Inside the tent, Obadiah's gaze swept the sparse interior with practiced assessment. A folding table dominated the center of the space, scattered with technical drawings and a laptop. Nothing else immediately caught his attention, no weapons cache, no intelligence documents, just the mundane tools of planning and communication.
He moved to the chair with the casual arrogance of a man accustomed to power, settling into the seat and leaning back expectantly. Whatever Raza wanted to show him had better be worth the drive.
Raza didn't react to his dismissive body language. He simply moved to the laptop, tapped a few keys, and rotated the screen to face him.
The video began playing.
Obadiah's attention sharpened immediately. The footage showed the interior of a cave, the same cave where Tony had been held captive. In the grainy footage, Tony worked on something large and metallic, his movements focused despite obvious injuries. The camera angle shifted, showing him at the cave entrance, testing what appeared to be a crude flamethrower mounted on a metal arm.
Obadiah reached for the technical drawings on the table, his eyes scanning the schematics as understanding dawned. "He used this to escape?"
But something didn't add up. His brow furrowed. "No, wait. Smith Doyle rescued him. That's what Tony said."
The video continued. Tony in the cave, testing his improvised weapons system, but conspicuously not engaging any enemies. Which meant by this point in the timeline, Raza's forces were already neutralized or dead.
Then a new figure appeared on screen. Tall, lean, moving with predatory grace. Smith Doyle.
Raza paused the video, his finger tapping the frozen image of Smith's face. "This man. Is this Smith Doyle?"
Obadiah studied the screen, recognizing the same man who'd appeared at the charity gala, who'd somehow spirited Tony away from the cave before any official rescue could be mounted. "That's him. According to Tony, Doyle orchestrated the extraction."
He considered how much to reveal, then decided information was a fair trade in this context. "He runs an underground organization, calls itself the Fraternity, or sometimes the Assassin Brotherhood."
Raza's expression hardened at the name, something dark and vengeful flickering behind his eyes. He filed the information away carefully. Smith Doyle. The Fraternity. Eventually, he'd settle that particular debt. The leader of the Ten Rings wouldn't let this insult stand forever.
His attention returned to business. he gestured at the drawings in Obadiah's hands. "What you're holding is just the preliminary design. Stark has already perfected it."
He leaned forward, his voice taking on an edge of intensity. "The attack on our base on Gulmira? That was Tony Stark himself, wearing the finished version of that armor. It's the ultimate weapon."
Obadiah's mind flashed back to the press conference he'd attended earlier that day, Tony's vague explanations, his evasiveness about what had happened in the cave. The pieces were clicking into place. Tony hadn't just escaped. He'd built something revolutionary in that cave, then continued developing it after his return.
Raza rose from his position by the laptop and moved to the worn sofa, pouring two glasses of wine with deliberate slowness. "With dozens of these weapons, I could dominate all of Asia." His smile was cold, calculating. "And you could possess his kingdom."
He meant Stark Industries. The implication was clear, Obadiah could take control of the company, of Tony's technology, of everything Howard Stark had built.
"We have a common enemy," Raza continued, settling onto the sofa. "Continue our cooperation, and I'll give you everything, the design, the video evidence, all of it."
Obadiah gathered the scattered drawings together, his experienced eye assembling them into a complete schematic. The armor took shape on the table, crude but functional, with a distinctive hollow in the chest piece marked with technical annotations. His mind was already racing ahead, seeing potential, seeing applications far beyond Tony's heroic delusions.
But even as he calculated possibilities, another thought occupied the front of his mind: Raza had botched the assassination, had created a massive complication, and now thought he could leverage that failure into continued partnership. The man's usefulness had expired the moment Tony survived.
Raza raised his wine glass, his tone turning transactional. "In exchange for the designs, I want an army of Iron Men. Mass production, enough to outfit my forces."
Obadiah approached slowly, a genial smile spreading across his face, the same smile he'd used in a thousand boardroom betrayals. He placed one hand on her shoulder in a gesture that might have seemed friendly, almost paternal.
His other hand held a device the size of an MP3 player.
He pressed the button.
The device emitted a low-frequency pulse inaudible to normal hearing but devastating to the human nervous system. Raza's body went rigid immediately, muscles seizing, blood vessels constricting. His eyes widened in shock and pain, veins bulging at his temples as his brain struggled to process what was happening.
Obadiah calmly took the wine glass from his paralyzed hand. "This is the only gift you're getting."
He deactivated the device temporarily, watching with clinical detachment as Raza's body trembled with residual neurological trauma. His eyes had gone bloodshot, his breathing ragged and shallow.
Obadiah removed his earplugs, he'd been wearing protection the whole time, of course. "Don't worry, the effects will fade in about fifteen minutes." He set the wine glass aside. "Though I'd be more concerned about what comes after, if I were you."
He walked out of the tent without looking back.
Outside, the scene had already been handled with brutal efficiency. Raza's men knelt in the dirt, hands bound, expressions ranging from defiant to terrified. Obadiah's security team stood over them with weapons raised, professionals who knew their job and asked no unnecessary questions.
Obadiah gestured toward the tent. "Retrieve the laptop and all documents. Load them in my vehicle."
He paused, surveying the kneeling prisoners with the cold calculation of a man who'd ordered worse. "Then clean up this mess."
The gunfire started before he'd even reached his SUV. Controlled bursts, professional execution. By the time Obadiah settled into the back seat, the shooting had stopped.
He pulled out his encrypted phone and dialed as the SUV pulled away from the camp, dust rising in their wake.
"Initiate Project Arc Reactor, priority classification," he said without preamble. "Designate it Sector Sixteen. Complete information lockdown, no paper trails, no digital footprints outside secured servers."
He paused, considering the drawings and video now secured in his vehicle. "Find the best mechanical engineers available. I don't care what you have to pay them. I want a working prototype built immediately."
The person on the other end acknowledged and disconnected. Obadiah pocketed the phone and gazed out at the desert landscape passing by. Tony thought he could change the world with his armor, could usher in a new era of heroism.
The boy had always been naive.
The next morning, Smith woke to sunlight streaming through the bedroom windows, the warmth painting golden stripes across the tangled sheets. Fox lay beside him, still asleep, her red hair splayed across the pillow.
He reached over and gave her a playful swat on the rear. "Sun's up. Time to face the day."
Fox's hand shot out with surprising speed, catching his wrist and pulling him closer. Her eyes opened, gleaming with mischief. "I think someone else is up too."
She rolled, pinning him beneath her with practiced ease, and delivered a kiss that made his pulse quicken. What followed was energetic, passionate, and thoroughly distracting from any thoughts of morning productivity.
Some time later, Smith emerged from the shower, water still dripping from his hair as he pulled on fresh clothes. Fox followed, wrapped in a towel, looking decidedly more satisfied than when she'd woken.
"Two things I need to discuss," Smith said, toweling his hair. "First, status update on the Stark Industries stock purchases?"
Fox leaned against the doorframe, considering. "We started acquiring shares right after the charity gala, like you ordered. Current holdings are substantial enough to cover our initial investment loans with significant surplus remaining."
Smith nodded, pleased. Tony would announce his identity as Iron Man soon, probably within days, and Stark Industries stock would skyrocket when investors realized the company's CEO was a superhero with revolutionary technology. The Fraternity's financial position would become extremely comfortable.
"Second item," Smith continued. "Bulma's finished the scouter v1. It's ready for mass production."
Fox's eyebrow arched with interest. "The scouter? The one that measures power levels?"
"Exactly. I need you to establish a company to handle manufacturing and distribution. Hold a press conference, market it to private security firms, military contractors, law enforcement, anyone who needs threat assessment capabilities."
Smith paused, considering nomenclature. In his previous life, Frieza's forces had manufactured similar scouters. But those had been tools of conquest and oppression. Bulma's company, Capsule Corporation, had always represented innovation for the benefit of civilization.
"Call it the Universal Capsule Company," he decided.
Fox's expression turned skeptical. "Universal Capsule? That doesn't have any connection to power detectors or security technology." She moved closer, letting the towel slip slightly. "Why not Smith Industries? Or Doyle Technologies? Build a brand around your name, like Howard Stark did."
The suggestion had merit. Smith felt a flicker of temptation, seeing his name on products sold worldwide had a certain appeal. But he shook his head.
"Universal Capsule Company," he repeated firmly. "Trust me. Once Bulma finishes her next project, the name will make perfect sense."
When she developed the actual capsule technology, portable storage that could miniaturize anything from motorcycles to entire buildings, the name would become synonymous with revolutionary innovation. The entire world would understand why "Universal Capsule" was the perfect branding.
Fox shrugged, accepting his decision with the easy flexibility that came from years of working together. "You're the boss."
The casual gesture caused her towel to slip further, dropping to the floor entirely.
Smith's eyes traced the curve of her body appreciatively. He stepped forward, hands settling on her waist, and pulled her into a deep kiss.
"Oh no," Fox murmured against his lips, though her hands were already working at his shirt buttons. "Not again. I'm still exhausted from, "
Her protests dissolved into considerably more enthusiastic sounds as Smith demonstrated that some business could wait a bit longer.