Interstellar: Return of the Villain
Chapter 285: War, Weapons, and Deals

Chapter 285: War, Weapons, and Deals

Leona lit a cigarette, the curling smoke casting a ghostly haze over her sharp, calculating features.

Her voice, steady and firm, carried the weight of two decades managing the Alliance’s labyrinthine finances.

"I’ve overseen the Alliance’s coffers for nearly twenty years," she began, her gaze slicing through the screen. "No transaction—public or private—escapes my notice. Voidstar No. 2 may not appear on official records, but deals of that size always leave traces. I’m not interested in where the money goes. I just want your weapons."

In times of war, currency became a fleeting abstraction, its value eroded by desperation and inflation. Only resources—tangible, practical, and destructive—held any true worth.

Lyra sat up straighter, her composure steady. "Let’s talk price."

"I can only offer half the market rate," Leona replied, her tone unyielding.

"Eighty percent," Lyra countered, her voice unwavering.

"Sixty," Leona snapped back. "You know the risks. If your factories are discovered, the military will come down on you like a hammer. Troops will seize everything, and any ambitions you have within the Alliance will be over before they start."

Lyra’s lips curled into the faintest smirk. "Seventy. If official channels had succeeded, you wouldn’t be here bargaining with me."

Their gazes locked across the virtual divide, the silence stretching as each weighed their options.

Finally, Leona sighed, a sound that carried the weariness of endless nights spent fighting battles with numbers instead of bullets. "Sixty-five percent. That’s my final offer. And I’ll throw in compensation in the form of public treasury assets—plants, minerals, whatever we can spare."

The discount was steep, transforming what should have been a profitable arms deal into a yard sell.

"Deal," Lyra said crisply.

Leona snuffed out her cigarette with a sharp motion. "Tell your people to prepare the shipment. I’ll send a team to collect it immediately."

The screen went dark, and Leona wasted no time drafting the necessary logistics. Every second counted in war.

In Central City, Elden Prime...

When Leona’s work was done, night had fully settled over the city.

The faint green glow of the Aegis Shield illuminated the skyline, its protective dome casting an ethereal glow over the bustling metropolis.

Leona paused by her office window, taking in the sight. Even the artificial beauty of the shielded skyline felt like a luxury after days spent buried in reports and emergency meetings.

For a fleeting moment, she allowed herself a tired smile, but it vanished quickly. If the Empire’s forces breached this city, the skyline would be replaced by fire and carnage.

Back home, she sank into a hot bath, letting the tension in her body melt away. But just as she began to relax, an insistent knock shattered the quiet.

Muttering a curse, she wrapped herself in a robe and stomped to the door. Pulling it open, she snapped, "What is it now?"

Standing in the doorway was Caspian, his irritation mirroring her own. He didn’t wait for an invitation, pushing past her into the apartment.

"Why did you send me to Voidstar No. 2?" he demanded.

Leona arched a brow but remained unfazed as she followed him back into the room.

Caspian’s frustration boiled over. "Do you have any idea how close I came to getting killed on Wyrmtrace? Now you’re sending me on arms deals?"

Leona rolled her eyes, settling in front of her vanity to apply a face mask. Her voice was calm but laced with sarcasm. "I fought tooth and nail for this discount. If I left it to the bureaucrats, they’d drain me dry in bribes. Do you have any idea how high the deficit is right now?"

Caspian faltered, her words hitting their mark. Guilt crept into his expression as he sank into a chair.

"But I’m not even part of the government," he protested weakly. "This has to be against regulations."

Leona’s tone turned icy as she smoothed the mask over her face. "Right now, I couldn’t care less about regulations. If anyone so much as touches my funds, they’ll regret it."

Even muffled by the mask, her voice carried a blade’s edge.

Caspian sighed, running a hand through his hair. Leona’s resolve was unshakable, and he knew better than to argue when she was like this.

"Fine," he muttered. "If it’s for the Alliance’s survival, I’ll do it."

After a pause, he leaned forward, curiosity flickering in his eyes. "Where did you even find this supplier? Voidstar No. 2 doesn’t exactly sound... legitimate."

Leona shot Caspian a withering glare. "Don’t ask questions that aren’t your business, you idiot."

Caspian flinched but held his ground, though her cutting tone left little room for argument.

For years, Lyra had worked with Caspian, and he didn’t even realize what she was doing.

Lyra had commissioned entire fleets, amassed resources beyond imagination, and constructed a covert empire under the Alliance’s nose. Caspian, oblivious to the machinations around him, hadn’t even suspected a thing.

Of course, what they were doing was illegal. Arms trading outside the military’s tightly controlled supply chain wasn’t just frowned upon—it was treason.

If even a fraction of these weapons ended up in the wrong hands, like space pirates or insurgents, the Alliance would face chaos on a scale it couldn’t afford.

But desperate times demanded desperate measures. The Alliance stood on the brink, and Leona wasn’t the kind of person to let rules dictate survival. She would use any tool at her disposal, including covering for Lyra’s unorthodox dealings.

Caspian’s voice cut through her thoughts, tinged with uncertainty. "What happens if the military starts asking questions?"

Leona didn’t flinch. "Tell them to take it or leave it!"

For a moment, Caspian was stunned by her audacity. Leona wasn’t just brave; she was fearless—unyielding in the face of power.

*****

The shipment of weapons was promptly distributed to the Alliance’s military.

On the frontlines, the advanced technology turned the tide in several battles, but their origin raised questions.

When Frederick inspected the armory, his expression darkened at the sight of the unfamiliar models.

"These aren’t standard issue," he said flatly. "Where did they come from?"

Since the last overhaul of the Alliance’s procurement system, all weapons had to pass through centralized and heavily regulated channels. Deviations weren’t just rare—they were almost impossible.

An adjutant cleared his throat nervously. "Leona procured them, sir. They were shipped from Voidstar No. 2."

Frederick’s gaze shifted to Lyra, standing silently nearby. His voice took on a steely edge. "Investigate it."

Thierry frowned. "Whoever’s behind this must have immense resources. If they can manufacture at this scale, why haven’t they shown up on any of our radars?"

Cohen turned to Lyra. "You’ve been involved in procurement before. Heard of them?"

Lyra’s tone was measured, her expression neutral. "I haven’t dealt with Voidstar No. 2 in years."

The implication was clear: if she knew anything, it wasn’t recent.

Cohen decided to let the matter drop, though the suspicion lingered.

*****

Frederick’s investigation hit one dead end after another.

While the shipments were traced back to Voidstar No. 2, the actual production site was a mystery.

The intelligence report was maddeningly sparse: "We infiltrated Snakehead’s factory. It produces medical equipment and related supplies. No signs of illegal activity."

Even the underground facilities yielded no evidence of weapons manufacturing.

When Frederick asked if Leona had clarified the situation, the adjutant hesitated before relaying her response:

"She said... ’Take it or leave it.’"

*****

Behind the scenes, Leona and Lyra solidified their arrangement. The contract ensured a steady supply of advanced weaponry to the Alliance for the duration of the war.

These weapons became the backbone of the Alliance’s resistance, helping repel invasion after invasion. With every hard-won victory, scrutiny over their origins dwindled.

Survival outweighed bureaucracy, and the military eventually stopped asking questions.

Lyra’s bold deal with the Alliance wasn’t without its costs.

Snakehead, her sharp-tongued business operative, threw up his hands in frustration.

"This is madness," he grumbled. "Sixty-five percent? Do you know how much we’re losing on this deal? I might as well cough up blood and call it even!"

He paced the room, puffing angrily on a cigar. "Sis Marv, this isn’t you. You’ve always chased profit like a hawk. Now you’re practically giving it all away!"

Lyra’s expression remained unreadable. She had structured the deal to protect her associates, absorbing the financial losses herself.

"To me, money doesn’t matter anymore," she said calmly.

Snakehead narrowed his eyes. "Then what does?"

"Who knows?" Her tone was indifferent, but it carried a faint note of finality.

Snakehead exhaled a plume of smoke, shaking his head. "You don’t have to say it. I already know. It’s power, isn’t it?" He leaned back, a wry grin playing on his lips. "We’re all just waiting for the day you take the top seat in the military."

His words weren’t just flattery. Those who worked under Lyra believed she was destined to become the most powerful figure humanity had ever seen.

Lyra’s voice was steady, her eyes glinting with quiet determination.

"Trust me," she said, her words cutting through the air like a blade. "That day is coming soon."

As the night stretched over Wyrmtrace, her declaration lingered in the stillness, a promise to shape destiny itself.