"He's a major shareholder of Stark Industries, one of their senior board members. He's probably here representing them."
Urd spoke evenly, already understanding why Obadiah would show up.
After all, their boss's War Machine units were selling too well—so well that they'd taken a massive chunk out of Stark Industries' business in missiles, tanks, and other military hardware.
Before Zod and Blade Tech stormed onto the world stage, every major weapons manufacturer could only fight over Stark Industries' leftovers. Now the tables had turned—Stark Industries was the one fighting for Blade Tech's scraps.
Most of what War Machines could accomplish simply outclassed traditional weaponry. Many countries were choosing War Machines directly, leaving only the small niche of armaments that War Machines couldn't replace.
That shift forced Stark Industries—accustomed to dominating the industry—to suddenly compete against every military contractor on the planet. Their stock price was dropping, and disgruntled shareholders blamed Obadiah and Tony Stark for failing to produce a solution.
In the past, Tony would have unveiled a new weapon to disrupt the market—and it always worked. But not anymore. Unless Tony could produce a paradigm-shifting invention on the scale of the War Machine, even the U.S. military preferred War Machines over tanks, aircraft, artillery, or missiles. Warfare had changed; there was no arguing that.
Backed into a corner, Obadiah had no choice but to approach Blade Tech.
Perhaps—just maybe—Stark Industries could help produce War Machines.
They knew Blade Tech was still a newly formed conglomerate. Even working around the clock, the company couldn't scale production fast enough. The machinery required to build War Machines demanded precision at a level even "the Rabbit" couldn't match; if they had those machines, they would've surpassed America's military industry ages ago.
Despite Congress giving Blade Tech green lights across the board—no approvals delayed, no corrupt holdups—the reality was that high-precision manufacturing ran on a per-machine schedule. Any flaw in precision meant scrapping and rebuilding. Under those constraints, establishing a full production line would take years—optimistically.
Stark Industries was different. A veteran giant in the field, practically the industry's top dog. They had multiple production lines, not just one. That was why Tony could demand any weapon he wanted and get it immediately—he only had to provide the specs.
Zod had no such luxury. If Urd claimed the global orders were queued two years out, it wasn't because the demand was overwhelming—it was because they literally couldn't produce units that quickly. And since they operated on American soil, U.S. military orders had priority. The U.S. took the lion's share; Russia and China received smaller portions—just slowly.
No one wanted to offend the three global superpowers. The U.S. understood this; since they were taking the biggest cut, they simply turned a blind eye to the delays.
Naturally, Obadiah wasn't here out of goodwill. If Stark Industries could join the manufacturing process, what was stopping them from reverse-engineering War Machine tech?
If that happened, they could produce their own War Machines. Even if Blade Tech held patents, Stark Industries had entire battalions of lawyers who could drag lawsuits into infinity.
Besides, the U.S. government didn't want a single company monopolizing such power. Having more options on the market benefited them.
But unexpectedly, the stunning secretary returned, offering a polite smile.
"Mr. Zod is currently working on his next groundbreaking invention and does not have time to meet."
Obadiah clenched his fist, though his face remained composed.
A man who'd been typecast as a villain would never believe such an excuse. He was certain Zod simply didn't want to see him—dismissing him, belittling him, maybe even mocking him.
His anger roared beneath the surface, but as a businessman of his stature, maintaining composure was standard training. Even someone as sharp as Urd couldn't read the fury behind his calm expression. And Urd wasn't just any elite; she was a world-class graduate entrusted by Zod to manage Blade Tech—an enterprise with a cash flow in the hundreds of billions and a valuation several times that.
If she lacked top-tier management and execution skills, Zod would never have placed her there. Plenty of women were prettier than Urd, with better figures too—but he had chosen her for a reason.
Now, of course, with the Black Queen assisting, Zod could offload part of the management burden.
Obadiah kept his smile intact as he said he'd schedule another meeting. But the moment he turned away, his mind was already plotting against Zod.
With Zod's current influence, a direct confrontation was impossible—it would only backfire.
He entered his car, took a breath, and finally pulled out his phone.
"Hello? Is this the Ten Rings?"
…
As for Obadiah's intentions regarding producing War Machines, Zod saw straight through them. If anything, the attempt was almost laughably blatant.
Did Obadiah think he was Tony Stark—brilliant but socially inept?
Kryptonians might lack scheming instincts due to engineered emotional suppression, but Zod's previous life was spent on Earth—and in China at that. If he wasn't naturally gifted in political maneuvering, he had at least watched enough dramas to learn every dirty trick: backstabbing, double-crossing, honey-coated lies, smiling knives—you name it.
Zod understood the production line issue perfectly well. The specialized machines required legal certificates and government approvals. Each unit had a unique serial number; any theft or damage had to be logged, and even broken fragments recovered.
Otherwise, he wouldn't be eyeing Stark Industries' weapons division.
But that part of the story was still eight years away—assuming it even happened at all. Zod had already derailed the plot so badly that Tony Stark's original rise to fame had been snatched away.
"So… should I just take down Hammer Industries?"
Zod considered it. Hammer Industries had its own machinery, after all. And honestly, letting those machines sit in Hammer's hands was a waste. That wasn't to say Justin Hammer was incompetent.
The "Ex-Wife" missile had been terrible—but only because it had friend-or-foe identification. That was why it didn't explode.
Think about it: no matter how mediocre Hammer Industries might seem, it was still the only serious military manufacturer besides Stark Industries. How could they possibly produce something that failed to detonate? Justin might be reckless, but he wasn't suicidal. He wouldn't dare cut costs on weapons provided to the U.S. military.
Everything would've been thoroughly tested before deployment.
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