Selling Devil Fruits in the Marvel Universe

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Night enveloped the city, a quiet darkness stretching across the landscape as most of the world succumbed to slumber. Only a few establishments, illuminated by flickering neon lights, remained active, their hums and glows piercing the stillness of the night. 

The Cross Technologies Building, usually teeming with energy, had grown eerily quiet. The endless stream of employees bustling between floors and cubicles had long since disappeared, leaving behind only the faint echoes of a building at rest.

In the aftermath of the Yellowjacket Suit's theft, Darren Cross had overhauled his security protocols. His once-unshakable confidence in the building's defenses had crumbled, replaced by an obsessive determination to prevent another breach. The usual skeleton crew of night-shift guards had been bolstered to an unprecedented level, with more than double the personnel patrolling every corner. 

For Cross, the stakes were too high to leave anything to chance. If Hank Pym and Hope Van Dyne could infiltrate his fortress once, there was no guarantee they wouldn't try again. And while the Yellowjacket Suit was already gone, another security failure would be intolerable.

"All of you, stay sharp! No slacking off!" the chief of security barked into his walkie-talkie, his voice a sharp crack against the quiet hum of monitors and machinery. "If even a fly gets inside, I want to hear about it immediately!"

He paced the control room, eyes darting between the myriad of surveillance feeds displayed on the wall of monitors. "And make sure patrols check in every time they switch shifts!"

He paused, glancing at the anxious faces of the operators seated around him. "The boss is furious. We can't afford any mistakes. Is that clear?"

"Understood!"

Satisfied with the firm chorus of acknowledgments, the security chief placed his walkie-talkie on the desk and returned his attention to the array of monitors in front of him. Normally, he wouldn't personally oversee the screens—six other personnel were assigned to the task—but with Darren Cross's current state of mind, the chief wasn't taking any chances.

*Clang! Clang!* 

The sudden sound of clattering metal echoed through the building, breaking the tense quiet.

"What was that?" the chief muttered, his eyes narrowing as he leaned closer to the monitors.

*Hiss! Hiss! Hiss!* 

From the source of the noise, thick yellow smoke began to billow, rapidly spreading through the lower floors.

"Cough! Cough!" 

The choking sounds of security personnel soon filled the radio. Desperate cries followed.

"It's gas! Poison gas!" 

Panic erupted across the airwaves. The guards' throats burned as if they had ingested acid, their lungs searing with every breath. Tears streamed uncontrollably down their faces while a fiery rash spread across their exposed skin.

"Evacuate! Get out now!" someone shouted, their voice barely audible over the chaos.

*Clang! Clang!*

As the personnel scrambled for safety, more metal canisters appeared seemingly out of nowhere, tossed by an unseen attacker. Each one released another torrent of the noxious yellow smoke, spreading like a creeping tide.

The gas had consumed the entire building within minutes, leaving no floor or corner untouched. The security personnel, overwhelmed by the toxic fumes, abandoned their posts and fled the premises in a blind panic.

Who wouldn't? Poison gas was a death sentence for anyone foolish enough to linger.

*Boom!*

Just as the last of the guards cleared the building, a deafening explosion tore through the night, shaking the ground with the force of an earthquake. A blinding flash lit up the sky, followed by an immense shockwave that rattled windows for miles.

But then, something unexplainable occurred.

In the explosion's aftermath, an eerie silence fell, broken only by the faint sound of wind rushing toward a single point. From the heart of the blast, an invisible force emerged—a vortex akin to a black hole. It sucked in debris, furniture, and even the very foundation of the Cross Technologies Building. 

In the span of mere seconds, the towering structure vanished without a trace, as if erased from existence. The once-mighty headquarters of Darren Cross was reduced to an empty plot of land, the ground where it once stood eerily smooth and untouched.

The evacuated security personnel stood frozen, their eyes fixed on the empty expanse where the Cross Technologies Building had stood just moments before. The realization was almost too surreal to process. The skyscraper, a towering monument to Darren Cross's empire, had been wiped off the map as if it had never existed.

As they gawked in disbelief, another realization began to set in. The burning in their throats, the stinging in their eyes, and the rashes on their skin—all the painful symptoms they had suffered—were gone. Vanished completely, leaving no lingering effects.

"It wasn't poison gas," one of them muttered, the words hanging in the air like a revelation.

"It was a distraction," another added, their voice filled with both awe and unease. "A diversion to drive us out... so they could destroy the building."

A heavy silence fell over the group as they exchanged uneasy glances.

"Whoever the culprit may be, they are ruthless. Absolutely ruthless."

"What kind of enemy has Darren Cross provoked this time?" someone murmured, voicing the question on everyone's mind.

Unnoticed by the stunned crowd, a tiny figure fluttered into the air—a Wasp, small and agile, its mechanical wings buzzing faintly. Hovering above the scene, Hope Van Dyne surveyed the now-empty plot of land with quiet satisfaction.

She pressed a finger to her earpiece. "Hank, it's done."

Hank Pym's voice crackled through on the other end of the comms. "I saw it, Hope. Time to pull out."

"Understood."

With a final glance at the destruction below, the Wasp disappeared into the night sky, her tiny form vanishing among the shadows.

This was the plan all along—a meticulously executed father-daughter operation to dismantle Darren Cross's empire at its very foundation.

Darren's power and influence had always stemmed from the immense value of his research, resources, and the technology housed within that building. It was the core of his strength, the source of his untouchable status.

Now, with everything obliterated, Darren Cross was reduced to nothing. His empire was in ruins, and his wealth and resources were instantly destroyed.

Without his empire, who would care about Darren Cross?

Who would stand by him when Hank Pym delivered the final blow, ensuring Darren ended up behind bars?

No one.

And that was precisely the point.

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Triskelion Headquarters

*Whoosh! Whoosh! Whoosh!*

Tires skidding over asphalt echoed through the parking lot as three sleek black SUVs pulled in, their tinted windows and armored frames exuding an air of intimidation. The doors swung open one by one, and a team of heavily armed operatives stepped out, their movements precise and disciplined.

At their head stood Brock Rumlow, the infamous leader of STRIKE, better known by his codename, Crossbones. His steely gaze swept over his team before he gave a curt nod.

"Alright, mission accomplished. Dismissed," Rumlow said, his voice calm but authoritative.

The operatives visibly relaxed, holstering their weapons and breaking into casual chatter as they began dispersing.

"Hey, Rumlow," a burly man with slicked-back hair called out, grinning as he approached. "Feel like grabbing a drink at the bar tonight?"

Rumlow shook his head, a faint smirk playing on his lips. "Not tonight. I've got other plans."

"Suit yourself," the man replied with a shrug, his tone lighthearted. "You're no fun."

"Hail Hydra," the man said quietly, his voice carrying a weight that pierced the air like a knife.

"Hail Hydra," Rumlow responded without hesitation, his tone equally measured.

The two exchanged a brief, knowing nod before parting ways.

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Nick Fury sat frozen in his office, his usually sharp mind reeling.

He couldn't believe what he'd just witnessed.

He had been keeping tabs on Brock Rumlow for weeks, driven by a gut feeling that something was amiss. Leveraging his newly acquired Devil Fruit ability, which allowed him to remotely track individuals with unparalleled precision, Fury meticulously pieced together fragments of conversations, observed movements, and noted subtle inconsistencies in Rumlow's behavior.

But nothing could have prepared him for this.

Hydra.

The word echoed in his mind like a bombshell, shattering the foundation of everything he thought he knew. Hydra, the shadowy organization that had once sought to reshape the world through fear and oppression, was supposed to be long gone—a chapter of history that S.H.I.E.L.D. had closed years ago.

And yet, here it was, alive, thriving, and infiltrating S.H.I.E.L.D. at its very core.

Fury's chest tightened as the weight of the truth settled over him. Brock Rumlow—Crossbones—a man entrusted with some of S.H.I.E.L.D.'s most critical operations, was a Hydra agent. A traitor.

His hands clenched into fists, his knuckles white.

This wasn't just a breach of trust.

This was a nightmare.

Hydra hadn't just survived; it had wormed its way into the heart of the agency Fury had dedicated his life to protecting. 

S.H.I.E.L.D., the world's first line of defense, had been compromised.

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Next Chapter: Tony Stark's Driver, Happy: I've Turned into a Dog?!

Next Next Chapter: Dog-Dog Fruit, Model: Husky

Next Next Next Chapter: The Nostalgic Feeling of Being a Husky

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