bare.
Tony, of course, had no idea. He only looked at Nolan with pity, the way one might look at a wounded animal.
A godfather's betrayal he couldn't imagine a crueller fate.
Nolan clapped Tony on the shoulder, smiling faintly. His inner thoughts, however, were far sharper.
Pity me? Please. I'm just influenced by the memories of the original Nolan Lock. You, Tony, are the real tragedy here. Your godfather has already betrayed you, and you don't even see it yet.
You poor fool.
Stane masked his unease, but the idea of partnership was dead. He couldn't shake the feeling that Nolan saw straight through him.
Watching Tony and Stane side by side, Nolan shook his head.
Some lessons couldn't be explained. They had to be lived.
Even he, with the original Nolan's emotions coloring his soul, had trusted Charles once. Only betrayal had opened his eyes.
Soon enough, Tony would learn the same lesson.
But business came first.
Once buyers expressed interest, the next step was always testing. Words and promises meant nothing without proof.
A few days later, Lock Industries' Hive Base opened its doors to a select group of observers.
The Hive was still little more than a skeleton of steel and concrete. Bare walls. Exposed frameworks. Half-finished facilities. But none of that mattered.
What mattered was the technology waiting within.
Nolan welcomed them personally, his manner warm and confident.
"My apologies for the rough state of the base. We're still in the early stages of construction. Please bear with us."
The visitors hardly cared. They were here for machines, not architecture.
At the head of the delegation was Major General Haig of the Army. His presence alone underscored how seriously the military was taking this evaluation.
"For the military," Haig said solemnly, "the issue that matters most is quality. The lives of our soldiers depend on it."
Conventional weapons testing went smoothly. The observers were satisfied, nodding quietly as the demonstrations proved Nolan's claims.
But soon, it was time for the real test.
The SAR-1 Combat Robots. And perhaps even the still-incomplete T-800.
A Navy admiral spoke up.
"Mr. Lock, the SAR-1 is the product our Army anticipates most. Its specifications are impressive. But how exactly do you plan to test it?"
Nolan's smile widened.
"The SAR-1 is a finished technology. As for testing, I see two possibilities. First, Lock Industries can conduct demonstrations ourselves. Second, if the military prefers, you can assign your own men to perform live tests."
The admiral's lips curved into a rare smile.
"Then let's do it the second way."
He gestured, and a squad of soldiers stepped forward.
"These men are among our finest. We need to be certain that your robots deliver the effectiveness you claim. And as for your so-called T-800… if possible, we'd like to test that as well."
"Of course," Nolan replied, his smile never fading.
He had been waiting for this moment.
And nothing pleased him more.
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