The ballroom glittered with gold light and laughter. Champagne flowed freely as the orchestra played a lively tune. The grand dance had already reached its peak — elegant couples swayed to the rhythm, their movements blending into a dazzling sea of motion.
Henry stood near the edge of the dance floor, a calm observer amid the chaos. He swirled a glass of red wine in his hand, the crimson liquid catching reflections of the chandelier above. All around him, prominent officials and wealthy industrialists laughed, toasted, and whispered deals behind their masks of courtesy.
A few women, drawn by his composed aura and clean-cut features, approached with practiced smiles. Yet each time, Henry declined politely. His interests tonight were far from flirtation. After excusing himself, he quietly slipped toward the rooftop balcony, seeking fresh air and distance from the noise.
The cold wind brushed his face as he stepped outside. Below him, the city glittered like a field of stars. He leaned against the railing, taking a slow sip of wine, lost in thought. From this height, the world seemed peaceful — though Henry knew well how much chaos brewed beneath the surface.
Inside, someone noticed his exit.
"Everyone, excuse me for a moment," said Obadiah Stane, the imposing head of Stark Industries, breaking away from a conversation with several arms magnates. His bald head reflected the chandelier's glow as he made his way toward the rooftop.
Heavy footsteps approached. Henry turned, his sharp eyes landing on the large man now standing under the moonlight. Obadiah's tailored silver-gray suit gleamed faintly, matching the confident grin plastered across his face.
"Mr. Henry, what brings you out here alone?" Obadiah asked in his deep, amiable voice.
Henry raised an eyebrow and took another sip. "Could ask you the same question. Aren't you alone, too?"
They both chuckled, clinking their glasses together.
"Looks like you enjoy a good red," Obadiah said smoothly. "I've got a rare vintage stored away — I'll send you a case tomorrow."
Henry smiled faintly, recognizing the practiced friendliness. "That's generous of you."
But he knew men like Obadiah never gave gifts without intent. And indeed, after a few polite exchanges, the true reason for this conversation emerged.
"Henry," Obadiah began, lowering his voice, "the military's planning a massive procurement project soon. I'm guessing Vanderbuilt Technologies has already submitted a bid?"
Henry's gaze stayed calm. "What do you think?"
Obadiah chuckled knowingly. "I thought as much. Then it seems Stark Industries and Vanderbuilt Technologies will be rivals — or, perhaps, partners — in this deal."
Henry's lips curved into a half-smile. "Isn't Hammer Industries also participating?"
Obadiah snorted. "Those amateurs? Please. Hammer can barely build a decent drone. They feed on scraps."
He waved a hand dismissively. "This time, the government doesn't just want guns or tanks. They want something revolutionary — tech that can enhance soldier efficiency. Exoskeletons, AI integration, autonomous combat units. You know… the future of warfare."
Henry nodded slightly. He already knew this. The U.S. military's next generation contract was massive — and whoever won it would dominate the global arms market for years.
Obadiah leaned closer, his tone softening. "Between us, only three corporations truly meet the criteria: Stark Industries, Vanderbuilt Technologies, and Osborn Group."
He paused, letting the words sink in. "Osborn's tech focuses on biological enhancement. Effective, but unstable. Your Modia Units — those human-assist androids — are promising for frontline operations. And our exoskeleton armor suits the low-end deployment forces. Together, we could dominate every tier of the market."
Henry remained silent, listening.
"All we need to do," Obadiah continued, "is lower production costs. Offer the military unbeatable value. We control the pricing, we control the competition. Everyone else — Hammer, Osborn, small contractors — will be forced out. Between Stark and Vanderbuilt, we'll carve the market clean."
Henry swirled his wine again, thoughtful. Obadiah was a shrewd businessman, but Henry could sense his greed. Still, their goals aligned — at least for now.
"I'm open to cooperation," Henry said finally. "I only care about results. If there's money to make, I don't mind sharing the table."
Obadiah grinned widely. "Excellent! I knew you were a man of vision. Let's toast — to our partnership and the empire we're about to build."
The two men raised their glasses. The deal was sealed.
"Cheers," Henry replied.
They spent the next half hour discussing logistics — distribution channels, patent exchanges, and lobbying strategies to sway the Defense Department's selection board. Obadiah's mind worked fast, fueled by greed and ambition. Henry, meanwhile, measured every word, calculating how this alliance could serve his own hidden agenda.
Just as their conversation reached a comfortable rhythm, another figure approached the rooftop door. Director George, in a black suit, stepped into the light. His sharp gaze flicked between the two men.
"Mr. Stane. Mr. Henry," he greeted politely.
Obadiah instantly understood he was interrupting something classified. "Gentlemen," he said smoothly, "I'll let you two talk. Mr. Henry, we'll continue our discussion tomorrow."
He excused himself and returned to the dance floor, leaving George and Henry alone under the moonlight.
George wasted no time. "Henry, General Ross was supposed to attend tonight's event," he said, lowering his voice. "He wanted to discuss a direct procurement deal with you."
"General Ross?" Henry asked, slightly intrigued. "Where is he?"
George sighed. "He received urgent intel from Brazil — something about a gamma incident. He had to leave immediately. From what I've heard, it involves the Hulk."
Henry's expression didn't change, but his thoughts raced. The Hulk… a walking engine of destruction born from the same energy the military sought to control.
George continued, "Ross is leading a covert operation to capture the creature. If it succeeds, the government's next phase of research could redefine military technology entirely."
"Project Malice," Henry murmured under his breath, recalling whispers he'd intercepted — a classified plan linking bio-weaponization with advanced robotics.
George nodded gravely. "But don't worry. The contract regarding the Modia Units has already reached the Ministry of Defense. It's just waiting for approval. Once signed, Vanderbuilt Technologies will be one of the core suppliers in the modernization initiative."
He patted Henry's shoulder reassuringly. "Your tech may soon change warfare itself."
Henry gave a faint smile. "That's the idea."
The rest of the night unfolded in glitter and noise. By midnight, the dance had ended, and the guests began to leave. Henry slipped into his sleek Vanderbuilt hover sports car, its polished silver frame reflecting the city's neon glow.
Behind him, several Ames Guard units — his private protection detail — followed in formation. They had taken damage during the last mission in the Middle East and were scheduled for full maintenance at the Vanderbuilt headquarters. The convoy sped through the night sky like silent arrows, heading toward the city's industrial district.
---
Meanwhile, far from the luxury and champagne, waves crashed against a dark coastline. A woman in a black tactical suit stood on the embankment, watching the turbulent water. Her expression was calm, though her eyes betrayed a hint of weariness.
After a long silence, she reached into her pocket for a cigarette — only to realize she had forgotten her lighter.
"Need a light?"
A hand extended from behind her, holding a burning lighter. The flicker illuminated a familiar face — Nick Fury, dressed in his trademark black trench coat, the wind tugging at its edges.
"Natasha Romanoff," he said, his single eye gleaming under the flame. "How's the new assignment treating you?"
Natasha lit the cigarette and took a slow drag before answering. "It's… quiet. Too quiet. I'm not built for dull days, Director."
Fury chuckled. "Then you'll be glad to hear that quiet's ending soon. Ross just initiated a special operation down in Brazil. Word is, a certain green monster's on the move again."
Natasha's gaze hardened as smoke drifted from her lips. "And you want me involved?"
Fury smiled thinly. "Let's just say I'm assembling a few people who can handle unusual problems. You've been at the top of my list for a while."
She flicked ash into the wind, eyes fixed on the distant horizon. "Guess I should start packing, then."
Fury turned toward the sea. "Get ready, Romanoff. The world's changing faster than any of us can keep up. And people like Henry… are the ones pushing it forward."
The waves crashed louder, as if echoing his words — a storm rising, both in the ocean and in the world of men.
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