152: Chapter 152 This world is destined to be turbulent.

A massive collection of fantasy novels gathered here to satisfy your reading preferences.

Jarvis searched all public databases and eventually provided only a vague result: the end-user information for this batch of military uniforms was encrypted and could not be found.

Fu Haoran frowned.

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Why was a military uniform procurement project kept secret?

However, he didn't give it much thought.

They were just military uniforms; what could be fishy about that?

It wasn't like they were producing missiles or biochemical weapons.

This kind of work didn't involve much technology; it was just OEM manufacturing.

Fu Haoran directly instructed Jarvis to assign the task to the textile factory he had just acquired domestically.

...

Shengze Town.

In the Hengxin Textile Factory, which had just been acquired by DYB, the factory director Sun Zhixu sat in his office, feeling utterly distressed.

He was a typical second-generation factory owner.

When his father was around, he couldn't spread his wings.

After finally waiting for the old man to relinquish power, Sun Zhixu felt his chance had come, so he took everything he had learned... which was the "essence" he had gathered over four years of college, and copied it like a standard answer.

Upgrading production lines, optimizing technology, and increasing the technological content of products.

After a series of maneuvers as fierce as a tiger, he realized he had made a fool of himself.

The products were good, but no one was buying them.

Either the design was poor, or the styles were out of touch with the market.

Sun Zhixu also tried keeping an eye on popular items online, but he couldn't even copy them correctly; instead, he ended up being sued.

After a lot of tossing and turning, the factory almost went bankrupt, and in the process, he sent his own father to the hospital out of anger.

Almost all of the factory's capital had been poured into industrial upgrades.

As a result, not only was it not making money, but it was also hemorrhaging cash.

Sun Zhixu wanted to cry but had no tears.

A few weeks ago, a company proposed an acquisition, saying they were interested in their R&D capabilities.

Sun Zhixu was worried about finding someone to take over the mess, so when he saw someone coming to acquire it, he signed without a second thought.

As for why the other party was interested in his mess of a factory, he couldn't figure it out and didn't bother to think about it.

Strangely, after the new boss took over, there were no layoffs or factory closures; they were told to continue with R&D.

But Sun Zhixu was still uneasy. With a foreign acquisition, who knew when they might dismantle the factory?

He pushed open the window; the machines in the workshop were still spinning, but the workers were doing their jobs with an indescribable sense of gloom.

“Young Factory Director Sun.” The assistant pushed the door open, his face tense. “A customer... no, it's an order from headquarters.”

Sun Zhixu took the printed task, scanned it, and thought he had misread it.

“Rush production of ten thousand sets of US Special Forces uniforms: fire-retardant, wear-resistant, tear-resistant, and reduced infrared detection visibility... delivery period: one month.”

His first reaction was: It's over, the new boss is looking for trouble.

The specifications for US Special Forces—wouldn't those be top-tier?

Sun Zhixu braced himself and flipped through the pages, becoming more and more bewildered as he read.

Wait, these requirements... why do they seem a bit low?

Fire-retardant?

It only specified the requirement, not the style, and it was for a cloak. Could he just modify some fire blankets?

Wear-resistant and tear-resistant?

Even a few-hundred-yuan pair of hiking pants could meet these specs.

Reduced infrared detection?

This did involve some technology, but domestic factories making camouflage fabrics had already mastered it years ago.

He flipped to the last page and read it all over again from beginning to end to confirm he hadn't misread anything.

“That's it?”

Sun Zhixu was stunned.

“The specs and requirements aren't high at all. Could they be making high-quality replicas to sell to military enthusiasts?”

Sun Zhixu couldn't figure it out and didn't bother to think about it.

At that moment, the package air-freighted from headquarters arrived. Sun Zhixu and several veteran master craftsmen opened it and studied it carefully, finding it was much as they had guessed.

“Young Factory Director Sun, this job isn't difficult. The fabrics used are all available domestically.”

Sun Zhixu took a deep breath and started doing the math.

Even using the best raw materials, the cost per set would be less than three hundred yuan.

The OEM price given by headquarters was eight hundred yuan per set.

For ten thousand sets, the net profit would be five million.

That was enough to pay the entire factory's wages for half a year.

This order was a piece of fat meat that could sustain the whole factory, but it was also a hot potato.

“If even the slightest thing goes wrong, the livelihoods of more than three hundred people in the factory could be ruined.”

Sun Zhixu didn't dare be negligent. He didn't want his father to find out after being discharged from the hospital that he had not only sold the factory but also ruined its reputation and ended up destroying the livelihoods of the old employees.

If that happened, he would surely be hung up and thrashed.

“Do it!” Sun Zhixu slapped the table. “Do it to the highest standard! Overtime pay during this period will be doubled. We must complete the first task assigned by the new company.”

“Have Lao Tao and the others come over; we start making samples tonight.”

When the workers heard there was an order, and that it was from the new boss, their hanging hearts finally settled.

A master craftsman put on his gloves, walked into the warehouse, pulled out technical data from two years ago from a dusty filing cabinet, patted the cover, and grinned.

...

On the other side of the ocean, Fu Haoran hung up the confirmation call with Sun Zhixu.

He casually set aside the documents for the military uniform order, not giving it another thought.

The OEM production of ten thousand sets of military uniforms was just a trivial little business to him with no technical content; it was merely to find some work for the newly acquired factory to stabilize the workers and management.

Meanwhile, on the other side at the Pentagon, in Johnson's private office.

He hung up the confirmation call with Fu Haoran, leaned back in his chair, and dialed the encrypted channel of Weyland-Yutani Corporation.

“The contract is signed, the OEM factory has been found, and the first batch of uniforms will be delivered within three months.”

Laughter came from the other end of the line: “Beautifully done, General. A twenty percent kickback has already been deposited into your overseas account.”

Johnson said with feigned reserve, “Money is a small matter. What I want is the human trial data for the first batch of agents.”

“Additionally, the project manager for the Future Soldier Program must be me.”

Johnson knew all too well that if he wanted to stay in his current position longer, he had to produce more political achievements.

Right now, only this Super Soldier project best suited his interests.

...

At the headquarters of Weyland-Yutani Biomedical, in the top-floor conference room.

Outside the floor-to-ceiling windows was Lake Geneva, with white sails dotting the water. Inside the conference room, however, the atmosphere was as cold as an ice cellar.

CEO Davis slammed a financial report onto the table.

“Fu Haoran's longevity medical project has a single-quarter net profit exceeding three billion US dollars.”

“A Chinese man, relying on so-called longevity technology, has snatched away the cake of the global high-end medical market.”

“The cardiovascular drug we spent ten years developing earns less profit in a year than one of his clinics earns in a month.”

He looked around at everyone present, his voice full of jealousy and madness.

“Origin Factor is our chance for a comeback.”

Another executive nodded and said, “His longevity technology is essentially just playing the game of gene editing.”

“Our Origin Factor can do what he can do, and it can also do what he cannot—which is to create absolute power.”

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“When the time comes, the global high-end biomedical market will all belong to Weyland-Yutani.”

A screen in the conference room was silently playing a scene.

The footage showed them extracting genes from the giant corpse of Charlie and obtaining the desired virus in just one month.

This virus was all benefit and no harm.

It could not only increase muscle density, bone density, and neural reaction speed but also strengthen cells and repair missing parts.

Most importantly, this virus could perfect biological genes, thereby making the host stronger and healthier.

Weyland-Yutani Corporation named this virus the 'Kong Origin Factor'.

“Origin Factor has already been circulating globally through black market channels under the guise of dietary supplements for half a year,” the R&D director flipped through the data.

“In the black markets of North America, Europe, South America, and Southeast Asia, orders are already lined up until next year.”

“Short-term use shows no obvious side effects, and feedback is excellent. However, among test subjects using large doses over the long term, several cases of irreversible manic symptoms have already appeared.”

“We have sealed all relevant data; none of it has been leaked externally.”

Davis nodded with satisfaction.

Chief Pharmacologist Irina pushed up her glasses, her voice very low: “Sir, clinical trials have only been conducted for half a year; long-term side effects are completely unknown.”

“Our Phase I test subjects were all homeless people, addicts, and illegal immigrants, and several cases of manic symptoms have already appeared.”

“Pushing it to the military now is too high a risk.”

Davis raised his hand to interrupt her: “Dr. Irina, your job is to make the drug more effective, not to tell me how dangerous it is.”

Davis let out a sneer, his eyes full of indifferent coldness.

“Risk? Those bottom-tier trash are a waste of social resources even while alive.”

“Being able to provide data for our experiments is the only value they have in their lives. Dead? If they're dead, just get another batch.”

“As long as we control public opinion, it doesn't matter how many people die.”

“Our agent is much stronger than those bullshit steroid injections. With just one injection a day, it can not only reverse muscle aging but also give someone beautiful muscle lines and significantly improved athletic ability.”

“More importantly, it has anti-aging properties. I think you all know what that represents.”

Davis looked around at everyone and asked unhurriedly.

“We've already taken care of things over at the FDA; no one will check on the lives or deaths of these homeless people and addicts.”

“What America lacks least are fools willing to trade their lives for a single injection.”

“Fu Haoran uses longevity technology to harvest the rich; we use Origin Factor to harvest everyone.”

“His customers are afraid of death, while our customers want to become stronger—whose market is larger?”

Davis clicked on another set of data; the screen showed the frenzy in the global fitness community.

The black market version of Origin Factor has already become a standard for fitness influencers. Even at several thousand dollars an injection, supply still cannot meet demand.

Those influencers have built beast-like physiques with the drug, but no one knows that their bodies are being hollowed out bit by bit by the genetic agent.

“The influencer market is just an appetizer; military orders are the main course.” Davis tapped the table, his eyes wild. “Once the military verifies the effects, we will push Origin Factor globally.”

“The black market, mercenaries, the militaries of various countries—as long as they are willing to pay, we will sell.”

“By then, the super soldiers of the entire world will be using Weyland-Yutani's agents.”

Davis looked out the window, a cold smile curling at the corner of his mouth.

...

On the other side of the ocean, Fu Haoran had finished handling the military uniform order and was preparing to rest.

Olov, one of the managers of the aircraft boneyard.

“Mr. Olov, calling me so late, I presume you have good news for me.”

“Yes, Mr. Fu, you guessed correctly.”

“Lockheed Martin is preparing to dispose of the entire F-22 production line. Now, this production line, which theoretically should be scrapped, is in my hands. I wonder if you are interested?”

“Oh, by the way, it's the entire production line, a full set of processing equipment, and some tooling drawings, all bundled for auction.”

“Additionally, there are several avionics supplier factories that have second-hand production lines used for F-22 components back in the day, and they are also willing to sell.”

“They were all sealed after being shut down in 2011, and the equipment integrity is very high.”

Fu Haoran's first reaction was: Are the Americas crazy? The production line for the most advanced F-22 fighter jet is actually being disposed of!

Does it mean they will never build them again?

But on second thought, it made sense.

When the production line was shut down in 2011, Congress felt this thing was too much of a money pit.

Maintaining sealed equipment after production ceased still cost tens of millions every year. Lockheed Martin couldn't wait to find a sucker to take it over.

But Fu Haoran didn't show too much excitement.

Because this was a hot potato.

For no other reason than that the production difficulty was too high.

Furthermore, the F-22 had a single function and was particularly expensive; besides, the F-22 didn't exist just to drop iron lumps.

At least the lords in the America Congress generally felt that although the F-22 fighter had strong air combat capabilities, its function was too single-purpose and lacked multi-functionality.

Moreover, according to Congress's calculations, the price of one F-22 was equal to three F-35s.

It was clear how expensive it was.

Fu Haoran was silent for a long time.

“What's the quote?”

“The full package is 2.2 billion US dollars. The other party requires a cash transaction, not through corporate accounts.”

Fu Haoran was silent for a long while before saying: “1.5 billion.”

“Tsk... let me ask again, but I think this price is too low.”

Fu Haoran reminded him: “My friend, do you think even if I could build F-22 fighters, who could I sell them to?”

“Would the government allow me to sell them?”

“In the end, I can only serve as a backup for repairing F-22s. Spending 1.5 billion to buy a possibility—you know better than I do how high the risk is.”

...

After ending the call, Fu Haoran looked at the lights outside the window, his mind racing.

1.5 billion US dollars.

A set of second-hand production lines that might or might not be able to run...

Fu Haoran remembered that a while ago he was still complaining that a third-generation fighter production line would cost tens of billions and had too low a price-performance ratio.

Now, a fifth-generation fighter production line had proactively come to his door. It was a bit expensive, and the problem was that the production difficulty of a fifth-generation fighter was more than an order of magnitude higher than that of a third-generation fighter.

But regardless, having cards in hand was better than none.

“I'll use 1.5 billion to buy the entry ticket first. As for whether the production line can be started... that's Kallen's problem.”

“Now is the time to trade money for time. Even if it's a bit expensive, I'll accept it.”

Not long after, the phone rang.

“Mr. Fu, the other party's bottom price is 1.8 billion. The extra 300 million can get you an Air Force bidding qualification.”

Fu Haoran's eyes lit up, but he didn't agree immediately. Instead, he remained silent for a few seconds before speaking faintly in a somewhat reluctant tone: “Deal.”