A Little Envious, Really Want to Rob Them

They say, "Since you're already here, you might as well take something with you."

After all, you shouldn't leave empty-handed.

You call that stealing?

No, no. Fu Haoran had no qualms whatsoever about fleecing the capitalists.

He didn't hurry to leave. Instead, he followed Obadiah into the assembly workshop next door.

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

But the welds were rough as a dog's chew toy, and the exposed hydraulic lines at the joints were streaked with oil. It looked like a piece of construction equipment cobbled together from scrap metal.

"Iron Monger." Obadiah patted the armor's leg, his voice brimming with pride. "Well? Isn't it bigger and stronger than Tony's flashy little suit?"

Fu Haoran gave it a glance and quickly assessed it.

"If you're only comparing battlefield durability and firepower, this thing is indeed more practical than Tony's early suits."

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

But he was here to get money, not to serve as a judge.

How did you get a sucker to pay up?

The answer was simple: get him riled up.

"Junk," Fu Haoran said.

"What did you say?" Obadiah's smile froze, his expression turning from cheerful to dark. "This is the best Stark craftsmanship! The piece of junk Tony made in that cave isn't even half as good!"

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

"This is just a clumsy, oversized hunk of machinery, with little in the way of advanced technology. The missiles are mediocre at best, and more importantly, they can't hit anyone. The weapons systems are outdated, too."

"And you've even left some critical electronic components exposed." Fu Haoran shook his head, barely concealing his disdain.

Obadiah's expression darkened. "This is the best Stark craftsmanship available!"

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

"Tony built a suit of armor. You built an iron coffin."

Obadiah's face went pale, then red, but he didn't argue.

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

"Yes." Fu Haoran answered without hesitation. "But I need real industrial support, not a workshop like this."

"What do you need?"

"Access to every decommissioned military production line owned by Stark Industries," Fu Haoran said bluntly. "Including backdoor access to the CNC systems, control over raw-material dispatch, and at least one complete heavy assembly line."

Obadiah narrowed his eyes. "You've got quite an appetite. How do I know you're not just trying to get something for nothing?"

Fu Haoran pulled out his tablet and brought up a 3D schematic. He'd had the Tech-Priest prepare it for him the night before.

It wasn't very advanced, but it was technology from tens of thousands of years in the future... even if it had long since become commonplace.

Obadiah skimmed through it quickly. The more he saw, the more unsettled he became. Ten seconds passed in silence before he gritted his teeth and nodded. "My assistant will send you the keys. If you try anything funny, you and your men won't make it out of New York."

Obadiah signed the authorization on the tablet. As he turned to leave, a flash of viciousness crossed his eyes.

"Once the prototype's finished, once Tony's dead, not one of these arrogant outsiders will survive."

After watching Obadiah leave, Wade came over. "My lord, are we really going to help him?"

Fu Haoran's lips curled up. He scoffed. "We're just borrowing his chickens to lay our eggs. Soon, those factories, production lines, equipment, and materials will all be ours."

"Soon, we'll have a military factory of our own."

Three days later, several inconspicuous entries appeared on a classified logistics list from Stark's procurement department: a very rare supply of Vibranium, a pitifully small amount of Adamantium, high-precision Lasgun emitter components...

"I've charged all the costs to Obadiah's special projects account," Lucifiel said.

"Fleecing capitalism feels great. No one's going to find out anytime soon, right?"

The next second, Lucifiel gave him a disdainful look.

"What do you think?"

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

He opened the system interface.

[Worldline Divergence Rate: 23.3%]

Fu Haoran frowned.

Too slow.

"What I want is a tsunami."

"But how can I change the worldline?"

As Fu Haoran thought it over, he realized there wasn't much content related to the Marvel Universe.

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

It was an accidental energy spike captured three days earlier.

At stratospheric altitude, a huge, irregular energy mass had briefly dropped its optical camouflage. Its outline resembled an enormously bloated metal whale.

A Helicarrier.

S.H.I.E.L.D.'s mobile base could hover at high altitude and deploy anywhere in the world, carrying the most advanced technology and weapons of its time.

"If I can capture it, not only will the divergence rate rise sharply, but the Hive City will gain a ready-made orbital outpost."

"But how do I take it?"

"Storm it? That thing patrols at an altitude of ten thousand meters, with a complete array of anti-aircraft weapons, elite agents, and an old fox like Nick Fury in charge."

"If I send the Planetary Guard we have now to attack head-on, the casualties would be unacceptable."

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

"Infiltrate? Join Hydra? That would take too long. I can't afford to take my time in this world."

"Wait, wasn't there another place with a Helicarrier?"

Fu Haoran brought up the Auspex's interface, entered a command, narrowed the search, and focused on the North American Continent.

"I remember S.H.I.E.L.D. had more than one Helicarrier..." Fu Haoran muttered, tapping at the virtual keyboard. "And a batch of them should still be nearing the end of construction."

Relying on his hazy memories, Fu Haoran added filters, and the Auspex began a deep scan.

Layers of green scanning grids penetrated the bedrock, filtering out mountains, mineral veins, and natural caves.

Ten minutes later, the screen pinpointed the area.

The entire undersea base appeared on the display.

Fu Haoran's eyes lit up.

Three unfinished Helicarriers sat quietly in the dry dock.

Every one of them was armed to the teeth.

"Six triple-barreled heavy cannons on the outside of each hull. Enough to punch through armor."

"Side-mounted secondary guns to fend off attacks from the flanks, plus deck-mounted autocannons and twenty-one-cell anti-aircraft missile launchers."

"Sniper arrays underneath, optical camouflage, and hundreds of Quinjet fighters on standby on the deck."

"They wouldn't amount to much in Warhammer, but they'd still make decent weapons platforms. Replace the weapons and install Void Shields, and they could hold their own even against a small Titan."

Fu Haoran had already made up his mind: he was taking all three of these treasures.

But the next second, his expression darkened.

The Auspex clearly marked ten thousand elite S.H.I.E.L.D. agents and thirty thousand staff inside the dry dock.

Multiple layers of internal fortifications, combined with anti-detection electromagnetic interference systems, made the place as impregnable as a fortress.

Fu Haoran leaned back in his chair, tapping the desk hard with his fingertips, his brows knitted together.

He wanted them so badly.

And if he took all three Helicarriers, Fu Haoran was sure the system's reward would be enormous.

But taking them by force?

The pressure was immense.

"More than ten thousand troops stationed there. Charging in head-on would be suicide." Fu Haoran frowned. "Even tanks wouldn't help. Unless I used a Battleship to bombard the place... Wait, a Battleship?!"

Fu Haoran abruptly sat up straight. The confusion in his eyes vanished, replaced by cold fervor.

"Although the Destroyers I brought don't have heavy guns for ground attacks, their Lances are the most ruthless can openers around!"

A clear plan took shape: use a starship to tear open the roof of the dry dock, creating chaos and a breach.

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

"No, the final step would still require a ground assault. The casualties would still be enormous. I need an assault squad to clear out the defenders inside and act as the spearhead."

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

"Lasguns and Plasteel Armor are fine for dealing with terrorists. But against a heavily defended S.H.I.E.L.D. base, they probably won't cut it."

"I need a unit that can push through a hail of bullets in tight spaces and ultimately take control of the bridge."

Fu Haoran closed the equipment list and immediately opened the communicator. His voice was grave. "Wade, bring Old Vanko over."

"Yes, my lord. Is there a new mission?"

"That's right. With Obadiah's money and Stark's production lines, we're going to build a force that truly belongs to us... Tempestus Scions."