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"If you've truly set your heart on the Wash-Wash Fruit, Ms. Hansen, we're looking at a standard security deposit of one million dollars."
Rosh leaned back slightly, offering Maya Hansen a smile that was polished, professional, and practiced. It was the kind of look that projected absolute confidence without being predatory. "In exchange for that commitment, I'll personally ensure the fruit is held for you for exactly thirty days. Not a day more, not a day less."
Maya didn't even blink. It was clear she'd done her homework, likely spending the previous night scouring the shop's official website for every fine-print detail. There was no attempt to haggle or push for better terms; she simply reached into her bag, produced a sleek bank card, and slid it across the polished surface of the table toward Rosh.
"Then by all means, Shopkeeper, let's process the payment," she said, her voice steady and determined. "Keep that fruit under lock and key for me, I'll secure the rest of the gold as quickly as humanly possible."
*Beep!*
The card reader let out a crisp, successful sound, signaling the transfer of funds.
"I won't take up any more of your valuable time, then," Maya added, standing up with a sharp, business-like nod. "Goodbye."
"Please, show Ms. Hansen out," Rosh instructed, glancing toward a staff member who was already waiting by the door to escort her from the premises.
The rest of the afternoon was a revolving door of high-stakes consultations. Rosh personally handled four more clients in quick succession. On paper, they were the perfect demographic: they had the genuine intent to buy and the massive bankrolls to back it up. However, the reality of the Devil Fruits often carried more weight than some were prepared for.
As Rosh walked them through the specific mechanics, the unique biological changes, the trade-offs, and the inherent quirks of each ability, a few of them started to waver. It turned out that while many craved the prestige of a Devil Fruit, not everyone was ready for the reality of how those powers actually functioned. Some found the abilities didn't quite mesh with their personal visions of power and decided to sleep on the decision.
By the time the sun began to dip and the shop prepared to close its doors, only one other guest had actually pulled the trigger, leaving a deposit to reserve a Zoan-type fruit. Rosh wasn't bothered in the slightest. High-end retail was a marathon, not a sprint, and in this business, the "nature of the beast" meant waiting for the buyer whose ambition outweighed their hesitation.
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The Triskelion, Top Floor Office
The atmosphere inside the executive suite was suffocating, the kind of heavy silence that usually precedes a disaster. Marco stood at attention before Alexander Pierce, his posture rigid and his expression grim. They spoke in low, urgent tones.
"Sir, there's no doubt about it, Fury's definitely sniffed something out," Marco said, his voice flat and devoid of any uncertainty. "Ivan Vanko is a total ghost. We've scrubbed the digital landscape, and even the NYPD's deep-dive forensics can't find a single fingerprint on the man's past. He doesn't exist on paper. So why would a literal 'nobody' be sitting at the top of Nick Fury's priority list?"
He didn't wait for Pierce to speculate. He knew the answer was as obvious as it was dangerous. "There's only one logical conclusion: the Arc Reactor. Fury's hungry for that tech too, and he thinks Vanko is the key to getting it."
Pierce nodded slowly, his eyes narrowing as he processed the report. His own assessment lined up perfectly with Marco's.
From a purely analytical standpoint, Vanko shouldn't have even registered on SHIELD's radar. On the surface, the man was unremarkable, just another grain of sand lost in a desert of billions. He didn't possess a flashy resume or a trail of academic brilliance that would normally distinguish him from the masses.
And yet, Fury had bypassed every standard protocol, dispatching his most elite tactical agents just to bring him in.
The math simply didn't add up. Pierce knew that a simple bank heist with some "high-tech toys" wasn't enough to trigger a response of this magnitude. Other directors might have been fooled by the cover story, but Pierce knew his former protégé's standards better than anyone. This was Nick Fury, a man who had traded blows with extraterrestrial threats and looked into the heart of the stars. The mundane didn't just pique his interest; it bored him.
Pierce was as certain as Marco: Fury was after Vanko because of the Arc Reactor. Which led to a more chilling question: How much did he already know?
The conclusion was cold and inescapable. Fury likely knew about the Project. He knew about the suits. He was looking right at the heart of their operation.
"Nick... he truly is the finest agent I have ever encountered in my entire career. Once again, he's proven that my high opinion of him was well-founded," Pierce sighed. There was a flicker of genuine, weary admiration in his voice, the kind a teacher feels for a student who has finally surpassed them.
He couldn't quite figure out how Fury had managed to catch wind of the operation despite their extreme, almost paranoid caution, but he wasn't entirely surprised. As he'd always said, Nick Fury was the best in the game.
"But sometimes," Pierce added, his voice dropping an octave into something dark and predatory, "being that good is a death sentence in itself."
The threat hung in the air like a sharpened blade.
"Sir, if Fury is actually tracking our movements, he's more than a problem; he's a liability we can't afford," Marco said, his eyes narrowing as he calculated the risks. "As you've said yourself, the man is dangerous and notoriously difficult to pin down. What's the plan?"
Pierce's response was immediate, cold, and absolute. "We do exactly what is necessary, Marco. We now have the miniaturized reactor in our hands. Hydra is standing on the precipice of an era unlike anything in human history. We aren't just looking for a seat at the table; we're going to burn the old world to ash and build a new one from the wreckage."
A flicker of something raw and unhinged, a deep, zealot-like conviction, flashed across both their faces. This wasn't just corporate posturing or a grab for political leverage. They truly believed in the vision. Once they moved into mass production with those armored suits, there wasn't a single military force or superhero team on Earth that could stop them. They would be gods among men.
"At this stage, I will allow no one to become an obstacle. No one. Not even Nick." Pierce's eyes flashed with a lethal, predatory light that signaled the end of a decades-long friendship.
Marco got the message loud and clear. His boss was on the same page: Nick Fury was a loose end that needed to be cut.
"Sir, we have to consider the new variables. Black Widow and Hawkeye are both Devil Fruit users now," Marco pointed out, weighing the odds of a direct confrontation. "And then there's Fury himself. He has his own Devil Fruit power, and to this day, we're still completely in the dark about what he can actually do."
"Romanoff is a minor distraction," Pierce dismissed with a sharp flick of his wrist. "Barton is a headache, certainly, but he can't hold Nick's hand twenty-four-seven. As for Nick's power... the specifics don't matter. We might not know what it is yet, but I'll make damn sure we're ready for whatever he throws at us."
He dismissed Marco with a sharp, commanding wave of his hand. "Get out. I'm handling this hit personally."
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"Planning my assassination personally, Alexander? I'm almost flattered."
Pierce had no way of knowing that his office, despite being draped in state-of-the-art security and top-tier dampening fields, was essentially an open book to the Director of SHIELD. Fury's surveillance methods weren't just advanced; they were, quite frankly, a "cheat code." No amount of high-level encryption or physical shielding mattered when the rules of the game had changed.
After a low, mocking snort, Fury's face hardened as he leaned back into the shadows of his office. He'd already been dealing with the massive migraine of Ivan Vanko falling into Hydra's hands, but the stakes had just shifted from a cold war to a hot one.
His old mentor had officially decided to kill him.
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Next Chapter: Hydra's New Head
Next Next Chapter: The Blood That Won't Wash Out
Next Next Next Chapter: The Surgeon's Skepticism
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