A Little Greedy, Really Want to Rob

As the old saying goes, since you're here, you might as well take something with you.

After all, no one leaves empty-handed.

You call this stealing?

No, no—Fu Haoran had zero qualms about fleecing a capitalist.

He didn't rush to leave. Following Obadiah, he entered the adjacent assembly workshop.

A three-meter-tall iron-gray suit of armor stood in the center, limbs thick, chest plate heavy, with two six-barreled machine guns mounted on its shoulders.

But the weld seams were rough as if chewed by a dog, the joint hydraulic tubes exposed and greasy, looking like a piece of engineering scrap cobbled together.

"Iron Monger." Obadiah patted the armor's leg, his voice dripping with pride. "What do you think? Bigger and stronger than Tony's flashy little suit, right?"

Fu Haoran swept his gaze over it, quickly evaluating in his mind.

"If we're purely comparing battlefield survivability and firepower projection, this thing is indeed more practical than Tony's early suits."

"The thick frontal armor is good for holding the line, and the simple structure means it's easy to mass-produce."

But he wasn't here to be a judge today—he was here to ask for money.

How do you get a sucker to open his wallet?

The answer was simple: get him hyped.

"Junk." Fu Haoran spat out two words.

"What did you say?" Obadiah's smile froze, his expression shifting from delight to gloom. "This is Stark's finest craftsmanship! The scrap Tony built in that cave can't even compare to half of this!"

"That's why you can't beat him." Fu Haoran twisted the knife.

"This is just a clumsy hunk of metal stacked together. Not much tech in it. The missile power is mediocre, and more importantly, it can't even hit its target. The weapon system is outdated."

"And you've even left some key electronic components exposed." Fu Haoran shook his head, practically writing disdain on his face.

Obadiah's face darkened. "This is Stark's current best craftsmanship!"

"It's your best, not Tony's best." Fu Haoran turned to face him.

"Tony builds armor. You build iron coffins."

Obadiah's face went pale, then flushed, but he didn't retort.

"Can you build something better?" He stared at Fu Haoran.

"Yes." Fu Haoran answered bluntly. "But I need real industrial support, not this kind of handcraft workshop."

"What do you want?"

"Full access to all of Stark Industries' decommissioned military production lines." Fu Haoran didn't hold back. "Including the backdoors to the CNC systems, raw material warehouse scheduling rights, and at least one complete heavy assembly line."

Obadiah narrowed his eyes. "That's quite an appetite. How do I know you're not just trying to pull a fast one?"

Fu Haoran pulled a tablet from his pocket and pulled up a 3D structural diagram—something he'd had the Tech-Priest prepare last night.

It wasn't exactly cutting-edge, but it was still technology from tens of thousands of years in the future... even if it was already commonplace by then.

Obadiah flipped through it quickly, growing more alarmed with each page. After ten seconds of silence, he gritted his teeth and nodded. "I'll have my assistant send you the keys. If you try anything funny, you and your people won't make it out of New York."

Obadiah signed the authorization on the tablet. As he turned to leave, a flicker of ruthlessness flashed in his eyes.

"Once the prototype is done, once Tony is dealt with, these clueless outsiders won't live to see another day."

Watching Obadiah leave, Wade sidled up. "Sir, are we really going to help him?"

Fu Haoran curled his lips and let out a scoff. "Just using his chicken to lay our eggs. Soon, those factory production lines, equipment, and materials—all of it will be ours."

"We'll have our own military factory before long."

Three days later, a few inconspicuous entries appeared on Stark Procurement's top-secret logistics manifest: extremely rare Vibranium raw materials, a pitifully small amount of Adamantium, high-precision laser emitter components...

"I've already charged all the costs to Obadiah's special approval project," Lucifer said.

"Fleecing capitalist wool feels great. It won't be discovered anytime soon, right?"

The next second, Lucifer's disdainful gaze swept over him:

"What do you think?"

Fu Haoran smiled, knowing he'd asked a stupid question.

He opened the system interface.

[Worldline Deviation Rate: 23.3%]

Fu Haoran frowned.

Too slow.

"I need a tsunami."

"But how do I change the worldline?"

Fu Haoran sorted through his thoughts and found that there wasn't much content related to the Marvel world.

Fu Haoran pulled up the Auspex's historical scan records, his finger gliding across the screen before stopping on one image.

It was a chance energy spike captured three days ago.

At stratospheric altitude, a massive, irregular energy body had briefly dropped its optical camouflage, its silhouette resembling a bloated metal whale.

A Helicarrier.

S.H.I.E.L.D.'s mobile base, capable of high-altitude hovering and global deployment, carrying the era's most advanced technology and weaponry.

"If I can take that, it won't just boost the variance rate—it'll give the Hive City a ready-made orbital outpost."

"But how do I take it?"

"Snatch it by force? That thing cruises at ten thousand meters year-round, with full anti-air defenses, elite agents, and an old fox like Nick Fury in command."

"Sending the current Planetary Guard to assault it head-on would result in unacceptable casualties."

"And I don't have enough transport aircraft."

"Infiltrate? Join Hydra? Too slow—the time I have in this world won't let me take it easy."

"Wait, there should be another place with Helicarriers."

Fu Haoran pulled up the Auspex's interface, entered commands, narrowed the scope, and focused on the North American Continent.

"I remember S.H.I.E.L.D.'s Helicarriers... there's more than one." Fu Haoran muttered to himself, tapping on the virtual keyboard. "And a batch should be near the end of construction right now."

Based on vague memories, Fu Haoran added filter conditions, and the Auspex began a deep scan.

Layers of green light grids penetrated the rock strata, filtering out mountain ranges, mineral veins, and natural caves.

Ten minutes later, the screen locked onto a region.

The full layout of an underwater base was projected on the screen.

Fu Haoran's eyes lit up.

Inside the dry dock, three unfinished Helicarriers sat quietly.

Each one was armed to the teeth.

"Six triple-mounted heavy cannons on the outer hull—enough to punch through armor."

"Secondary broadside guns for flank defense, deck CIWS plus 21-cell anti-air missile launchers."

"Bottom sniper arrays, optical camouflage stealth, and a hundred Quinjets on standby on the deck."

"Not impressive by Warhammer standards, but decent as a weapons platform. Swap out the armament, add Void Shields, and even a small Titan would have a fight on its hands."

Fu Haoran had made up his mind—he was taking these three big beauties home.

But the next second, his expression darkened.

The Auspex clearly marked: ten thousand S.H.I.E.L.D. elite troops in the dry dock, thirty thousand support staff.

The interior was layered with defensive fortifications, paired with anti-detection electromagnetic interference systems—a fortress of iron and steel.

Fu Haoran leaned back in his chair, tapping his fingers hard on the desk, his brow furrowed into a knot.

Tempting, so tempting.

And stealing these three Helicarriers, Fu Haoran believed, would yield a massive reward from the system settlement.

But a direct assault?

The pressure was immense.

"Ten thousand stationed troops—charging in head-on is suicide." Fu Haoran's brow tightened into a knot. "Even driving a tank in would be useless, unless I use a Battleship to bombard... wait, a Battleship?!"

Fu Haoran shot upright, confusion fading from his eyes, leaving only cold fervor.

"Even though the Destroyer I brought has no ground-attack heavy cannons, the Lance it's equipped with is the most brutal 'can opener' there is!"

A clear plan took shape: tear open the dry dock's ceiling with the starship, creating chaos and a breach.

But the next second, Fu Haoran frowned sharply as a new problem emerged.

"No, the final step still requires a direct assault, and casualties would still be massive. I need an assault squad to clear out the defenders inside, acting as the tip of the spear."

Fu Haoran opened the standard equipment list for the Guard soldiers, glanced at it, and shook his head.

"Lasguns and Plasteel Armor are fine for fighting terrorists. Against S.H.I.E.L.D.'s heavy defenses, they probably won't cut it."

"I need a unit that can advance through a hail of gunfire in tight spaces and ultimately seize the bridge."

Fu Haoran closed the equipment list and immediately opened the communicator, his tone grave: "Wade, call Old Vanko over."

"Yes, my lord. Any new mission?"

"Yes. We're going to use Obadiah's money and Stark's assembly lines to forge a force truly our own... Scion Stormtroopers."