Shane drove slowly on the way back to Brooklyn.
Outside the window, the scenery shifted from the open countryside to the soot-stained buildings of the city’s edge.
However, his thoughts remained at the farm, lingering on the fierce yet frustrated eyes of “Razor” and his gang.
Legal deterrence and a well-played bluff had worked this time.
But what about next time?
What if the next people to show up were more professional?
What if the opposition simply didn’t care about being recorded or reported?
What if there was another power behind the “Brotherhood”?
In this world, Razor and his low-level thugs wouldn’t be the only ones trying to take a slice of a lone entrepreneur’s pie.
The tentacles of Kingpin’s criminal empire reached every corner of New York.
S.H.I.E.L.D.
might not have noticed him yet, but what about the future?
Certain departments within the military, other tech giants, even Hydra infiltrators…
any one of them was more than he could handle right now.
The machines in his workshop and the technology in his head were the foundation of his livelihood, but they were also the source of potential disaster.
“I need power…” Shane whispered to himself, his fingers unconsciously tapping the steering wheel.
Not the world-saving power of a superhero, but something more practical.
The kind of deterrence that could protect him and make people think twice before crossing him.
The kind of insight that could detect danger and evade traps in advance.
And the capital strength within the rules of society to support his steady development.
It was dusk by the time he returned to the second floor of Building C7.
Inside the vast factory space, the machines stood silent in the gloom, their indicator lights flickering faintly.
Shane didn’t turn on the overhead lights, opting instead for the old desk lamp on his workbench.
The dim yellow glow carved out a small circle of light, isolating him from the surrounding darkness.
He sat in his chair, opened his laptop, and pulled up his financial statements.
The $750,000 he had made from selling his ancestral property seemed like a lot.
But over the past month, the three-month security deposit plus the first month’s rent for the factory, equipment procurement, material stockpiling, tools, parts, and electrical upgrades…
every item had been devouring his cash.
The account balance was already below $400,000.
And this was just the beginning.
To mass-produce the “Skylark,” he needed molds, a supply chain, production line debugging, worker wages…
even for a small-scale trial run, the startup capital would require at least $300,000.
The development of the “Hummingbird” was an even greater money pit.
Miniature motors, high-precision sensors, specialized materials…
everything was exorbitantly expensive.
Given the current 17% analysis progress, if he actually tried to build a prototype, the investment would become a bottomless hole.
Not to mention the factory rent, utilities, and daily expenses…
Shane calculated rapidly.
By the most conservative estimates, if he relied solely on his existing funds to develop slowly, he could hold out for three months at most before the Skylark generated steady income.
After three months, if the product hadn’t broken into the market, the capital chain would snap.
When that happened, the banks, suppliers, and landlords—everyone would come knocking.
And people like Razor would arrive even faster and hit even harder.
The crisis of survival had never truly left him.
It had merely shifted from the form of violence into the form of capital.
The lamp cast Shane’s silhouette long against the wall.
He stared at the flickering numbers on the screen, his gaze calm, while his mind raced at high speed.
The path of the lone wolf, settling for small-time comfort, would not work in this world.
Technology without a capital moat was like a child walking through the night clutching a gold bar.
He needed to accelerate.
He needed to quickly transform his technological advantage into a market advantage, into revenue and scale, into a presence that people wouldn’t dare underestimate.
And the fastest accelerator was capital.
Bring in investment, dilute equity, and trade it for development time and a safety net.
He would use a mature product like the Skylark to tell a story that investors loved, raise money, quickly occupy the market, and create cash flow.
Meanwhile, he would secretly use the profits to fund the development of the Hummingbird, building a true technological fortress and…
a life-saving talisman.
Once he worked out the logic, the irritation Shane felt from the encounter with Razor settled into resolve.
He closed the financial spreadsheets and created a new document.
The title: *Skylark Agricultural Drone Business Plan.*
His fingers hovered over the keyboard for a moment before he began to type.
Market analysis, product advantages, competitor comparison, business model, financial projections, team introduction (even if it was just him for now)…
The business knowledge accumulated from his past life, the financial memories left by the original owner of his body, and his research into the 2007 market over the past month all converged.
He wrote with focus and cold precision.
Outside the window, the sky turned pitch black and then gradually faded into a hazy grey.
When the final page of the document was finished, it was already early the next morning.
Shane saved the file and rubbed his aching eyes and wrists.
A business plan was just a skeleton.
Investors wanted to see the flesh and blood—real market feedback.
He needed “customer testimonials,” a persuasive demonstration video, and even a potential letter of intent for orders.
And John from Oak Farm was the best person to provide those things.
This wasn’t just another tech demo.
This was a business follow-up with a clear objective.
Three days later, Shane drove to Oak Farm once again.
This time, he brought two “Skylark Type IV” drones, tuned to their optimal state, along with a set of professional filming equipment.
John was somewhat surprised by his return, but his attitude became immediately enthusiastic when he saw the new draft contract Shane brought—a long-term lease intent with favorable terms—along with a proposal for a joint application for government agricultural subsidies.
The demonstration went smoothly.
Shane focused on filming the drones operating with high efficiency and precision.
He also recorded John facing the camera, giving a slightly awkward but sufficiently sincere praise:
“This thing…
it works faster than the people I hire, and it saves on supplies.
If it’s as reliable as Shane says, I’m willing to lease it.”
Lunch was served once again in the spacious kitchen of the Oak home.
The food was the same: BBQ ribs, mashed potatoes, and cornbread.
John’s wife remained quiet and friendly.
John’s daughter, Emily, was also home.
With her blonde hair in a high ponytail and a bright smile, she wore a tight T-shirt and shorts, radiating a youthful energy that seemed almost to overflow.
“So, did you really start the company all by yourself?
You made those flying machines from scratch?”
Emily’s eyes were bright, and she peppered him with questions.
Shane remained polite, answering her and praising the food, but most of his mind was occupied with handling John’s inquiries regarding the contract details…
and quietly eating to replenish his energy.
Emily’s enthusiasm and beauty were real; sitting next to her, one could feel the girl’s vitality and a faint hint of affection.
However, Shane’s attention was more focused on calculating if the footage he’d shot was enough to edit a three-minute highlight reel, or deducing how to answer an investor’s questions about market size, or wondering if the Hummingbird’s biomimetic wing structure could be realized with his current 3D printer.
At one point, he even missed a question Emily asked about her college engineering class because he was distracted.
“Hey!”
Emily waved a hand in front of his eyes, feigning annoyance but with a smile in her eyes.
“Mr.
Shane Grintel, is eating with me that boring?”
“Sorry,” Shane snapped back to reality and said honestly.
“I was thinking about the company.
What did you ask?”
“I asked if your drones could be used for other things besides farms.
Like…
our school’s fall sports meet is coming up soon.
Wouldn’t it be cool to use one for aerial filming?”
Emily rested her chin on her hands, her gaze expectant.
Shane paused.
That was a direction he hadn’t considered carefully.
The explosion of consumer-grade drones wouldn’t happen for a few more years.
However, aerial photography for large events, real estate showcases, even news gathering…
these B2B or professional fields might be early breakthroughs he could attempt.
“Theoretically, yes,” he nodded.
“I’d just need to swap out the payload modules.
But for now, the company’s main focus is agriculture.”
“That’s a shame,” Emily blinked.
“But agriculture is good too.
My dad says a tool that saves money is a good tool.”
Her words were blunt, yet they touched upon the essence of business.
Lunch ended in a pleasant enough atmosphere.
Shane walked away with a signed lease letter of intent from John (non-binding, but with a right of first refusal clause) and enough video footage.
On the return trip, the equipment sat in the back of the pickup while the signed letter of intent lay on the passenger seat.
The setting sun dyed the sky orange-red.
Shane gripped the wheel, his mind alternating between Emily’s bright smile and John’s thick, powerful fingers as he signed the intent.
The girl’s favor might have been the impulse of adolescence.
Her youth and admiration offered Shane a glimpse of romance, yet his eyes saw only dollar signs.
“Forget about romance for now.
I just want to make money!”
He wiped the fluttering thoughts from his mind, refocusing on the story he was crafting for the investors.
Capital would love this story: a hardware product that solved a practical pain point and could immediately generate cash flow, an opening market, and a founder who, while young, had a clear vision.
By the time he returned to the factory, it was night.
Shane didn’t rest; he went straight to work.
He imported the video footage into his computer to filter, edit, score, and subtitle.
He cut out the unpleasant interlude where Razor had barged in, keeping only the high-efficiency drone work, John’s positive testimonial, and the vast vistas of the farm.
The final cut was three minutes and twenty-two seconds long.
It was fast-paced, hit the key points, and possessed the quality of a “technology changing traditional industry” pitch.
Next, he printed the business plan and bound it into a booklet.
He scanned and archived the letter of intent.
By the time everything was done, it was late into the night.
The high-intensity work and frayed nerves brought a familiar exhaustion, but his brain remained in a state of strange activity.
He sat at the workbench.
Instead of opening the computer, he laid out his notebook for the “Hummingbird” project.
It was filled with formulas, sketches, and problems waiting to be solved.
The efficiency of the biomimetic wing’s transmission structure was failing to reach theoretical values, the power consumption of the miniature motor was higher than expected, and image transmission stability in complex environments…
There were many problems.
But now, under the pressure of the finalized financing plan and clear goals, those scattered fragments of knowledge seemed to be stirred and collided by an invisible force.
[Strong goal-driven focus and concentrated thinking detected…] [“Flash of Inspiration” latent buff reinforced…]
There was no notification for a new analysis percentage, but as Shane looked at the joint connection of the biomimetic wing in the sketch, a fragment of a paper on insect flight dynamics that he had previously ignored suddenly surfaced with absolute clarity.
He immediately grabbed a pen and began calculating and sketching rapidly in the blank space.
A few minutes later, a new set of parameters and a slightly modified structural diagram emerged.
Though it didn’t solve the problem instantly, it pointed toward a potentially effective optimization path.
What “Flash of Inspiration” brought was not just the ability to extract future technological blueprints, but a terrifying capacity to understand, absorb, and associate relevant knowledge under the drive of a specific goal.
It multiplied learning efficiency and made inspiration strike more easily.
Setting down his pen, Shane looked at the slightly improved sketch and let out a soft breath.
Then he closed the Hummingbird notebook and carefully locked it in a drawer.
Now was not the time for it to make its debut.
He placed the business plan, the copy of the customer intent, and a USB drive containing the demonstration video into a brand-new folder.
Then, he opened his browser to search for information on “State Street Global Advisors” and their investment manager, Hall.
There wasn’t much public data, mostly formulaic introductions.
But Shane read carefully, trying to piece together the man’s investment style and preferences from between the lines.
Outside, the lights of New York were bright, distant, and prosperous.
Inside the factory, there was total silence, save for the low hum of the computer’s cooling fan.
Shane closed the webpage, leaned back in his chair, and closed his eyes.
In his mind, two parallel paths appeared clearly:
One was the “light path,” using the Skylark to knock on the doors of capital, trading it for the ammunition of development, and building a promising tech company in the sunlight to accumulate wealth and legal social resources.
The other was the “dark path,” silently nurturing the seeds of the Hummingbird under the nourishment of that capital, creating his own eyes and ears…
and eventually, his claws.
Both paths had to be walked simultaneously.
Without the protection of the light path, every step on the dark path could lead to ruin.
Without the trump card of the dark path, the wealth of the light path would be nothing more than a more tempting piece of meat for the wolves.
After a long time, he opened his eyes, the last trace of hesitation swept away.
He picked up the business card—the one attached to the reply he’d received after emailing State Street Global Advisors earlier—which bore Manager Hall’s name and phone number.
Tomorrow, he would take his plan to Wall Street.
He would use the story of the Skylark to trade for survival and time to grow.
And he would use that time to cultivate the power that could truly protect him.
He turned off the desk lamp, and the factory fell into darkness.
Only the standby light of the computer emitted a faint, steady green glow in the corner.