Pressure.
Invisible pressure surged in from all directions. This wasn't a naked threat, but a subtler kind of "consensus" coercion inside the circle—we all think this is good, so why don't you agree?
You're not one of us.
Song Heping's gaze slowly swept across every face.
Robbin's eagerness, Curtis's composure, Blake's brute force, Hansen's calm, Old Tom's affability, Marco's smile.
Behind those expressions, each had their own calculations.
He suddenly laughed, picked up his napkin and wiped the corner of his mouth. "I appreciate everyone's kind intentions. But I already have a plan for handling this batch of sensitive hardware."
Robbin was taken aback. "What plan?"
"Use it myself," Song Heping said. "Or sell it to clients personally vetted by me, absolutely reliable. The Stinger Missiles can be deployed at several of my key sites for air defense. My team also needs the loitering munitions and drones. As for the excess…"
He looked at Curtis.
