Negotiate? Nah..
4 days Later
Niklaus Vought entered Stark Industries headquarters with quiet confidence, his teenage appearance contrasting sharply with the power and influence he held.
He moved through the building like he owned it—because soon enough, he would.
As Niklaus approached the office of Obadiah Stane, he didn't bother with pleasantries.
He walked straight in.
Stane, a man who had been the sole caretaker of the Stark Industries after Howard stark, was caught slightly off guard by the sudden entrance, but his surprise quickly turned into a warm, almost nervous smile when he realized who his guest was.
"Mr. Vought," Stane said with a forced smile, standing up to greet him. "To what do I owe this honor?"
Niklaus wasted no time with pleasantries.
His eyes locked onto Stane's with an intensity that made the older man freeze in place.
"I'm here for business, Obadiah," Niklaus said, his voice smooth and authoritative.
"I want 75% of the shares you own in Stark Industries. I've already secured 15% from other shareholders. The rest will fall into place."
Stane blinked, taken aback.
He forced a chuckle, trying to regain his composure at the obviously preposterous offer. "That's quite the offer, Mr. Vought, but Stark Industries—"
Before Stane could finish his sentence, Niklaus's eyes gleamed with an eerie glow.
The compulsion flowed from him effortlessly, subtle but overwhelming.
Stane's words died in his throat as his mind was seized by Niklaus's will.
His body stiffened, his hands gripping the edge of his desk as if trying to hold onto something real in the face of this unseen force.
"I'm not here to ask for permission, Obadiah," Niklaus said, his tone calm yet firm. "You will sell me your shares. This is not a negotiation. You have no choice in the matter."
Stane's mouth opened slightly, but no words came out.
His mind, dominated by Niklaus's compulsion, couldn't form any resistance.
A bead of sweat rolled down his temple as his thoughts bent and twisted to fit the reality Niklaus was shaping around him.
All his pride, his ambition, his loyalty to Stark Industries—none of it mattered anymore.
"You will sell," Niklaus repeated, his voice a quiet command that echoed through Stane's consciousness.
"Yes, Mr. Vought," Stane mumbled, the words leaving his mouth without hesitation.
His voice was shaky but obedient, his eyes blank as the compulsion took full effect. "I'll sell you my shares."
Niklaus released his mental grip slightly, allowing Stane to regain some semblance of his composure.
Stane blinked rapidly, his mind clearing, but the effects of the compulsion still lingered in the corners of his thoughts.
He stood straighter, though his demeanor had shifted entirely.
The powerful, self-assured businessman was gone, replaced by someone deferential, almost servile.
"Good," Niklaus said, turning toward the door. "I expect the paperwork on my desk within the week."
"Of course, Mr. Vought," Stane responded quickly, his tone filled with unnatural courtesy. "I'll handle it personally."
---
In a hidden chamber beneath the streets of New York, the five fingers of The Hand gathered.
Each member sat at their stone seats, faces carved in shadowy determination.
The weight of their most recent concern hung over them like a storm.
Madame Gao was the first to speak, her voice calm but with an edge of unease.
"Homelander," she said, the name bringing an uncomfortable silence to the group.
The others exchanged glances. Bakuto leaned forward slightly. "I've heard whispers, but only of his… more theatrical appearances. What is it exactly that brings his name to our table, Gao?"
Gao exhaled softly. "Three nights ago, he was at the docks. I was overseeing an important transaction when I sensed him. Floating above, surveying the area."
Murakami's brow furrowed. "And he didn't attack?"
"No," Gao replied. "He simply observed. Our eyes met briefly before he disappeared into the sky."
There was a noticable tension in the room.
Homelander was known for his immense power and unpredictable appearance.
He wasn't someone who intervened on small matters, which made his interest in The Hand deeply concerning.
"What do we know about him?" Alexandra asked, her fingers tapping softly on the stone table.
"His actions are erratic. One day, he's rescuing innocents from a natural disaster; the next, he's out killing Kim Jong-il live, what makes him show interest in us?"
Bakuto shook his head. "We don't know enough about him. He's a ghost to the criminal world, appearing only when something catastrophic happens. He isn't like the heroes we've seen in the past.Homelander is something else entirely."
"He's a weapon," Murakami grunted. "But a weapon without a clear purpose. If he's not involved with the government directly, then what drives him?"
Gao's eyes narrowed. "That's the problem. He doesn't seem to have an agenda. His interference is random—sometimes for show, sometimes to make a statement. But whatever the reason, it's always on a large scale."
Sowande, quiet until now, finally spoke. "And yet, he spared you, Gao. If he was truly interested in The Hand, he would have acted. Perhaps… he sees us as insignificant. Beneath his notice."
"Or he's testing us," Alexandra countered. "He's unpredictable. We can't assume that we're safe just because he left us alone this time."
Murakami crossed his arms. "He's too powerful to engage directly. We can't take the risk of drawing his attention again. If he wants large-scale events, we keep our operations small and beneath his radar."
Bakuto nodded in agreement. "Our usual approach—stealth, subtlety—this must continue. The last thing we want is to provoke him."
Gao frowned. "I don't believe he will attack us unless he sees a reason. For now, we keep our heads low, but we must remain vigilant. If Homelander becomes a more immediate threat, we must be prepared."
"And if he does?" Alexandra asked, raising an eyebrow. "How do we plan for someome like him a force of nature?"
Gao looked around the table, her voice steady. "We don't engage him unless absolutely necessary. We are not in the business of fighting gods. Let him focus on his grand gestures. We remain in the shadows, as we always have."
The others nodded in agreement, though the unease lingered.
"Homelander's actions are hard to track," Bakuto reminded them. "But so long as we remain beneath his notice, we should be safe."
Sowande, the last to speak, echoed Gao's sentiment. "We will continue as we have always done. If he comes for us, we vanish."
As the fingers of the Hand were about to scatter with the meeting coming to an end, an oppressive presence filled the room.
Their heightened senses sharpened, catching the faint clicking of heels echoing from the hallway.
The rhythm was methodical.
They glanced at each other, unease settling in.
"Who's there?" murmured Gao, her voice low with unease.
The ninjas stationed as guards responded instantly, moving to intercept the intruder.
The silence was abruptly shattered by the sickening sound of flesh melting, followed by the stench of burning stone.
The elite warriors who had defended the Hand for centuries crumbled in mere seconds, their bodies reduced to twisted, molten forms.
The fingers of the Hand recoiled in shock.
They all felt the urge to flee, to disappear into the shadows that had protected them for so long.
But the moment they prepared to escape, the walls aroind them began to crack.
Lava, glowing and alive, oozed through the walls, creating an unnatural barrier that closed off their exit.
The temperature in the room rose rapidly, filling the air with heat .
The wall to the hallway collapsed in a torrent of molten stone, and from the destruction emerged a woman.
Her red hair was short and neatly cut, framing a face that betrayed no emotion.
She wore a long black coat that fluttered slightly as she walked, beneath it a pristine white shirt with a loosely tied black tie.
Her expression was calm, almost unnervingly so, as if the destruction she wrought was insignificant.
One of the fingers of the Hand, Alexandra, stepped forward, trying to mask her fear with a façade of composure. "Who are you?" she demanded, though her voice quivered slightly.
The woman's eyes met hers, and she smiled faintly, but there was no kindness in it. "Hmmm you don't to know," she said, her voice firm and unnerving.
"I'm here on behalf of someone who has grown tired of your games."
The remaining members of the Hand exchanged uneasy glances. Gao clenched her jaw as Alexandra spoke again, more forcefully. "What business do you have with us?"
Ashley's smile widened just slightly, her presence dominating the room as the molten lava continued to flow at her feet, bending to her will. "Homelander," she said simply, her words carrying an unmistakable weight.
"He doesn't care about your petty schemes or your underground battles. But he's not blind to them either. And now? Now he's decided it's time for some… changes."
The mention of Homelander sent a chill down their spines.
While the Hand had always believed that Homelander would never care about their dealings, they would'venever imagined him having a subordinate of this level.
The room's atmosphere grew heavy with the weight of what Ashley represented—Homelander's unyielding will and his growing impatience with those who operated beneath the radar.
Gao took a deep breath, trying to muster her courage. "You think you can just walk in here and threaten us? The Hand has survived worse than you."
Ashley stepped forward, her calm demeanor never wavering. "I'm not here to threaten. I'm here to inform you that things are going to change. Homelander doesn't ask twice. And neither do I." She glanced around at the room, her gaze sweeping over each member of the Hand. "You will fall in line."
"In fact you should rejoice that you are capable to serve some purpose for him becuae it is for that very purpose he's going to let you cling to your lives For now"
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Stones and Reviews please