Compared to Americans, the French place more emphasis on delicate emotions, which might be inherent to them, much like the fervor during the Great Revolution or the anger during World War I.
James McCullen was naturally one such person; the moment he saw Obadiah, he excitedly pounced on him, completely disregarding whether the other man was an old pervert.
However, even if Obadiah were an old pervert, McCullen probably wouldn't care; he might even actively stick out his butt and say, 'Please help me become the King of the World!'
"Oh, my dear Mr. Obadiah, your arrival truly graces my humble abode!" James McCullen said, gesturing to his $65 million estate.
"Humble abode indeed!" Obadiah said, taking off his jacket, which hadn't been washed in several weeks, and casually tossing it onto McCullen's $500,000 handmade leather sofa.
McCullen looked at the dirty sofa and his equally dirty two subordinates, and could only clear his throat.
"Well, Mr. Obadiah, you've had a long journey.
I'll have someone lead you to rest, take a shower, eat something, get a good night's sleep, and then we can slowly discuss our cooperation!"
"Alright, lead the way!" Obadiah had no objections.
He wasn't worried about McCullen doing anything to him, nor was he concerned about what might happen to the Mark I he had brought.
After all, Tony Stark's reactor was with him, and the Mark I armor was just a metal shell.
If James McCullen wanted that M134 machine gun, he could have it!
After Obadiah left, James also waved his hand, telling his two best subordinates to go clean up as well, especially White Ghost, who was almost turning into Yellow Ghost—uh, he was already yellow to begin with.
"Boss, is that old geezer really that important?" White Ghost asked, twirling a kunai in his hand, puzzled.
"He is a businessman, and also a scientist.
Most importantly, he is the former CEO of Stark Industries!
Do you think that because he's currently a wanted man, he has no more use?"
"Uh!" White Ghost stopped twirling his kunai.
He really didn't understand.
Actually, McCullen had it tough too.
Among his talented and extraordinary subordinates, White Ghost was the best fighter.
He was born in Japan and was recognized by a local ninja clan from a young age, even becoming a disciple of the grandmaster Arashi Kage.
However, at the age of ten, he was forced to leave for some reason.
Years of martial arts training combined with a nomadic life meant he hadn't received much schooling; instead, he was filled with murderous intent.
He had a natural disdain for technical personnel, thinking, 'What good is your damn knowledge?
Aren't you just someone I can cut down with one swing of my sword?
Even if you're amazing, it's just a matter of two swings!'
But this was exactly what McCullen hoped for: a swift assassin who didn't care much for modern technology versus an operative who was always glued to a computer and carrying high-tech weapons.
Which would you choose?
"Obadiah has deep roots in America; otherwise, how could he stay so stable in South America?
You know, South America is America's backyard.
The CIA, NSA, and even the FBI have countless informants there.
Those warlords can be replaced every three days, but he's been fine, which already says something.
Furthermore, he himself is an excellent doctor of mechanical engineering!"
"So, should we prepare something for him?" Anna, the black-haired beauty standing nearby, interjected.
"No, not yet.
Obadiah is still suspicious of us.
That tin can armor you brought back, does it look familiar?" McCullen said, pointing at the Mark I on his tablet.
"I don't know.
How many cuts can this thing withstand?" White Ghost said, still full of mysterious confidence.
"That's aerospace-grade titanium armor; your blade is useless against it!" Anna poured cold water on his enthusiasm.
"If you talk nonsense again, I'll kill you, my apprentice!" White Ghost hated nothing more than someone saying his blade was ineffective.
"It's true, but with Obadiah here, he might be able to contribute some formulas to strengthen your blade!"
"I feel like this dark, metallic can bears a resemblance to the metal can that appeared in the news not long ago, except this one looks uglier and larger, while that gold and red one looks more aesthetically pleasing!" Unlike White Ghost, Anna, who often watched dramas and news, recognized its origin at a glance.
"Are you saying this thing is inextricably linked to Stark Industries? Is that right?"
"Exactly.
It's very likely the work of that arrogant idiot!" James McCullen gnashed his teeth whenever Stark was mentioned.
When it came to his hatred for Stark, James McCullen had a belly full of grievances to air.
That year in Switzerland, eager to open up the American market, James McCullen thought Stark would be a breakthrough, so he excitedly went up to greet him.
He assumed that as France's sole designated arms dealer, he would earn Stark's respect.
Instead, Stark asked him what praiseworthy creations he had.
James McCullen rattled off a bunch of planes and missiles produced by his company, but Stark shook his head, declaring them to be technologically worthless, not even wanted in North Korea.
Heaven help him, back then James McCullen was solely focused on expanding his family business, spending every day in the research lab.
The equipment he developed was praised by the British, French, and Germans.
How did it become trash in Stark's mouth?
More critically, McCullen had also taken a liking to a girl at the time, only for the accursed Stark to whisk her away for a threesome.
"If I don't avenge this, I, McCullen, swear I'm not human!"
"Then let me go kill him!" White Ghost yawned and said indifferently, hearing his boss's deep-seated hatred for this 'Stark' character.
"No, I want to ruin his reputation.
Just killing him would be too easy!" McCullen picked up a metal mask hanging on the wall behind him and said fiercely, "I want him to suffer a fate worse than death.
That's the most fitting end for him!"
"Achoo!" Far away in New York, Stark was still being a good boy in his mansion.
He had no choice; his secret was out.
Stark, who had just returned from being a street vigilante in his improved Mark II armor, was smugly having J.A.R.V.I.S. dismantle his suit when Pepper Potts suddenly walked into his room with some documents.
Because Tony had given Pepper authorization earlier, J.A.R.V.I.S. wouldn't alert him when she entered.
Thus, Stark instantly experienced social death.
"Pepper, listen to my excuse—no, my explanation.
Things aren't what you think!" Stark decided to take the initiative, so he spoke first, interrupting Pepper's impending questions.
"I haven't said anything yet.
Why are you in such a hurry?" Pepper also forgot what she was supposed to say because of Stark's quick answer.
"Uh, I'll go first!"
"I'll go first!"
"Then you go first!"
"Then you go first!"
"You know, I didn't realize we had such great synergy!" Stark poured himself a gin and took a small sip.
"What do you want to say?
Then say it quickly!" Pepper was also blushing a little from their simultaneous remarks.
"Actually, that thing just now, it's my... uh... my high-tech prosthetic limb.
You know, because of the injury to my chest, my condition hasn't been very good.
Although the shrapnel has stopped moving, it still has a great side effect on my mental torment, so I made this thing.
It's just for helping me walk normally!"
"Walk?"
"Uh, actually, sometimes I choose to fly too.
You know, flying has always been my hobby!"
"Anthony Edward Tony Stark!" Pepper's expression was exceptionally serious now.
"Do you think I'm a three-year-old girl?
Do you think I don't watch the news?
Do you think I'm that easy to fool?"
"No, it's my fault!"
"Look at these!" Pepper was like an enraged tigress now.
She stepped forward and pointed at the small dents made by bullets and shrapnel on the Iron Man suit.
"I understand you, but you should also understand that you are just an ordinary person.
These bullets are lethal!
You were lucky this time, but that doesn't mean you'll be so lucky next time!"
"Actually, the titanium alloy's defense is excellent.
It can withstand close-range firing from large-caliber weapons.
I'm a professional, you have to believe me, Pepper!"
"But guns, cannons, bombs—those things are dangerous.
Why can't you learn from Mr. Fischer?
He has many soldiers under him.
Can't we also set up a security company and recruit some people to do what you want to do?"
"Then what would be the point of me building this thing?" Stark reached out and caressed the Mark armor, which embodied his hard work.
It was the most boast-worthy creation of his life, and the first he had built not for killing, but for protection.
"Then you must promise me one thing!"
"Ten things will do!"
"No, just one: protect yourself.
We can't be without you, Mr. Stark!"
"Of course!"
Pepper came to Stark because the reactors the company was to deliver to Juggernaut were controlled items and required Stark's signature.
She hadn't expected to stumble upon Stark's other identity here, which was a pleasant surprise.
"The four reactor cores for Juggernaut are complete.
Should we ship them now or wait?
Juggernaut hasn't settled the final payment yet!"
"Send them.
I have a feeling that guy Fischer Adams will definitely make big news recently!" Stark thought about the satellite blueprints the guy had sent him last time and suddenly felt that he should also create something similar.
This satellite could launch his armor, so if the armor was damaged and needed replacement, it could be done directly on the battlefield, without needing to return to base!
"J.A.R.V.I.S., calculate how much this satellite will cost!" Stark pulled up a three-view drawing of a square satellite and had J.A.R.V.I.S. start creating data.
"Sorry, Pepper, I just had another idea.
You decide on company matters!"