The crowd's eyes were all fixed on Tony Stark.
Yet, behind the curtain of flashing cameras and public awe, the gazes of the world's military conglomerates were trained on a different man Nolan Locke.
Everyone knew that Tony Stark's Mark II armor was exceptional. Once it was fully armed, the suit could likely demolish dozens of Nolan's T-800 Terminators without breaking a sweat. But Stark's invention wasn't what kept these corporations awake at night.
For one thing, Tony had publicly declared his withdrawal from the arms industry. And for another, the technology used in the Mark II was, to them, pure fantasy. Reverse-engineering that kind of tech was a dream far out of reach.
If they couldn't compete, why bother trying? It was easier to write it off as impossible.
Nolan's weapons, however, were a different story.
The T-800 might have incorporated several pieces of highly advanced technology, but the foundation of its design was something these arms companies could understand. They couldn't reproduce it perfectly, but at least the underlying principles weren't from another universe.
Back when Nolan had first sold the K-01 construction exosuits, the defense industry had already sensed where the future was headed.
In the months since, mechanical suits and powered armor prototypes had sprung up like weeds across the globe. As Nolan predicted, the K-01 even the upgraded versions would be outdated sooner rather than later.
The K-01 had always been designed as a civilian-use machine. It was meant for construction, labor, and industrial tasks. It wasn't profitable, nor was it cutting-edge. And Nolan had no interest in endlessly improving it.
There was more money, and far more power, in military technology.
A few days after Nolan returned to his headquarters, a familiar visitor appeared at his doorstep Nick Fury.
The one-eyed spymaster of S.H.I.E.L.D.
Nolan regarded him calmly. He never particularly liked dealing with Fury, but as a proper arms dealer, he knew profit always came before personal feelings.
Fury, meanwhile, studied Nolan with his single, unblinking eye. Everything his intelligence network had uncovered painted Nolan as a young genius, but also as someone ruthless cold enough to climb to power through questionable means.
Of course, Fury had no evidence. Just instincts. But with S.H.I.E.L.D.'s reach, instincts often mattered as much as facts.
"Mr. Locke," Fury finally said, "I came here today to discuss the procurement of your T-800 Terminators, as well as the SAR-1 combat units."
Nolan gave him a pleasant smile. "Of course, Director Fury. How many are you looking to purchase? I should warn you, the T-800 isn't cheap."
Fury didn't answer right away. Instead, he shifted the conversation.
"Agent Coulson told me something interesting. He said your company sold the T-800 to the military at seven million dollars a unit. And yet, when it comes to S.H.I.E.L.D., the price suddenly jumps to eight million."
Nolan's smile didn't falter. He shook his head.
"Director, you misunderstand. That seven million was a launch price, a first-order discount, if you will. I needed to establish Locke Technologies' reputation and introduce the T-800 to the market. I practically sold them at a loss. But that window has closed. The T-800 has already made its mark. I see no reason to keep bleeding money just to please a latecomer."
Fury muttered a curse in his head. A sly fox, this one.
Did Nolan really think he'd buy that nonsense about selling at a loss? S.H.I.E.L.D. had run the numbers. Even if Nolan and Stark didn't rely on traditional R&D pipelines, no way were they losing money at seven million a unit.
Still, Fury knew he had no leverage. Unless…
"Funny thing," Fury said casually, "we recently recovered a rogue combat robot involved in several homicides. Its internal systems were… fascinating. Cutting-edge, really. And wouldn't you know it some of its tech looked remarkably similar to Locke Technologies' designs."
His gaze turned sharp, probing.
Nolan chuckled, seeing exactly what Fury was doing.
"So this is how it is. A veiled threat?" Nolan's eyes glinted. "Director, if you have proof, then by all means show it. If not, don't insult both of us with games. I'm here to do business. Nothing more. In fact…" He leaned back in his chair, voice turning crisp. "I've decided to make an adjustment. From this moment on, the price of a T-800 for S.H.I.E.L.D. will be… eight-point-three million dollars."
Fury's jaw tightened. This kid didn't just refuse to budge he doubled down.
"Nolan Locke…"
"Eight-point-five million," Nolan interrupted with an easy smile. "And if you say one more word, Director, I'll have my security escort you out. Politely, of course."
The room went tense. Fury's hand twitched, but after a long pause, he exhaled slowly.
"Fine. Eight-point-five it is. We'll take them."
It was a bitter pill to swallow, but Nolan held the monopoly. There was no alternative.
Nolan clapped his hands together, delighted. "Excellent. And how many units would you like?"
"One hundred and fifty," Fury replied. His voice was clipped, annoyed. "But the SAR-1s forget it. Cancel that order. I hear Hammer Industries has developed a competing model at just six hundred thousand a unit."
For the first time, Nolan looked genuinely surprised.
"Hammer Industries? They actually pulled it off?"
A strange look crossed his face.
Justin Hammer's company was infamous. Hammer's weapons were cheap, mass-produced, and utterly unreliable. His so-called "Ex-Wife" missile had become a running joke in military circles after repeated field failures.
The only reason Hammer Industries stayed afloat was because of its absurdly low prices.
"You're really telling me Hammer's combat robots… work?" Nolan asked dryly.
Fury's mouth twitched. He didn't believe it either, not really. But right now, he couldn't show doubt.
"Of course," Fury said, though his tone wasn't convincing.
Across town, in Hammer Industries' sleek headquarters, Justin Hammer was celebrating.
He patted his newest acquisition on the back. "Excellent work, Ivan. I knew bringing you on board was the right choice."
Ivan Vanko stoic, brilliant, and deadly only sighed.
He was a scientist first and foremost, and what Hammer had shoved out the door was, in his mind, barely functional. A prototype riddled with flaws, rushed into existence just to undercut Nolan Locke's stranglehold on the market.
But Vanko didn't care about Hammer's profits. He had only one goal.
Tony Stark.
He clenched his fist, his voice low and bitter.
"One day, I will kill him."
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