Brooklyn Street sat at the heart of New York.
A seven-story building stood there, draped in flashing neon signs that read STARK INDUSTRIES.
Unlike the hundred-story skyscrapers of the twenty-first century, Stark Industries was still in its fledgling stage. The founder, Howard, was only thirty-seven, having recently resigned from the Academy of Sciences to start his own company.
The streets carried a strong vintage atmosphere. To Ryden, who came from the twenty-first century, it felt like stepping backward through time.
The cars were old-fashioned, boxy sedans-rigid and formal, lacking the aerodynamic beauty of later automobiles.
"Hello, I'm looking for Mr. Howard. Please let him know that a son of Ethan Hunt has something important to discuss regarding weapons cooperation. Please make sure to pass that on. Thank you, beautiful lady."
Ryden slipped into his "good boy" persona as he spoke to the sweet-looking receptionist on the first floor.
"Certainly. One moment. May I ask your name?" the receptionist replied warmly.
Jobs were hard to come by these days. Normally, she wouldn't bother with just anyone, but this was a clean-cut boy, and her first impression was different. Besides, since he was conveying a message for an elder, he was probably just a messenger.
"Ryden Hunt. I appreciate the help, beautiful sister."
His tone stayed sweet.
In the future, countless consumers in Guangdong had fallen for shop assistants' "handsome boy" and "beautiful girl" greetings, willingly emptying their wallets.
The receptionist picked up the hand-cranked telephone and called the boss.
"Hello, Boss. There's a boy named Ryden Hunt, Mr. Ethan Hunt's son. He says he has matters regarding weapons cooperation to discuss with you."
Howard had been flirting with his secretary and was just about to make a move when the sudden ringing interrupted him.
The startled secretary flushed and hurried out.
"Dammit! If you don't give me a logical explanation, I'll show you how the most outstanding engineer in America makes people unemployed!"
Howard snapped, annoyed that his "good deed" had been cut short.
"What? Ryden Hunt? Never heard of him. Huh? Wait-what did you say? Ethan Hunt?! Isn't that old stubborn goat dead?"
He paused.
"Weapons cooperation... let me think. Oh. I remember now! Ryden! That little scientist who likes to blow himself up!"
"Haha. Send him up!"
Howard seemed to recall past news and reports.
A playboy like him wouldn't remember a kid's name unless it was tied to Ethan Hunt-a former colleague known for being a stubborn old coot-and his science-geek son, an experimental maniac who burned or blew up houses at the drop of a hat.
That, Howard couldn't forget.
The receptionist let out a quiet sigh of relief.
Thankfully, she hadn't gotten into trouble. It sounded like she'd interrupted the boss's "fun," which was apparently routine behavior for him.
She smiled at Ryden.
"Mr. Hunt, this way please."
She gestured politely with her right hand.
Taking a vintage elevator, Ryden reached the seventh-floor penthouse.
After waiting a few minutes, he was finally led into the office.
His eyes landed on a middle-aged man with a signature mustache and a cynical expression.
There was a wicked charm about him-one that easily attracted women.
No wonder he was such a playboy. He had the capital for it.
"Shh. Kid, you're the one looking for me?" Howard said lazily. "You look alright. It's a miracle the last explosion didn't blow you away."
"So, tell me. What cooperation project do you have? If you're just here to reminisce, I don't have time to chat with a 'slow-burn' genius. Who knows? You might blow up my office."
Howard's American-style humor was sharp.
His trash talk was top-tier.
He also seemed a little... neurotic.
Yes.
Neurotic.
Then again, most scientists were, to some degree.
Ryden didn't get angry.
He knew very well that without the face of his "cheap" father-whom he had never met and would never see again-he wouldn't even qualify to step inside today.
Even though Howard's company was still in its early days, he wasn't someone an average person could casually meet.
If every Tom, Dick, and Harry could see Howard, this office would've turned into a public restroom long ago.
Ryden pulled a pile of parts from his backpack.
Without a word, right in front of Howard, he began assembling them step by step.
Click.
Clatter.
Metal met birch wood. Latches snapped into place.
The sounds were crisp and rhythmic-almost musical.
Howard's mustache twitched as he watched with growing curiosity.
He wasn't worried about being attacked. He was simply interested in the child of his old, stubborn colleague.
A scientist without quirks wasn't a real scientist. In the eyes of outsiders, someone who caused fires and explosions during experiments was dangerous.
Only those with insight could recognize another's merits.
An assault rifle roughly eighty centimeters long was placed on the desk.
Thud.
In less than half a minute, the AK-47 was fully assembled.
"This is the weapons cooperation you mentioned?" Howard's eyes lit up with interest.
As an engineer, he understood weapons deeply.
At a glance, he could tell the structure was simple. What he didn't know was how it performed.
If the power was sufficient, it could outperform most existing firearms.
"This is the AK series I designed. This model is the latest-the AK-47," Ryden said calmly.
"Simple assembly. Easy maintenance. Adaptable to special combat environments. River crossings. Desert warfare. Even after soaking in water or being buried in sand, it won't jam."
"Most importantly, it's cheap and easy to mass-produce. It uses 7.62mm rounds."
"As for whether it's real or not-you'll know once you try it."
He introduced the light weapon that would define the twentieth century.
Howard picked up the AK-47 and weighed it in his hands.
"Follow me."
They headed straight to the firing range on the first floor.
When the staff saw their boss, they immediately greeted him.
Howard ignored them and ordered an assistant to bring over 7.62mm rounds.
Then the test began.
Single-shot.
Full-auto.
Close-range.
Long-range.
He tried everything.
From the feel alone, it was already a fine weapon.
Following Ryden's earlier words, Howard tossed the rifle straight into a water tank.
Five minutes later, he pulled it out.
Rat-tat-tat!
The gun fired smoothly. No barrel explosion. No jamming. Accuracy barely dropped.
After firing over two hundred rounds, Howard finally set the rifle down.
Admiration flickered in his eyes.
With this weapon, he was confident he could secure that military contract.
"Excellent. Jarvis, you try it."
He tossed the rifle to a middle-aged man who had appeared behind him at some point.
His meticulous demeanor carried the unmistakable air of a British butler.
At his master's command, Jarvis picked up the rifle and began testing it.
Ryden said nothing.
He simply watched.
True gold didn't fear fire.
Some of the parts had been polished in a hardware store, but the dimensions were standard. Theoretically, it could fully achieve the advantages of the AK-47.
He'd tested it himself.
Only a good weapon justified negotiations.
If the product wasn't good, what was there to talk about? Life? Dreams?
Jarvis eventually put the rifle down.
"Sir, the feel of this rifle is excellent," he said. "The effective range is about three hundred meters. Beyond that, accuracy drops significantly."
"In full-auto mode, the recoil is smaller than a light machine gun. Further testing is required for the rest."
"Excellent, Jarvis. Continue the tests."
Howard turned to Ryden, eyes gleaming.
"Ryden, was it? I knew my nephew Ryden was a genius. Come on. Let's talk properly in my office."
He patted Ryden's shoulder enthusiastically, not forgetting to take verbal advantage before leaving.
The way he walked-light and springy-made it obvious.
He was gloating.
At their first meeting, Ryden came to a simple conclusion.
Like father, like son.
Just like Tony Stark, Howard Stark wasn't much better.
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