Lying on her bed, Thea Queen knew her mother disapproved of her decision, though she hadn't said anything. Her mother had no idea how dangerous this world was, or how many times Thea had awakened from nightmares in terror.
From all the intelligence gathered, it was clear that Superman and Batman had already fought several times. The official statement said the result was "a draw." What did that mean? It meant that Superman was currently at his Iron Age or Post-Modern level—otherwise, no matter how skilled Batman was, there would be no way he could end up evenly matched with the Man of Steel.
Look back at the Silver Age Superman and you'll understand: he could blow out a star with a single breath, sneeze and destroy the entire solar system, pull multiple planets with his bare hands, move faster than The Flash, and even break the limits of time to kill his own mother—completely ignoring causality itself.
Sounds familiar? Those are the kinds of powers that only appear in the final chapters of a fantasy novel. Superman, however, started at that level. Terrifying, isn't it? Even a Super Saiyan wouldn't stand a chance against him. So if Batman can still fight evenly with him now, Superman must be at his weakest stage.
What Thea feared was not that Superman was too strong—but that he was too weak. If a Silver Age Superman were protecting Earth, peace would be guaranteed; no villain would dare to cause trouble. She could just enjoy her days as a beautiful CEO, playing games with Felicity Smoak without a care in the world. But unfortunately, this was an age of chaos, and wealth without power was like a castle in the air—ready to collapse at a touch.
She needed to pay more attention to the Queen–Merlyn Group's Weapons R&D Division. That department surely held the key equipment she needed. Maybe she could even become this world's version of Iron Man. But that was wishful thinking. For confidentiality, she would probably have to work alone—or with only a few trusted assistants. If she mobilized the entire Queen–Merlyn Group for a five-year research plan, the military would seize everything the moment success was achieved.
Even Tony Stark, with S.H.I.E.L.D. backing him, still had to hand over his armor. How could she possibly fare better? She could only work in secret. Yet Tony was a double Ph.D. who entered MIT at fifteen and graduated at eighteen, and even built the Mark I in a cave. Meanwhile, she was fifteen and hadn't even finished high school yet. The difference was laughable.
Still, her Iron Man dream would have to wait. For now, Thea continued her ordinary routine—office, small forest path, then home. As for high-school graduation, Moira Queen had spent a fortune pulling strings and negotiating with officials, and it was going well. If all went smoothly, Thea would enter the Princeton Department of Electrical Engineering next year.
Moira fully supported her daughter attending a top university—better that than learning how to fight more efficiently. She hadn't questioned why Thea chose engineering over majors like journalism or biopharmaceuticals, which attracted more women. Female engineers were rare in America, but not unheard of.
Malcolm Merlyn didn't particularly care either but helped make a few connections. He figured more education couldn't hurt. He even wondered whether his son Tommy was such a troublemaker because he hadn't studied enough. Maybe he should send him to college too? But after comparing Tommy's SAT scores with Thea's, he gave up. With that elementary-school-level brain, better to keep him in Star City—sending him out would only embarrass the family.
Unaware that she had inadvertently caused new trouble for Tommy, Thea was visiting the company's Weapons R&D Department. To be precise—she was "inspecting," though "wandering around" might be more accurate.
"Dr. Hoffman, what's this thing?" Thea asked, pointing at a helmet that looked like something Magneto would wear.
The old man beside her, his hair pure white, wasn't exactly pleased with the heiress randomly dropping by. But since Director Andre had mysteriously disappeared, he had to manage everything himself, and he didn't dare offend the future head of the corporation.
"It's a positioning helmet," he said vaguely. "You can think of it like a radar."
That wasn't true at all, but he hoped the term would be enough to shut her curiosity down.
"Radar?" Thea frowned, touching the smooth, round device. It didn't feel like a radar. Was he taking her for a fool? She ignored the "radar" comment and pressed on: "You said it's a positioning helmet? How does it locate targets?"
Dr. Hoffman mentally cursed himself—he shouldn't have said the real name. Now he had to explain: "It uses probabilistic distribution algorithms for calculation." Let's see if that shuts her up, he thought smugly.
Thea didn't quite grasp such jargon but politely asked, "So what exactly can it calculate?"
The old scientist, losing patience, muttered, "It measures nearby bio-electric fields."
That term she recognized. "Oh—like sharks, right? Passive electro-location?"
Huh. Not bad! The old man was genuinely surprised. Most girls her age would be out drinking, not discussing bio-electrical detection. His interest piqued, he began explaining his prized invention in detail.
"You're right, Miss Queen. We based it on how sharks hunt. Their vision is poor, but they've evolved to sense special bio-electric signals, allowing them to detect prey within ten kilometers even in dark waters. We reversed that principle for our design…"
As the old man spoke, Thea translated it into gaming terms—it sounded like a hunter's tracking mark. As long as the target lived, it stayed visible on the map. Impressive! She wondered if she could use such a device herself.
Seeing her genuine curiosity, the old scientist was pleased. Among the company's upper management, she was the only one who had ever shown interest in their work. His team had achieved some success over the years, but nothing that brought real profit to the corporation. He often felt guilty for burning through the company's budget with little to show.
He continued enthusiastically:
"This is an underwater illumination device. Most commercial ones only reach 100 meters, but ours can light up to 500."
"This is a micro-missile—two models: surface and air. Compact, but shorter range. We're still improving that."
"This is an emergency transport unit. It can be remotely controlled at 400 km/h and carry about one ton of supplies."
And so on.
By the end of his presentation, Thea was truly amazed. Still, most of the projects had little commercial value. After reviewing them all, she realized only the underwater searchlight could be sold for a profit—but even that had too small a market to cover its development costs.