I'm The King of Business & Technology in the Modern World

Fort Hanley, 48 Hours Later

The war room was quiet—too quiet.

Matthew sat at the edge of the table, fingers steepled, gaze fixed on the large screen mounted on the wall. Angel sat beside him, arms crossed, a cup of black coffee in hand. Dr. Vasquez, Daniel, and Watanabe were nearby, each feigning calm in their own way—scrolling through diagnostics, pretending to check equipment, occasionally glancing at the countdown clock on the screen.

00:03:26

00:03:25

00:03:24

Three minutes left.

Forty-eight hours had come and gone. They were now in the final seconds.

Angel took a sip of her coffee. "Think they'll ghost us?" she muttered, half-joking.

Matthew smirked, eyes still on the screen. "Not a chance. The only reason they'd stall is if someone higher up wants to be the one delivering the answer."

"You mean… Washington?" Daniel asked, glancing over.

Matthew nodded once. "Probably someone with more stars on their collar. Or someone with a seat in the Situation Room."

The screen suddenly blinked.

"Incoming secure transmission," the system read.

Everyone fell silent.

Angel straightened, setting down her coffee.

The screen split, revealing the Pentagon's secure communications feed. Seated in a formal meeting room on the other side were General Reed, Colonel Reynolds, the same Pentagon officials from before—and one new face.

A woman in a charcoal gray blazer, with short silver hair and a steely gaze. Behind her, the seal of the U.S. Department of Defense.

Angel's brows rose slightly. "She wasn't there before."

Matthew's lips pressed into a thin line. "That's the Secretary of Defense."

The woman leaned forward.

"Mr. Borja," she said. "I'm Secretary Anne Porter. I've reviewed your proposal. I've reviewed your product. And I've reviewed your demonstration."

Matthew nodded once. "Secretary."

She didn't blink. "Let me be clear. We don't move lightly on deals of this scale. What you've built… this Titan Mk-I—it's not just military tech. It's strategic leverage. Global leverage."

Angel shifted slightly in her seat, listening closely.

Secretary Porter continued. "We've concluded internal deliberations. The President has been briefed. And we're prepared to proceed."

Everyone at the table stiffened.

General Reed took over, his tone formal but satisfied. "The Department of Defense officially accepts your terms: 500 units over the next ten years, a $37.5 billion contract, full funding for your production expansion, and exclusive rights to the Titan Mk-I platform for the duration of the agreement."

The room held its breath.

Angel blinked. "That's… everything."

Secretary Porter wasn't done.

"In addition to the terms already outlined," she said, "the President has authorized the formation of a joint oversight council to work directly with Sentinel BioTech on ethical, operational, and tactical integration strategies."

Matthew raised an eyebrow. "A council?"

"It's not just about oversight," Porter clarified. "It's about collaboration. This technology changes warfare—but it also changes responsibility. We don't want another Manhattan Project with no controls."

Angel nodded slowly. "Checks and balances."

"Exactly."

Matthew leaned back. "Fair enough."

Secretary Porter glanced off-screen, then back. "Expect the contract to arrive within the hour. We'll arrange for immediate transfer of the first funding installment—$3.75 billion—to your corporate account. The remainder will follow per delivery milestones."

General Reed smirked slightly. "Welcome to the future, Mr. Borja."

Matthew offered a small smile. "Happy to build it with you."

The screen blinked off.

Silence filled the room for a few seconds.

Then Daniel let out a long breath. "That's it? We're locked in?"

Angel sat back, eyes wide. "They really did it."

Dr. Watanabe chuckled. "I feel like I should be popping champagne."

Matthew stood slowly, smoothing the front of his suit. "Get used to it," he said. "This is just the beginning."

Angel stood too, watching him. "What now?"

Matthew turned to her. "Now?"

He looked out the narrow hangar window, toward the rising sun beyond the runway.

"Now we build an army."

—

That evening, Matthew stood alone in the private office the military had assigned him. He'd just gotten off a call with his finance team—confirmation had come through. The first payment from the U.S. government was already in their accounts.

Billions. With a 'B'.

But the number didn't excite him as much as the implications.

With that kind of capital, they could scale globally. Manufacture Titan Mk-I units at an industrial pace. Begin R&D for the Mk-II. Integrate with unmanned drones. Push the neural sync tech into civilian applications. Even rewrite medical prosthetics.

He walked over to the desk and tapped on his laptop.

Production contracts. Logistics chains. Hiring protocols. It was all there.

A soft knock came from the door.

"Come in," he called.

Angel stepped inside, holding two glasses and a bottle of bourbon.

"I figured this is one of those nights," she said.

Matthew smiled. "You figured right."

She poured them each a glass, handed him one, and clinked it against his.

"To the future," Angel said.

Matthew smirked. "To domination."

They drank.

For a moment, they said nothing.

Then Angel asked, "You ever think about how far you've come? From a lab concept… to this?"

Matthew stared into his glass. "Every day."

She tilted her head. "And?"

He looked up, that same confident glint in his eyes.

"We're not done."

Outside, the base hummed quietly.

But inside that room, Matthew Borja was already plotting his next move.

And the world?

The world would never be the same.

The next morning, the base was already buzzing before sunrise.

Cargo manifests were being finalized. A secure hangar had been assigned as the new U.S. assembly zone for Titan Mk-I units. Armed escorts watched over every truck and container, while Sentinel BioTech's engineers coordinated directly with military logistics officers.

Matthew stood on the tarmac, a tablet in hand, watching it all unfold with quiet focus. Behind him, Angel approached, sipping her coffee, the breeze tugging slightly at her coat.

"Production lines are greenlit," she said. "Recruiters are already flying out to scout advanced manufacturing specialists."

Matthew didn't take his eyes off the movement around him. "Good. We'll need the first ten units ready within the quarter."

Angel raised an eyebrow. "And after that?"

He glanced at her, the hint of a smirk returning. "After that, we redefine warfare."