Two years passed quietly,
Eden had conquered every aspect of life, from house holds to commercial sectors.
It had reshaped routine.
What began as sleek curiosity became habit. Then habit became normal.
Now, in every city from Seoul to São Paulo, people wore their Prayers on their wrists like jewelry ordained by design. The devices flickered to life with the faintest gesture. Without the need for taps or buttons, they became the trend. Transparent displays bloomed softly above the wrist like digital incense. Some spoke quietly into them during morning commutes, others scrolled maps mid stride, light trailing from fingertips as they adjusted settings or accepted encrypted calls.
In Paris, a teenager leaned against the rail of a metro platform, whispering into his Prayer One: Pearl. The hologram projected a shared canvas, he and his friend, two stations away, doodling nonsense onto the same holographic page. In Lagos, a mother used her Prayer Light: Onyx to monitor her daughter's glucose levels while preparing dinner, holographic heat warnings pulsing gently as her pot threatened to boil over.
The devices were the tech, familiarity and comfort people needed.
Eden's vehicles came next.
The Abraham series threaded through traffic like urban ghosts, silent, smooth, aware. Their sensors adjusted to mood lighting, playing soft music when heart rates spiked, opening windows when carbon levels rose, locking automatically when stress signatures read fear.
Police units in Chicago had replaced over forty percent of their patrol fleet with Abraham Judahs, sleek, dark, and untouchable. AI copilots scanned license plates in real time, ran soft biometric reads through tinted windows, and offered de escalation suggestions through earpieces before officers even reached the scene.
In Mumbai, an Elijah Cedar weaved effortlessly through a flood zone, its undercarriage pumping heat to dry the cabin. A family of five huddled inside, staring in awe as their borrowed vehicle adapted to a disaster like it had anticipated it.
The Sinai variant had already been adopted by elite tactical teams in South Africa and Poland. They didn't call them cars anymore. They called them Commandants.
Then there was Azazel.
Rare. Shadow wrapped. Rumored more than seen.
A convoy of Azazel Cherubs deployed once in Congo during a disputed oil conflict. Night footage later leaked online, thermal images of vehicles vaulting over embankments, disarming threats with AI assisted targeting, dragging hostiles off screen like silent wolves.
In rural stretches of Canada and eastern China, the skies were dotted with drones. Zebulun models hovered low across wheat fields and rice paddies, spraying measured nutrients, adjusting for soil chemistry on the fly. Farmers no longer walked their land. They read it, data streamed in real time to tablets shaped like slate, developed by Eden's Agronomic Division.
A farmer in Nebraska used to rise before dawn. Now he rose at seven, checked the moisture levels through his Prayer One, and let Zebulun do the rest. Some called it laziness.
He called it peace.
Uriel, the tiny guardian, became standard issue for firefighters in Tokyo and Madrid. They hovered into collapsed buildings, mapping safe paths in real time. At one scene, a child's voice was found not by a team, but by a whisper from Uriel's AI, highlighting the heat signature behind a failing wall.
Gabriel, on the other hand, became the new paramedic and shipping tool through cities.
Cargo companies were having the best time of their recorded history. Packages were being tagged and identified through their systems and Gabriel simply took them from warehouses and transport them to their addresses. Hospitals in Tel Aviv, Atlanta, and Seoul deployed them for emergency deliveries, medications, blood packets, transplant organs. They flew silently, guided by encrypted routes. One never made the news when it delivered a human heart across downtown under three minutes.
But the family remembered.
They would always remember.
It no longer mattered how Eden worked.
Only that it did.
Every street, every farm, every emergency had begun to echo the shape of one man's design. Markus was rewriting industries and daily life with his instruments.
Most didn't notice. Because that's how inevitability moves.
Not everyone welcomed the new world though.
Governments noticed too late. By the time Eden's products had embedded themselves in the arteries of modern life, traditional oversight systems had become irrelevant.
It started subtly.
A foreign minister in London proposed a regulation bill on Eden's AI vehicles. It died in committee before reaching Parliament. A senator in Washington pushed for antitrust investigations, his campaign lost funding within days, his political party quietly distanced itself by the end of the month.
In boardrooms and policy circles, the anxiety was palatable.
A private G7 summit in Geneva included an unscheduled 90 minute closed session titled: "Containment Strategies for Private Sovereigns." The term wasn't academic.
It was a quiet acknowledgment.
Markus didn't just own Eden. He was Eden.
There were no shareholders, no subsidiaries carved out for public investment. No IPO filings. Every product, every patent, every line of Eden's endless innovations flowed into a single vertical empire.
100% owned and controlled.
And the numbers reflected it.
In just two years, Eden's net revenue hit $2.1 trillion globally, placing it above the GDP of nations like Italy or Brazil. Its profit margins sat steady at 38%, unheard of for a manufacturing and tech conglomerate of its size.
Its largest divisions:
Eden Automotive $410 billion
Eden Electronics (Prayer Series): $520 billion
Eden Aerial Logistics (Drones & Infrastructure): $730 billion
Eden Agronomic Systems $300 billion
Eden Armaments $1.7 trillion
Eden Software Solutions $450 billion
All the R&D was made behind closed doors by Onyx and Markus. All of the factories were managed by AIs governed by Onyx, they simply produced basic parts. Important ones were created by Markus in bulks using Reality Domination. Human Resources were merely to appease the world.
These numbers didn't fluctuate wildly.
They grew calmly, steadily, and there was no predictable end to them.
Central banks adjusted quietly. Currency baskets were revised to include Eden backed credits in predictive modeling.
The IMF added Eden to its "Systemic Entities to Monitor" list. Normally reserved for nation, states and oil cartels. A leaked internal memo from the European Commission read:
"Eden is not a company. It is a planetary infrastructure layer. Suggest adapting our terminology accordingly."
Stock markets were the only ones to panic openly.
Tech sectors crumbled under Eden's weight. Apple's market share dropped 33%. Samsung 31%. Xiaomi filed for a merger. Amazon, after failing to license Eden's courier drones, closed 42 distribution centers in North America alone.
No Eden stock was available. Yet demand to buy in had reached insane levels.
Private equity firms pooled together billions just to offer Markus a seat at global investment summits.
He declined all invitations.
Not out of arrogance, it was irrelevant for him.
The White House issued a formal statement requesting "cooperative transparency" with Eden. Markus replied with silence.
In Beijing, analysts described Eden's dominance as "post capitalist sovereignty."
Without borders or flags only with products and precision Markus become a sovereign.
Eventually, the pressure mounted too high to ignore.
Governments sent envoys. Organizations issued formal letters. Economic forums requested dialogue. They framed it as diplomacy, but it was veiled coercion.
Too many systems had grown too dependent.
And Markus responded. with a simple press release.
Just a single message, quietly delivered through Eden's global network, distributed simultaneously to every head of state, major corporation, and regulatory body.
"If Eden becomes more trouble than it's worth, I will dissolve every division and liquidate all assets. I will convert the entirety of my wealth into physical form and keep it under lock, outside your reach, and outside your systems. I do not need your infrastructure. You need mine."
The statement sent shockwaves through every hall of power.
It was a threat dressed in reason.
Eden's total valuation was estimated at $9.3 trillion.
Liquidating that value, turning it into cash, gold, rare earth elements, or other tangible stores would mean absorbing a significant portion of the world's capital. It would crash global liquidity markets. Currencies would destabilize. Inflation would spike worldwide. Banks wouldn't survive the ripple.
Worse still, it would leave no infrastructure in its place.
No more Abraham fleets on city streets, Uriel drones in disaster zones, Prayer devices syncing to emergency networks or medical sensors, Gabriel units delivering blood to hospitals, Zebulun surveying crops for the world's food supply.
The systems built around Eden weren't just supported by it.
They ran through it.
Eden wasn't just a service.
It had become the nerve system of a post industrial world.
To lose it all overnight wouldn't be inconvenience.
It would be collapse.
And Markus, had made it painfully clear:
He didn't need the world's permission to walk away. He just needed a reason.
The panic was immediate behind every locked door that mattered. Emergency sessions convened in parliaments, senates, and international committees. Finance ministers canceled vacations. Red phones rang. Sleepless aides compiled asset dependency reports. By midnight, three heads of state were already on encrypted lines, speaking the only word that kept showing up on every internal memo:
Eden.
In Brussels, the European Union held a classified midnight session. The usual diplomatic tone was gone. Voices rose. Hands slammed tables. Germany's economic advisor warned that a sudden liquidation of Eden's global presence would cause "market wide seizures," comparing the fallout to a global myocardial infarction.
The French delegate asked the question everyone else feared, "What happens if he actually does it?"
No one answered.
In Washington, the National Economic Council issued a 96 page emergency report titled "Scenario: Dissolution of Eden Industrial Holdings". It concluded that within 72 hours of Eden's exit:
The S&P 500 would drop by 53%.
U.S. food supply chains would see 22% data failure from lost Zebulun support.
Healthcare logistics would collapse in major metropolitan zones.
Unemployment would rise by 12% in under two weeks from direct Eden contractors and service companies.
The CIA quietly classified Eden as a "Level 1 Sovereign Entity", placing it in the same tier as nuclear powers.
In Tokyo, the Ministry of Internal Affairs drafted emergency legislation to nationalize Eden's assets within Japan in the event of a corporate pullout. Legal scholars warned them: "You can't nationalize what you don't control."
Every Eden product, every car, drone, device, agricultural hub was traceable only by Eden's internal systems. Monitored and managed by Onyx herself.
And Markus didn't share his systems.
Beijing responded with its own brand of panic: silence and movement.
Satellite images showed high level activity at their AI and military tech R&D campuses. Thousand of Eden distributed devices in state owned facilities suddenly shut down. They tried to replicate them but the outcome was disaster.
Chinese state media, usually iron fisted in messaging, made no official comment on Eden after the incident.
The IMF issued a joint communique with the World Bank, calling for "measured global cooperation and an open dialogue with Eden leadership." In private, the communiqué had a different name:
"Containment Draft Zero."
It outlined a hypothetical scenario in which nations would attempt to decouple from Eden within five years.
Every economist who read it laughed.
Eden wasn't oil. It wasn't steel. It wasn't semiconductors.
It was everything at once, perfectly integrated, seamlessly adopted, and deeply adorned by every field from civilian consumer goods to industrial vehicles and military products.
It wasn't just the backbone of new global infrastructure.
It was the spine, the nerves, and the breath.
And somewhere in a private lounge above a quiet skyline, Markus read the news.
The invitation from the United Nations arrived without ceremony.
A private letter, sent through encrypted diplomatic channels and delivered by hand to Eden's central tower in Geneva. It did not command. It requested.
The wording was deliberate: an invitation to discuss global cooperation and recognize Eden as an independent technological entity contributing to global governance.
But beneath the polite phrasing, everyone saw it for what it was.
A silent declaration.
Markus Tenebris was no longer just a man.
He was a state.
He read it once.
Then turned to Onyx, who stood silently by his side, tablet in hand.
"Open the drawers," he said calmly.
She didn't ask which drawers.
She already knew.
Within six hours, the digital arteries of the world began to hemorrhage.
Like a subterranean quake cracking beneath polished marble.
In Beijing, classified CCP documents leaked across anonymous global forums. One file outlined a neural deterrent program. A prototype satellite driven signal meant to dampen emotional peaks in crowds to prevent protests. Dozens of rural provinces had been secretly subjected to tests.
The revelation sent millions into the streets, this time angrier and more focused than ever. By morning, 47 cities had seen riots. Public executions of protest leaders three years ago were proven to be orchestrated field tests.
The yuan collapsed 18% overnight.
In Tokyo, over 1.6 terabytes of internal memos and audio logs exposed a covert deal between government officials and the Zaibatsu conglomerates. An agreement to suppress cancer cure trials developed by Eden Pharmaceuticals to protect legacy pharma companies.
Protesters flooded Osaka and Sapporo. The Prime Minister's Chief of Staff resigned on live television. Multiple lawsuits were filed against health agencies. Hospitals across the country faced mobs of grieving families holding photos of relatives who had died in the past year, denied treatment.
Seoul saw a scandal of a different flavor.
A black file surfaced showing that the Korean National Cybersecurity Division had covertly spied on all Eden Prayer devices sold domestically, piggybacking on government issued apps. Their intention: real time civilian surveillance and predictive social behavior modeling.
The leak included facial ID logs, voice recordings, and even behavioral prediction analytics run against political dissidents.
Trust in the government evaporated overnight.
Prayer device owners in Korea began smashing their own devices in protest, until Eden remotely disabled them all, ensuring their privacy with a single line of code.
Public faith shifted. Not to the government.
To Markus.
But it was France that burned most elegantly.
Thousands of internal government documents leaked, everything from backdoor arms deals in Mali to long denied collusion with far right paramilitary groups in Corsica. Even the President's personal diary, redacted for years, was made public.
The pages revealed intentional manipulation of refugee statistics to stoke racial tension ahead of re election.
News outlets turned into warzones.
Parliament collapsed into screams.
Four cabinet members resigned, three were arrested, and Paris erupted in protest within a day.
None of the leaks were claimed.
But everyone understood.
This was his reply.
Nick Fury was sitting in his office, elbows resting on the table, fingers steepled beneath his chin.
He didn't move when Maria Hill entered.
She saw the expression on his face, glanced at the muted screen behind him, France in flames, Korea reeling, Japan imploding, China in digital lockdown and simply asked, "When did it happen?"
He exhaled slowly. "Two years ago."
Hill frowned. "What?"
"That leak. The SHIELD intel breach." He tapped the desk once. "It wasn't an accident. Wasn't Hydra. Wasn't oversight. It was a dress rehearsal."
Hill said nothing.
Fury leaned back, a tired smile ghosting across his face.
"Some folks go to war with missiles. Tenebris? He just opens your drawers and lets the world read."
Across the globe, the message sank in.
Even though Eden had no 'official' armies. It didn't need them.
Its arsenal was truth, lethal in doses, unstoppable in volume.
New York. United Nations Plaza.
The air was a storm of camera flashes and shouted voices. Dozens of news crews, independent journalists, and international press officers lined the barricades, their eyes fixed on the black Elijah Sinai as it pulled to a smooth stop at the curb. The Eden logo shimmered across the vehicle's matte hull.
Doors unlocked with a soft mechanical click.
Markus stepped out into the chaos, framed by the Manhattan skyline behind him and the white marble facade of the UN building ahead.
He wore black, tailored suite for the meeting. At his right, as always, stood Onyx, flawless in her dark graphite suit, her presence as sharp as it was unapproachable.
Reporters surged forward.
Voices collided in a storm of questions:
"Mr. Tenebris! Are the Eden shutdown rumors true?""Are you attending as a sovereign state or a CEO?""Did you leak those documents personally?""How do you respond to the accusations from France's interior minister?""Is Eden building weapons grade AI?"
Onyx raised her hand to silence the reporters.
Her voice was crisp, diplomatic, and without hesitation.
"Mr. Tenebris is willing to take several questions before entering the summit. Please remain orderly and civil. I will call on each of you in turn."
She glanced down the crowd, selected with military efficiency.
"CNN International. You may begin."
A man in a blue press badge stepped forward. "Mr. Tenebris, is there truth to the rumors that Eden is preparing to withdraw from global markets?"
Markus turned slightly, his hands clasped loosely before him. The pause before his answer was deliberate. Practiced. Human.
"Yes."
The air tensed.
"Because certain governments," he continued, "have demanded I share Eden's proprietary systems. Its designs, its internal codes, its very essence."
He looked directly into the nearest camera, voice steady and almost wounded.
"They ask this not because Eden failed. But because it succeeded too well."
"Because a single man, who built safer cars, faster ambulances, cleaner energy, and smarter cities is seen as a threat. Not for what I've done, but for what I might choose not to give."
He let the words hang, then smiled faintly.
"All I did… was make the world better."
A ripple passed through the press line.
Onyx gestured again.
"Reuters."
A young woman stepped forward. "What are Eden's current revenue streams by division, and is there any truth to claims that they violate international trade equity regulations?"
Markus answered with polite finality.
"Eden has no shareholders. It has no debt. Every branch is privately held, fully taxed, and legally compliant. If a world economy cannot accommodate success without inserting itself into its operations… then perhaps the fault lies not in Eden, but in the structure."
"Al Jazeera."
"Can you speak to the chaos unfolding in France, Japan, Korea, and China? Many believe Eden instigated these events through deliberate information warfare."
Markus's gaze narrowed slightly.
"Eden has no access the leaked documents."
"France's elected officials lied about their alliances. Japan buried medical breakthroughs to protect legacy profits. Korea violated the digital rights of its own people, and China, well, their actions speak for themselves."
He tilted his head slightly, just enough to let the cameras catch the glint in his eye.
"The true shame is not that these governments were exposed. It's that they thought they'd never have to answer for it."
"If such people still hold office, it says more about those nations than about me."
A fourth question came, this time from the BBC.
"Is Eden developing defense contracts or autonomous weaponry? Some nations fear that Eden may become a global monopoly on peacekeeping technology."
Markus gave a slow, thoughtful nod.
"Yes. Eden develops defensive capabilities."
"Because when governments fail to protect their people… someone must."
The final question came from Le Monde, spoken in a softer tone.
"Do you consider yourself a citizen of any nation, Mr. Tenebris?"
Markus's reply was calm and gentle.
"I was born on Earth."
"That's all the citizenship I need."
He turned without waiting for further questions.
Onyx gave a subtle signal, and the press parted like water, silent and wide eyed.
As Markus ascended the steps of the UN headquarters, every journalist still present understood what had just occurred.
This wasn't an interview.
It was a campaign rally without a flag.
And the crowd, whether they realized it or not…
Had already voted.
United Nations Headquarters
Closed Summit Chamber
They had prepared a chair for him.
Tall backed. Padded. Symbolic.
Markus did not sit.
He stood, composed, hands folded neatly at the curve of the table. Onyx, as always, stood precisely one step behind and to the right, her expression serene.
The room was filled with ministers, secretaries, military advisors, and heads of state. The tension was so thick it might've passed for reverence… or fear.
The first to break the silence was Ambassador Li of China, his voice sharp, paper thin with controlled outrage.
"Mr. Tenebris, your company's conduct in the past week constitutes an assault on the sovereignty of multiple nations. Your technologies are integrated into critical infrastructure. You have leveraged them, weaponized them against the nations who welcomed Eden."
Markus tilted his head ever so slightly, as though listening to a particularly uninspired violin solo.
"Welcomed? My dear Ambassador, you auctioned off access to Eden like peasants who found pearls in their fields. And now you whine, because the harvest bites back."
Li flushed red. But said nothing further.
Minister Hirose of Japan cut in, folder clenched in his hands.
"You overstepped. The shutdown of our Ministry's energy cores during a security review was an act of aggression."
Markus offered a faint smile. Polite. Surgical.
"Minister, you attempted to dissect my systems as a child carving open a watch to see the gears. I merely reminded you that Eden's heart does not beat for thieves."
France's envoy, sharp suited and visibly agitated, leaned forward.
"Several confidential documents concerning our internal security protocol were leaked following Eden's audit. Are you admitting culpability for espionage?"
Markus didn't blink.
"I am admitting nothing but truth. A rare export from your government, I hear. And as for the documents… perhaps next time you should worry less about leaks and more about what was floating in the barrel."
A murmur swept the table.
The Korean diplomat rose abruptly.
"Eden has turned into an empire. You override local law, erase evidence, block sovereign access.."
"You flatter me," Markus interrupted smoothly. "But if I were building an empire, Ambassador, I assure you… you'd be speaking a different language by now."
The United States Secretary of Commerce leaned in, lips pressed into a practiced neutral line.
"Mr. Tenebris. We want to deescalate. We propose a resolution to open Eden to shareholders. Global transparency. Collaborative governance. It would reassure the markets."
Markus finally turned to face him.
His tone remained calm. Almost gentle. But something in the air shivered when he spoke.
"Ah, the old hymn of diplomacy 'Let us own what we cannot create.'"
He chuckled once, dry as bone.
"But tell me, Secretary, should you not first be focusing on more pressing matters?"
"Like, perhaps… your hemorrhaging public trust? Your allies defecting faster than your defense budgets can pivot? Or shall we talk about the four hundred sixteen billion dollars you've collectively squandered in the last seven days trying to leash a man you do not understand?"
He didn't wait for a reply.
"That's what you spent. And what did it buy you? Scandals. Uproars. Markets in convulsions. And your citizens… turning on you with the same speed they turned to me."
He paced slowly, only two steps, letting the silence trail behind each syllable like silk in firelight.
"And now… you suggest I share Eden?"
He let the word hang, like a dare.
"If any of you, should attempt to reverse engineer Eden's systems again, I will not disable your devices. I will unmake them. It is legally within my rights."
"I will turn your cities dark. Your networks mute. Your skies empty."
"You will not recover. You will regret."
The German ambassador cleared his throat, carefully.
"Germany… would like to formally distance itself from any attempts to coerce Eden Industries. We recognize Mr. Tenebris as the sole sovereign of his enterprise and urge a path of respectful cooperation."
India followed, then South Africa, UK, Brazil, each speaking quickly, one after the other, eager to exit the burning circle where four nations still sat: China, Japan, Korea, and France.
Markus cast them a glance that felt like a funeral bell.
"A shame," he said softly. "To have come so far. And learned so little."
He gestured, finally, toward the ornate chair prepared for him.
"Now then. If the tantrums are concluded… shall we speak of the future?"
The air in the summit chamber had shifted.
Where before there was outrage and thunderous accusation, now there lingered only the smoldering residue of political recalibration. Markus stood unmoved. Onyx silently handed him a thin matte black tablet with Eden logo.
He tapped once.
The screens embedded in the chamber walls flickered to life. What appeared was not Eden's traditional calm blue and silver branding, but something far darker, matte black sky, mechanical wings, the silhouette of something waiting in silence.
"Let us pivot to something more pragmatic," Markus began, his tone cool, almost indulgent. "As we speak of peace and policy… it would be remiss not to speak of preparedness."
The first drone came into view: sleek, mid sized, wingspan just over two meters, twin mounted rotary guns beneath its underbelly, and infrared payload pods glinting like the eyes of something ancient.
"This is Michael. A baseline combat drone. Standard altitude: 7,000 meters. Speed: 480 kilometers per hour. Armament, twin Eden Minerva class autoguns. Surface strike capable. Fire and forget engagement. AI assisted threat profiling. Full global remote interface. Range, planetary."
Gasps were audible. Even seasoned generals straightened in their seats.
He tapped again.
A larger drone appeared. Wingspan ten meters. Sleek fuselage. Two undercarriage bays wide enough for anti armor ordnance.
"Raphael. Mid range autonomous UAV. Can carry 800 kilograms of mixed armament. Ideal for border defense, urban suppression, or contested territories. Solar augmented battery. Operates non stop for up to sixty hours."
Next.
A monster.
"Metatron. Long range heavy platform. Two ton payload capacity. AI battlefield command suite. Capable of launching and coordinating secondary Michael units within a 1500 kilometer radius."
Someone actually whispered, "Jesus Christ."
Markus smiled faintly.
"Not quite. But he's watching."
The room fell into a taut silence, broken only by the Canadian Minister of Defense, clearing his throat.
"Impressive, Mr. Tenebris. But before we consider integration into NATO protocols, we'll require partial access to software frameworks. For transparency."
Markus's smile thinned.
"Transparency. The final refuge of those who fear the dark."
He stepped forward, casually brushing lint from his cuff.
"No. There will be no software access. No reverse engineering. No disassembly under the guise of 'evaluation'."
"You may purchase these weapons. Deploy them. Use them. But you will not understand them. That is the price of security in a world where trust has already proven far too expensive."
A slow murmur rose. Delegates turned toward one another. Some whispered. Others checked their encrypted tablets, trying to gauge their nation's existing military infrastructure compared to what they'd just seen.
Markus continued, his tone steady.
"Instead, I offer you ironclad use agreements. Violate them, and Eden will revoke operational licenses instantly. The drones will land themselves. Or worse."
He tapped once more. Footage showed a stolen Raphael prototype in a desert test zone. The hijackers had reprogrammed its altitude constraints.
It turned itself around mid flight and dived, directly into the control trailer.
The feed ended with static.
A long pause.
Then the Secretary General of the UN leaned forward, hands folded in quiet defeat.
"What else do you require?"
Markus did not gloat. He simply lifted his gaze.
"Two things."
"One. Legal rights to develop and launch orbital satellite systems, for communication and atmospheric integration. Civilian and security based."
"Two. A binding declaration from this council: No member state shall attempt to reverse engineer Eden technology, hardware or software. Legal enforcement and UN compliance tribunals to follow, should such violations occur."
"In return, Eden's new defense platforms will be made available to any state that complies in good faith."
The debate raged for hours. Germany supported immediately. The UK and Australia followed, then India, Canada, South Africa, Brazil, and even Israel.
After some initial stalling, the United States yielded.
The Secretary of Defense, exhausted and tight lipped, finally signed the agreement with a digital seal.
"We'll take two squadrons of Michaels, three Raphaels, and one Metatron for testing. With option to scale."
As the list grew, orders piled on. Ten nations placed requests before the end of the hour.
Then came the four.
China. Japan. South Korea. France.
Reluctantly, bitterly, they submitted the same orders.
A long beat passed.
Markus reviewed the requests.
He closed the file without a word.
"Denied."
Eyes widened.
France's Foreign Minister rose, stunned. "You.. what?"
"You misunderstand," Markus said softly. "This is not a marketplace. It is not a negotiation."
He raised his gaze again, slow and deliberate.
"You tried to dissect me like a specimen. You attempted to own what you did not build. And when you failed, you screamed."
"Now you come with coin? Too late."
"Eden does not sell to anti democratic, untrustworthy governments." he said smirking.
"I protect futures. Not regimes."
Silence reigned.
No one defended them.
Not even their allies.
Markus turned to Onyx, who was already noting the approved orders.
"Deliveries begin next month. Prioritize those who remembered their manners."
The meeting continued, but the message had already taken root in history.
The era of Eden as a company was over.
This was dominion.