Obadiah hadn't mentioned purchasing Daisy's design—not once. For one, he figured she'd never sell it. For another, Stark Industries was hemorrhaging cash right now—assets everywhere, almost no liquidity. A technology acquisition at this level would cost an astronomical sum, and nobody involved was naive enough to pretend otherwise.
His plan had been simple: let Dr. William absorb it through observation. The original five-meter installation had completely stumped Dr. William. But he'd just watched Daisy build two reactors right in front of him over fifteen days. Surely something had clicked.
Dr. William's next words knocked the wind out of him.
"There are still many technical obstacles I couldn't work out. I don't understand how she solved them..."
To prove he hadn't been idle, the doctor held up his notebook—dense with data, written front to back, a full volume of notes.
Obadiah stared at him in pure disbelief. He bit down on his molars and spoke each word like a separate sentence. "You. Spent. Fifteen. Days. With her. The finished product is sitting right there. And you're telling me you still don't understand it?"
At 5'3" (160 cm), the doctor had just been sprayed with spittle by a man nearly a foot taller, but he didn't dare wipe his face. Trembling, he answered, "Daisy Johnson is an exceptionally talented quantum physicist. The academic world hasn't formally recognized her as a leading authority yet, but that's only a matter of time—"
Obadiah cut him off with a wave. "I don't care what field she leads. Can you replicate it or not?"
Dr. William flipped through his notes, thought it over, and finally shook his head. "Too many things I still can't account for. I can't do it."
Aware of Obadiah's rising fury, he added quickly, "Tony Stark, Daisy Johnson—they're geniuses. I'm not. I don't think the way they do. I'd need more time..."
Obadiah breathed in slowly. Breathed out. He had a very specific urge to wrap his hands around this man's throat.
He didn't act on it.
Because Dr. William was still the best scientist he had. The man could make sense of fifty or sixty percent of Daisy's design. The rest of the staff couldn't crack thirty percent.
No matter how infuriating, Obadiah had to accept that there was a distance between genius and everyone else—and it couldn't be wished away.
"If the power problem's handled, then the suit's drive systems and firepower need to be upgraded." He didn't give the doctor a chance to push back. "Keep working on the energy side—I want results. And the armor needs a full overhaul. Iron Monger was 1.0. Iron Tyrant is 2.0. Start on it."
———
Daisy had no idea how much quiet trouble she'd caused. The parts Dr. William couldn't decipher were precisely the sections she'd stabilized through her ability—seamlessly woven into the structure, invisible from the outside. Nothing on the surface suggested anything unusual.
The two reactors were functionally identical. Once the supercomputer installation finished, it would have its own dedicated power source.
Hardware installation and the property search would both take time. Daisy used the gap to attend the preview screening of Saving Private Ryan.
Happy—her stocky bodyguard turned director—had always had a genuine passion for film. He'd gone completely off the grid during production, only learning about Stark's kidnapping after he'd wrapped. Three months later, Stark escaped on his own.
Stark took it in stride. He didn't hold grudges. He'd laughed it off and even offered to appear in Happy's next film.
Skye Entertainment wasn't a newcomer anymore. As the company expanded, someone in upper management quietly suggested they start following industry conventions—hold a proper preview screening, stop standing out as the odd one in the room.
James Wesley, the company's acting manager, was essentially a man who'd made his career selling laundry detergent. He had no idea what the unspoken rules of the film world were. He thought it over, checked with Daisy, and agreed without protest.
The premiere wasn't small. Between the Ice Bucket Challenge and everything since, Daisy had enough of a public profile to pull in real media attention. Saving Private Ryan was heavy with patriotic undertones—enough to bring outlets on board, and enough cash in the press packets to make entertainment journalists suddenly forgive Skye Entertainment's past transgressions.
Happy's direction had grown sharper with each project. John Garrett played Lieutenant Miller—an old field operative in his natural element, inhabiting the role of a war-weary soldier with quiet, controlled devastation. The trembling hands, the exhaustion behind the eyes—his performance made the helplessness of combat feel physical.
The film opened with the Normandy landing. Assembled media and critics barely had time to register what they were watching before men started dying by the boatload. The footage was deliberately chaotic—no clear protagonist, just carnage. Soldiers dragging themselves across the sand with their insides hanging out. Others missing limbs. The water was stained red. The kind of imagery that made the stomach clench and the throat tighten.
They were skilled operators who never got to do anything before a single bullet took them down. Each of them was a person who might have had dreams, a family, someone waiting at home—reduced to bodies on a beachhead before they'd fired a shot.
The brutality kept every eye fixed on the screen.
"You're anti-war, aren't you?"
Happy had quietly retreated to the back rows. Now Tony Stark had settled into the empty seat beside Daisy, half-watching the screen, the question coming out like something he'd said to himself.
"I'm against war. But I'm not afraid of it." A pause—she could hear how that landed. "I'd rather avoid it when there's a choice."
"Then why did you help Obadiah build an arc reactor?" His expression had gone serious.
Daisy wasn't rattled. The supercomputer deal had been too significant to hide, and she'd never tried. Obadiah had waived everything—the initial down payment, installation, shipping, a dozen other line items. Far too substantial to stay quiet about.
She tilted her head, genuinely puzzled. "Is there a problem with that? It saved me money. I don't see any reason I should've turned it down."
That left Stark with nothing. His conflict with Obadiah was still confined to the weapons dealing—still buried beneath the surface. Pepper and Happy didn't even know the details yet. He had no legitimate grounds to reproach Daisy.
He was still annoyed. He dropped his voice. "That technology came from my father's research. What you did was theft."
Daisy's eyes flicked aside, and she gave a small, knowing smile. "I see. So Obadiah showed you the reactor. Smart old man—I'd guess he understood most of it but not the critical parts. He wanted to play on your temperament and get you to explain the missing parts. Am I right?"
Stark's voice stayed flat. "What you built is crude. Anyone can see that at a glance."
Daisy looked him over from head to toe. There was still faint bruising around his forehead—better than when he'd first come back, but it hadn't fully faded.
"There are a few parameters in that reactor you don't fully understand either. I'm not wrong, am I?"