บท 7: Chapter 7 Stark Industries!

A seven-story building on Brinlin Street in downtown New York lights up with flashing neon signs reading "Stark Industries." Unlike the towering skyscrapers of the 21st century, this Stark Industries building reflects the company's early days, when its founder, Howard Stark, was just 37 and had recently left the Academy of Sciences to start his own business.

The street has a retro vibe, making Mark feel like he's stepped back in time. The cars are old-fashioned, large sedans with boxy designs, a far cry from the sleek, streamlined vehicles of later decades.

"Hello, I'm here to see Mr. Howard Stark. Please let him know that Mark, a former student of Jiang Wanshan, is here to discuss an important matter regarding weapons cooperation. I'd appreciate it if you could pass the message along. Thank you, beautiful lady!" Mark said, with a polite smile, to the receptionist on the first floor.

"Sure, just a moment. What's your name?" the cheerful receptionist responded. Finding a job was tough in these times, and she was happy to help, especially since the person in front of her was a handsome young man with good manners.

"Mark. Sorry for the trouble, lovely sister," he replied smoothly, with the practiced charm of someone who knew how to win people over.

The receptionist dialed the phone to contact Howard. "Hello, sir. There's a young man named Mark, the son of Mr. Jiang Wanshan, here to discuss a potential weapons collaboration."

Howard, who was in the middle of a flirtatious moment with his secretary, was annoyed when the phone rang. The ringing startled the secretary, causing her to flee the room, her face flushed.

"Damn it! This better be important, or I'll fire whoever interrupted me!" Howard barked in frustration.

"What? Mark? Never heard of him. Wait, did you say Jiang Wanshan? That old stubborn fool! Weapons collaboration? Let me think... Ah, yes, Eve, that little scientist who loves blowing things up! Haha! Send him up!" Howard's mood shifted as he recalled the past.

The receptionist was relieved, glad that she hadn't caused any major trouble by interrupting Howard. She smiled at Mark and said, "Mr. Stark will see you now. Please, go right up."

Mark took the old-fashioned elevator up to the seventh floor. After a brief wait, he entered Howard's office. The man sitting behind the desk was a middle-aged figure with a well-groomed beard and a somewhat roguish charm. His demeanor exuded confidence, with an air of mischief that likely endeared him to many women.

"So, you're the kid looking for me, huh? Looks like you've survived, which is a miracle considering your last explosion didn't blow you up. Now, tell me, what kind of project are we talking about? If it's just a social call, sorry, I don't have time for that—especially not with a pyromaniac like you. Who knows, you might blow up my office next!" Howard teased, his tone full of sarcasm and his sharp sense of humor on display.

Mark wasn't fazed. He knew he was only here because of the respect Howard had for his late father, whom Mark had never met and would never see again. Howard's business might still be growing, but not just anyone could get an audience with him.

Mark opened his backpack and began to pull out various parts, methodically assembling them in front of Howard. The clinking and snapping of metal parts coming together filled the room. Howard, intrigued, watched closely as the young man assembled the pieces into a recognizable firearm.

In less than half a minute, Mark placed an AK-47 assault rifle, about 80 centimeters long, on the table in front of Howard.

"Is this what you meant by weapons collaboration?" Howard asked, his interest piqued.

As an engineer with deep knowledge of firearms, Howard recognized the simplicity and effectiveness of the weapon's design but was unsure of its actual performance. If it was as good as it seemed, it could outperform many of the contemporary firearms.

"This is the AK series weapon, designed by me. This model is the latest AK-47. It's easy to assemble and maintain and can function in extreme environments—whether submerged in water or exposed to desert conditions, it won't jam. It uses 7.62mm rounds. Try it for yourself and see. Most importantly, it's cheap and can be mass-produced," Mark explained, calmly introducing this revolutionary weapon.

Howard, intrigued, picked up the AK-47 and examined it closely. "Come with me," he said.

The two went down to the shooting range on the first floor. The staff greeted Howard with respectful nods, but he paid them little mind. He had his assistant bring over some 7.62mm rounds to test the rifle.

Single shots, bursts, close-range, long-range—Howard tested the weapon under various conditions. He even tossed the rifle into a pool, left it there for five minutes, and then retrieved it. After shaking off the water, he fired it again without any malfunctions. The accuracy held, and the weapon didn't jam once.

Howard fired over 200 rounds before putting the rifle down, clearly impressed. With this kind of weapon, securing military contracts would be much easier. "Very good. J.A.R.V.I.S., give it a try."

A meticulous man who had been silently observing from the background took the rifle and ran his own tests. After a few minutes, he reported, "Sir, this rifle handles well. Its effective range is around 300 meters, with accuracy dropping slightly beyond that. In burst mode, the recoil is smaller than expected. Further tests are needed for more precise details."

"Excellent. J.A.R.V.I.S., continue testing the rifle. Yves, I always knew you were a genius! Let's go back to my office and talk business," Howard said, patting Mark on the shoulder.

As they returned to Howard's office, Mark couldn't help but notice how similar Howard was to his future son, Tony. Both father and son had that same eccentric charm, and both were geniuses in their own right.