Chapter Fifty-Nine: The Hex Research Institute Under the Clock Tower

When Yang Qiu returned home, Tony Stark’s press conference had already concluded, and the news of the imminent closure of Stark Industries’ International Weapons Manufacturing and Research Division was spreading fast. Now, as Yang Qiu turned on the television, almost every channel was discussing this event.

One had to admit, some news outlets were remarkably quick to jump on trending topics. With so little time to compose official reports, they used the opportunity to let their imaginations run wild under this headline, uttering comments that could truly wound the heart.

Some claimed that Tony Stark’s mind had been broken during his recent ordeal, and that this was why he chose to shut down the weapons division. Others called him a coward, frightened by his own inventions. In short, there was every kind of speculation except genuine concern for Stark’s injuries or the reasons he gave for the closure.

Under normal circumstances, public opinion wouldn’t be so one-sided. Stark Industries’ PR department wasn’t there for nothing—an enterprise of this magnitude would have friendly media contacts. But this time, someone who hated Tony more than any outsider was pulling strings in the shadows, deliberately delaying the PR department’s response, bribing various media, and quietly fanning the flames.

Having seen the original timeline, Yang Qiu found this culprit obvious: one of Tony’s “right-hand men”—Obadiah Stane.

Tony’s disappearance in the Middle East was closely tied to this man as well. The reason was simple: pure conflict of interest. As long as Tony Stark lived, he was seen by the outside world as the undisputed head of Stark Industries. Even though Tony didn’t have absolute control, and some key departments were out of his hands, most people still believed as much.

This perception owed not only to Tony’s flamboyance and extraordinary intellect, but also to the company’s very name—Stark Industries—founded by Howard Stark, Tony’s father.

Over the years, Stane had acquired wealth and status, but now he wanted total control of the company, to the point of renaming it after himself.

To achieve that, Tony Stark had to die. But before that, Stane needed to obtain a technology that would ensure Stark Industries’ dominance for a lifetime. Otherwise, without Tony Stark, the company’s standing would quickly plummet.

And that technology had now emerged: Tony’s miniature arc reactor. This was an extremely dangerous innovation, capable of shaking America’s oil-dependent hegemony. Had Tony not been a typical white American, with a powerful network inherited from his late father, he would, as an ordinary man, have faced only two outcomes: disappearance, or a staged suicide—with the bullet wound likely in his back.

Yang Qiu’s next plot was already set to revolve around this miniature arc reactor. If the world of the supernatural truly lacked any technology or sci-fi artifacts, it would hardly be a flourishing scene.

Outside the Stark Industries headquarters in New York, a crowd of reporters had gathered, disrupting normal business operations.

Pepper, under the protection of bodyguards, made her way through the throng without saying a word. Personally, she admired Tony’s decision, but she was also more acutely aware of the impact it would have on the company, and she was better at holding her tongue—her silence was part of her professional discipline.

Once inside the lobby, the uninvited reporters were finally barred by the doors, and Pepper breathed a sigh of relief, finally feeling a little calmer.

At that moment, a woman approached and whispered in Pepper’s ear, “Ms. Potts, there’s someone waiting for you in the guest lounge—he looks like a government agent. He says he wants to see Mr. Stark. What do you think...?”

Pepper rubbed her temples. Another government agent? How many had there been already? Still, since she’d met with others, it wouldn’t be appropriate to refuse this one.

“Take him to my office to wait. I’ll be there shortly.”

With that, Pepper strode off—she had to stop by the PR department first. She was among the first to sense that something was amiss there, but the department head had just been hospitalized yesterday, so she couldn’t easily make a scene.

Nearly half an hour later, after a protracted and fruitless discussion with the acting head of PR, Pepper, exhausted, entered her own office.

The moment she pushed open the door, she saw a man slouched in a chair. Hearing the door, the man slowly spun his seat halfway around and, propping his chin on his right hand, looked askance at Pepper—a look she found all too familiar.

After a moment’s thought, Pepper realized why. Tony sometimes regarded his engineers with that same expression, as if silently asking how they could be so clueless about something so simple.

Accustomed to such looks, Pepper took her seat.

Jace let out a long sigh and, with obvious reluctance, fished a business card from his pocket and tossed it onto the desk. “I’m a researcher with the Hex Technology Institute, under the Clock Tower.”

Clock Tower? Hex Technology?

What in the world was that?

Pepper was full of questions, but the name suggested some kind of research institute. Whether it was government-affiliated, she couldn’t be sure—America had a sea of hidden agencies.

“CIA, FBI, the Supernatural Rapid Response Unit, and the Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement and Logistics Division have all been here already. Whatever you need, they probably have the information. I suggest you have your superiors contact them directly.” Pepper tucked the card into a folder and spoke coolly.

“I have no desire to deal with those people. It’s a waste of my time,” replied Jace.

Pepper paused. She sensed that by ‘waste of time,’ Jace wasn’t referring to liaising with other intelligence agencies, but rather to dealing with his own superiors. In this, he was uncannily like Tony.

“I’m here to see Tony Stark. He invented some sort of miniature reactor, right...?” Jace began, but was swiftly interrupted.

“That’s my company’s top secret and personal intellectual property. Sorry, I can’t provide any information. Someone, please escort this gentleman out. I have work to do.”

Pepper delivered the line with practiced ease and called for assistance.

Jace stood, shrugged indifferently, as if he hardly cared whether he saw Tony Stark or not—it was merely a formality. “As you wish. Let me warn you, though: someone else has their eye on this technology, and they won’t be as polite as I am.”

As Jace spoke, his expression turned uncharacteristically grave. Evidently, whoever coveted the arc reactor ranked high even in his estimation.