Time: Summer, 1943 — Location: New York City
The heat of summer clung to New York like a stubborn coat, even as soldiers marched through the streets in formation and banners promoting the war effort hung from every lamp post. The world was at war, but in a well-guarded military compound on the edge of the city, Rayn was making moves that would shift the balance in ways few could imagine.
He stepped out of a military jeep, the doors opening before the guards could even salute. He didn't wear a general's uniform, but the golden insignia on his shoulder was unmistakable—Colonel Rayn, recently promoted after a string of war-effort breakthroughs that left high command unable to ignore his competence.
Rayn wasn't a man of the spotlight. His victories were strategic—key assaults that minimized Allied losses, operations that ended in success before most of the brass even heard of them. His mind, sharp and decades ahead of this era thanks to his memories of a past life, had quickly become one of the military's most valuable weapons.
He was here now not for war, but for the future.
"Colonel," said a young corporal, opening the door to the secure research facility beneath the compound. "Mr. Stark is already inside."
Rayn gave a small nod. "Good. I don't like waiting."
Inside the Private Lab — Secure Facility
Howard Stark was already sipping a whiskey when Rayn entered. The inventor was younger here than most would remember him—sharp jawline, slicked-back hair, a cigarette smoldering in the ashtray beside his papers. Yet even now, the Stark arrogance was paired with genius.
"You're late," Howard said with a smirk. "Or am I early?"
Rayn offered a firm handshake, one Howard returned with a knowing grin.
"You've changed, Colonel," Howard said casually. "Last time I saw you, you were just a kid sneaking through Stark Expo with a mind full of questions."
Rayn's lips twitched. "And you were the genius who couldn't get his prototype flying car off the ground."
"Touché."
They sat across from each other at a heavy iron table. Between them was a briefcase made of reinforced alloy. Rayn unlatched it without a word and rotated it so Howard could see.
Inside lay clean, rolled-up blueprints, meticulously labeled. Howard unfurled one and paused—his fingers tightening the moment he saw what it was.
"This isn't a Thompson or M1 variant…" he muttered, eyes darting between the parts sketched with inhuman precision. "What in God's name is this?"
"AK-47," Rayn said evenly. "Gas-operated, 7.62mm. Easy to maintain, mass-producible. Works in desert heat and Siberian winters. You could call it the future of warfare."
Howard glanced at him, serious now. "You didn't design this in a month, Rayn. Where did it come from?"
Rayn didn't blink. "I told you before—we've met in a way you wouldn't understand. Just accept that I'm here now. What matters is I want to invest in your future. In our future."
Howard leaned back, running a hand through his hair. "You know how many military contractors have come through those doors trying to sell me junk?"
Rayn smiled. "And how many handed you blueprints for a weapon 50 years ahead of its time?"
Howard studied the plans again. "It's efficient. Simplistic, but reliable. Not overengineered… That's rare."
"There's more," Rayn said, pulling out two more rolls. "Here's a semi-automatic marksman rifle, and this—" he tapped the last roll "—is a submachine gun with a vertical recoil compensator. I call it the MPX."
Howard was silent. Then: "You want money?"
Rayn shook his head. "No. I want partnership. Fifty percent. We share designs, research, and profits. And in exchange, I give you exclusive access to weapons and designs that won't exist for decades. Think of what that means, Howard. We win the war faster—and Stark Industries becomes the most powerful technology company on Earth."
Howard whistled low. "Fifty percent. You don't aim low."
"You've seen enough to know I'm worth it."
There was a long silence between them. The hum of equipment in the background, the distant buzz of an elevator shaft.
Then Howard Stark stood and extended his hand again.
"You've got yourself a deal, Colonel."
They shook hands.
Later That Week – Stark Industries Private Lounge
News of Rayn's appointment to the Stark Group board spread quickly in elite military circles. Few understood how a 20-year-old colonel had managed to secure half of Stark Industries—but even fewer dared question it.
The official story said he had "contributed breakthrough weapons technology for the Allied war effort." The truth was known only to two men.
Rayn stood beside Howard on a balcony overlooking the Stark factory complex, watching as engineers re-created the AK-47 prototype under heavy guard.
"You know," Howard said, "I still don't get how you think like this. You've either seen the future—or you're the future."
Rayn didn't reply. He didn't need to.
Below, the future was already being assembled piece by piece.
And the war was far from over.
To Be Continued in Part 2…