Nolan gave a casual shrug and said lightly,
"My father and your father were on fairly good terms back in the day, but this is all he ever knew."
Deep down, Nolan was certain his father had never known anything of the sort. But the dead could not speak, and some things were best left without verification.
The Future City Project.
The words hit Tony Stark like a lightning bolt. His eyes widened in disbelief, his mind racing.
Natasha Romanoff and Sharon Carter, however, only exchanged puzzled glances. They couldn't make sense of what Nolan had just revealed. For now, they dismissed it. Whether the so-called Future City Project was true or not, it didn't hold much immediate value. At least, not the kind of intelligence worth reporting back to S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters.
What did catch them off guard was the revelation of Tony Stark's looming death. That, they knew, was information of tremendous importance.
Nolan caught the fleeting change in their expressions. His lips curved into an amused smile as he studied both women.
Will they report it? he wondered.
He didn't particularly care. He had spoken openly because, to him, it was of little consequence.
Tony, meanwhile, was reeling from the mention of the Future City Project. Excitement flickered across his face, so strong that he nearly felt the urge to embrace Nolan Locke and plant a kiss on him. The idea of survival after days of despair was intoxicating. Who would choose death if there was even a glimmer of hope to live?
With business concluded, Nolan shifted his gaze toward Natasha.
"You're looking… old."
Natasha's lips twitched in annoyance. Was he actually insulting her?
Before she could respond, Tony gave a derisive chuckle.
"You wouldn't understand. This is called sophistication. A mature charm."
In truth, Natasha was far from old. Her appearance was frozen at around thirty, her beauty sharp and timeless. Years of brutal experimentation in the Red Room had drastically slowed her aging. She was, in many ways, at the height of her allure.
"Mature?" Nolan scoffed openly.
"Only you, Tony, would fancy an ancient woman pretending to be young."
Even Natasha's self-control faltered. Few dared mock her so directly. But Nolan showed not the slightest awareness of her mounting anger. He kept his tone sharp, pressing the insult with merciless precision.
"You want to see the real definition of perfection?" Nolan gestured subtly behind him toward Sharon. He smiled with deliberate provocation. "There it is."
Tony snorted, unwilling to concede. Even he had to admit Nolan's secretary was striking, but pride kept him from yielding.
"You've clearly never experienced the real thing. Tell me, Nolan have you ever dated a cover model? Ever gone out with an A-list Hollywood actress?"
Nolan clicked his tongue twice.
He had to admit, no, he hadn't. Since arriving in this dangerous new world, survival had left him with little chance for such indulgences.
Meanwhile, Natasha and Sharon were both seething. Being compared, dissected, and spoken of like merchandise on display their patience was wearing thin. Their anger simmered, close to eruption.
But Nolan, sensing the rising tension, smoothly shifted the subject. In the next breath, he and Tony were immersed in a heated discussion about physics and mechanical dynamics, trading complex theories as though they had been colleagues for years.
The evening wore on. Finally, Nolan rose to leave, Sharon following at his side with a cold expression that hadn't softened since the start. Nolan, however, closed his eyes in the car, leaning back as if he hadn't noticed her mood at all.
He was exhausted. Too many things were piling up at once. Teasing Sharon further held no appeal compared to the simple luxury of rest.
Still, one thought lingered in his mind:
The military's bidding conference… what surprises await me there?
At the wheel, Sharon gritted her teeth hard enough to make her jaw ache. Rage boiled inside her. The urge to put a bullet in Nolan was dangerously strong. By the time they reached their destination, she had made up her mind she would file for reassignment that very night. She couldn't stand another day with this man.
But fate rarely bowed to her wishes. Her request, she would soon discover, was doomed to fail.
Back at Stark Industries, Tony watched Nolan's car disappear. His eyes flicked toward Natasha, narrowing with quiet suspicion.
Everyone underestimated Tony Stark's intelligence. Everyone but Nolan.
The casual remarks exchanged in his office seemingly useless scraps of information were more than enough for Tony to start piecing together theories. Nolan's "secretary" and Natasha Romanoff were not ordinary women. Their identities carried weight. But whose side were they really on? Who had the power to plant such operatives around him?
"Boss," Natasha's voice cut into his thoughts.
Tony turned instantly, his expression shifting back into his trademark playboy grin. Without missing a beat, he slipped an arm around her waist.
"Has anyone ever told you that you smell incredible?" he murmured, as if nothing unusual had passed between them.
This was Tony Stark. The mask of a frivolous playboy was both his armor and his distraction. Faced with a beautiful woman, he would never let the opportunity slip.
Days later, the long-awaited military bidding conference arrived.
Events like this occurred several times a year. The annual Military Tech Expo might have been the largest stage for showcasing inventions, but procurement was not confined to it. While generals like Thaddeus Ross often made direct purchases, the bidding process remained the most common method. Competitive bids meant lower prices, and the military knew how to play the game.
Beyond buying finished products, the military also initiated joint research projects. Technology, manpower, and funding often stretched beyond their reach, forcing them to collaborate with private enterprises. Such collaborations were essential to keep innovation alive.
On the day of the conference, Nolan arrived with his personal secretary, who instantly drew a wave of curious attention. Alongside him was Simon Phillip, president of Locke Technologies.
They had barely stepped into the venue when a familiar voice called out.
"Dr. Locke!"
Nolan turned and spotted a man approaching with theatrical enthusiasm.
"Dr. Hammer," Nolan acknowledged with a curt nod.
Justin Hammer's grin stretched wide. His energy was almost suffocating.
"Dr. Locke, I've heard so much about your SAR-1 combat robots. Outstanding performance, very popular on the market!"
Nolan's lips curved in a smile that held no warmth.
"They hardly compare to Hammer Industries' Fail-Safe combat units. I personally oversaw the SAR-1's development, cutting production costs to their absolute limit. But I truly wonder how exactly did you manage to sell the Fail-Safe robots at six hundred thousand apiece after factoring in production costs? Remarkable. Truly remarkable."
The sarcasm was razor-sharp, but Justin Hammer absorbed it like praise. He even puffed up with pride.
"Hammer Industries takes great pride in our results. In fact, S.H.I.E.L.D. recently purchased a batch of Fail-Safe robots from us. Did you know? I heard they even considered your SAR-1s."
Nolan chuckled.
"Indeed. But unfortunately for us, budget constraints pushed them toward the cheaper option."
The exchange was steeped in veiled hostility, every word a subtle strike. Yet Justin Hammer remained smug, his composure flawless. His arrogance was so thick that even Tony Stark himself might have found it irritating.
After a few more barbed pleasantries, Hammer strutted into the bidding hall, his steps brimming with false confidence.
Nolan sneered softly, watching him go.
"A clown," he muttered. His irritation had spiked, not from Hammer's words, but from the man's unbearable arrogance.
Sharon glanced at him, her lips twitching in amusement.
"What's this, boss? Jealous?"
"Jealous?" Nolan scoffed. "Hardly. Just annoyed."
Justin Hammer wasn't worth his envy. Not in the slightest.
The bidding began. As Nolan expected, the opening rounds focused on standard weapons contracts projects Locke Technologies had little interest in. Their expertise lay elsewhere.
But when the high-tech research bids started rolling out, Nolan leaned forward in his seat. This was where the real prize lay. One contract after another, Locke Technologies picked up a few smaller projects, nothing earth-shattering but still profitable.
Then, near the end, the atmosphere shifted.
"Next," the announcer declared, "we present a special research project dating back to World War II. The Super Soldier Serum."
Nolan's eyes narrowed.
At once, he knew. This was what General Ross had hinted at. This was the opportunity he had been waiting for.
The Super Soldier Serum one of the most perfected forms of human enhancement known.
Nolan's lips curved into a slow, determined smile.
"This project," he whispered to himself, "is mine."
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