The murmur of hundreds of conversations faded as the guests moved into the rear conference hall. The grand reception area transformed seamlessly into a high-security presentation theater, complete with holographic screens, bulletproof glass partitions, and rows of reserved seats marked with glowing nameplates.
The first row was reserved for General Ross and the committee—the trio whose judgment could shape the fate of every corporation in the room. Behind them sat the military delegates, government analysts, and procurement officials. Farther back were the company representatives, each sitting beneath the nervous hum of ambition.
Henry and Izzy's seats were near the middle-rear section. Though not at the front, the positioning gave them a full view of the enormous main screen in the center—a visual battlefield where reputations would rise or crumble.
Across the aisle, Tony Stark had returned from his earlier fiasco, his face drawn tight behind the usual mask of charm. The incident with J.A.R.V.I.S. still stung, though he hid it well.
His unwanted neighbor, Justin Hammer, noticed the tension immediately and grinned like a shark scenting blood.
"Hey, Tony," Hammer whispered, voice dripping with mock concern. "Rough night? I was starting to think you wouldn't make it back. I almost popped a bottle to celebrate."
The rivalry between Stark Industries and Hammer Industries was infamous. Where Tony had flair and genius, Hammer had money and envy—and the combination often made for loud, ugly moments at public events.
Tony arched a brow, his smirk razor-thin. "Oh, don't waste your champagne, Justin. You'll need it later—to drown your sorrows when your company slides into third place."
Hammer's grin faltered, just a little.
Tony tilted his head toward Norman Osborn, seated a few chairs down, and added lightly, "Assuming, of course, Osborn Industries doesn't overtake you first."
Norman's face darkened. He had no intention of being dragged into their childish duel, but Tony's provocation hit closer to truth than he liked. Osborn Industries, long known for its biomedical research, had recently begun a quiet pivot into military technology. Norman's scientists had spent the past two years experimenting with human enhancement and combat exosuits.
If tonight went as planned, Osborn intended to emerge as a new player in the defense sector—a third contender in the arms race between Stark and Hammer.
---
The lights dimmed. A host stepped to the podium, his voice amplified by hidden speakers.
"Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the official demonstration phase of the World Technology Summit!"
One by one, company representatives rose from their seats and made their way to the stage in the order assigned by the summit's organizers.
First up: Hammer Industries.
The name alone drew polite applause from the audience. Hammer had built a solid reputation five years ago when their "smart missile" line earned them a short-term government contract. They were eager to prove that lightning could strike twice.
Justin Hammer strutted onstage with his usual salesman's bravado, adjusting his tie and spreading his arms dramatically.
"Honored guests, military representatives, General Ross—it's an honor to return with a weapon that redefines precision warfare!"
He gestured toward the projection screen, and a launch simulation appeared: the Sidewinder Micro-Missile.
A slim projectile, no larger than a fountain pen, launched from a portable tube on-screen. Within seconds, it drilled through reinforced concrete. The building exploded from within, fire bursting through windows as shockwaves rattled the nearby terrain. The camera zoomed in on what had been a squad of mannequin targets—they were now nothing but smoldering fragments.
The military representatives murmured approvingly. The compact missile's destructive power was undeniable.
Hammer smiled like a man who had already secured the deal. He bowed slightly, hands folded. "Compact. Lethal. Cost-efficient. Gentlemen, the future of urban strike warfare."
Applause rippled through the room.
But the summit had only just begun—and Hammer's triumph would be short-lived.
---
Next came the Umbrella Corporation.
The name alone carried weight—and unease. Their logo appeared on the massive screen, accompanied by a slickly edited video of scientists in white coats working under sterile lights.
Umbrella's representative, a woman in a crimson suit, addressed the audience with the poise of someone who knew the world feared and respected her company in equal measure.
"Human limitation," she began, "has always been the true bottleneck of warfare. Tonight, we bring a solution: the Umbrella Bio-Enhancement Serum."
A hush fell as footage rolled. A soldier was injected with a translucent blue liquid. Within seconds, his pulse accelerated. He crushed a steel rod barehanded, his muscles doubling in volume before the camera. The demonstration cut to field tests—enhanced soldiers vaulting over barriers, ripping open reinforced doors, shrugging off gunfire with superhuman endurance.
The effect was impressive… until the screen showed the cost. The test subject collapsed, clutching his chest.
"Side effects," the presenter admitted coolly, "remain under observation. However, results show a consistent twofold increase in strength and stamina across all tested subjects."
The crowd buzzed. The results were incredible, but the dangers were obvious. The enhancement serum was nowhere near the mythic perfection of the Super Soldier Serum that had created Captain America decades ago—but it hinted at something dangerously close.
---
The applause barely faded before Osborn Industries took the stage.
Norman Osborn himself appeared, slick and confident. "Gentlemen, while some chase after supermen, we prefer giving ordinary soldiers the tools to survive."
The screen flared to life again, this time showing two prototypes: the Flight Skateboard and the Individual Combat Armor.
The skateboard—essentially a compact hoverboard powered by micro-thrusters—carried a fully armed soldier effortlessly into the air. The armor was sleek, metallic green, and designed to cover the entire body.
"Flight range: one hour. Payload capacity: one hundred and twenty kilograms." Osborn announced, his voice sharp with pride. "Armor durability: fully bulletproof, lightweight, and integrated with onboard targeting systems."
The footage showed the armored soldier gliding across a desert battlefield, missiles streaking beneath him as he dodged effortlessly.
The hall filled with murmurs. Even Tony leaned forward slightly.
Henry, from the back rows, smiled faintly. Interesting, he thought. Osborn's stepping out of his lane.
---
But then came the moment everyone had been waiting for.
The lights shifted again, and the host's voice rose with excitement:
"Next, please welcome Stark Industries!"
The applause this time was louder, almost anticipatory. Tony walked onto the stage like a man born to bask in spotlights.
"Thank you, everyone. I'll make this brief," he began, smirking as holographic panels flickered behind him. "Because when something works perfectly, there isn't much to explain."
The screen blazed with light as a massive missile gleamed into view.
The Jericho Missile.
The test footage rolled—a mountain range, a blinding ignition, and the sound of thunder itself.
A sleek, silver missile launched skyward. Midair, it split into multiple warheads—each a smaller missile that detonated in a perfect fan pattern across the landscape.
Boom. Boom. Boom.
The explosion wave leveled everything within miles. Dust clouds rose like tidal waves.
The room trembled from the low bass of the simulation. When the video ended, the entire hall erupted in applause.
Tony turned, arms open. "And that, gentlemen, is how you secure peace—by making sure your enemies can't stand long enough to argue."
Even General Ross nodded approvingly. Though his heart leaned toward the dream of enhanced soldiers like Captain America, in terms of raw power and reach, nothing rivaled the Jericho.
Ross leaned to his aide, murmuring, "A strategic strike platform with multi-vector saturation… impressive. Stark's ahead again."
Below, the faces of Norman Osborn and Justin Hammer darkened. Their earlier pride evaporated, replaced by tight smiles. The Jericho Missile had stolen the spotlight completely.
---
Then Tony added, casually but deliberately, "Oh, and one more thing—Stark Industries is currently developing a new sustainable energy core. If successful, it'll make our current power grid look like candlelight."
The sentence hung in the air like a grenade.
The representatives from the oil conglomerates stiffened. General Ross raised an eyebrow. Conversations flickered around the room.
Henry, from his seat, chuckled quietly. There he goes—selling tomorrow before it exists.
He didn't blame Tony for his confidence. The man had charisma. But charisma couldn't protect him from what was coming next.
Because soon, when Vanderbuilt Technologies took the stage, the world would see something beyond missiles and muscle. They'd see evolution itself—intelligence, precision, and technology that learned faster than any human could.
And when that happened, no Jericho Missile could compete.
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