Chapter 3: The Whispers of S.H.I.E.L.D. and the Devil Fruit Dilemma
"Day three. Still no sign of Nick Fury knocking on my door with a recruitment pamphlet for the Avengers. Honestly, I'm a little offended. Don't I scream 'mysterious superhuman anomaly'? Maybe I need a cool, edgy costume. Something with too many belts and pouches. That'll get their attention. Or a cape. Everyone loves a cape."
Adam was perched on a rooftop, overlooking a S.H.I.E.L.D. temporary outpost set up near Grand Central. His senses were sharper than ever, picking up the subtle hum of their tech, the low murmur of their comms, the tell-tale shimmer of surveillance drones high above. He could practically hear the whispers of their frustrated conversations about the 'New York anomaly' that had vanished into thin air. They were looking for him. He could feel their net, casting wide, but he was always just beyond their grasp.
[SYSTEM MESSAGE: SHIELD SURVEILLANCE PATTERNS IDENTIFIED. OPTIMAL EVASION ROUTES CALCULATED. RECOMMENDATION: MINIMIZE DIRECT INTERACTIONS WITH KNOWN AGENTS.]
"Yeah, yeah, System, I know. 'Minimize direct interactions.' Spoken like a true AI that doesn't have to deal with Fury's perpetually narrowed eye. The guy probably has a 'Mysterious Hot Dog Choker' file on me already. And a 'Phantom Leviathan Redirector' file. I'm building quite the resume. Top secret, of course." He slipped through the shadows, moving with an almost unnatural silence. His body adjusted to every angle, every surface, making him practically invisible in the urban landscape. He could feel the slightest shift in the wind, the subtle vibrations of distant footsteps, the microscopic dust motes disturbed by an unseen drone. He was a part of the city, a phantom within its concrete veins.
He spent hours observing, not just S.H.I.E.L.D., but the city itself. Where were the gaps in their surveillance? What were their blind spots? He was building a mental map, a three-dimensional chess board of movements and counter-movements. This wasn't just about hiding; it was about laying the groundwork for future operations. He needed to understand the current security landscape before he could begin to truly manipulate it.
His mind, powered by the System's meta-knowledge, was a buzzing hive of information. He knew the general timeline of Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D., when Fitz and Simmons would first appear, their strengths, their weaknesses, their eventual roles. He knew the struggles they would face, the traumas that would shape them. He remembered Fitz's brain damage, Simmons's terrifying journey to Maveth. He could prevent some of that. He would prevent some of that. But the question wasn't if he found them, but how. And what would he tell them? How do you tell two brilliant, rational scientists that you're from another dimension and you have magic fruits to give them?
"So, here's the dilemma: 'Hey, I'm from the future, I know everything about your lives, and I have these magic fruits that will give you insane powers, but only if you help me find my hot blonde assassin crush.' Yeah, that sounds totally sane. They'll probably tranquilize me and put me in a padded cell next to Loki. Which, honestly, sounds like a fun conversation starter, but probably not ideal for recruitment." He sighed, leaning against a gargoyle, ignoring the chill of the concrete. The Devil Fruits. The Light-Light, the Room-Room, the Heal-Heal. Immense power, game-changing abilities. Powers that could turn the tide of cosmic wars.
He pictured Fitz: brilliant, awkward, socially stunted, full of untapped potential. The Room-Room Fruit would be incredible in his hands. He could spatially manipulate experiments, create perfect surgical environments, maybe even untangle his own anxieties into neat, organized cubes. He could be a living, breathing, spatial-manipulating engineer, a force of creation and destruction. And Simmons: compassionate, ethical, a genius doctor. The Heal-Heal Fruit. She could literally save lives on a scale previously unimaginable, mend shattered bones with a touch, cure diseases with a thought. It was a perfect fit, canonically. But giving someone that much power… it was a huge gamble. A massive, universe-altering gamble.
"What if they go rogue? What if they become supervillains? I mean, Fitz has had his moments of 'Dark Fitz,' and Simmons can be terrifyingly pragmatic when pushed. I'm basically handing them the keys to a couple of nuclear power plants. But if I don't, then Yelena never gets her powers, and the Adapt-Alliance never forms, and then Thanos snaps, and then… well, we all know how that goes. Decisions, decisions. It's like playing a grand strategy game, but with real lives and actual universe-ending stakes. No pressure, Adam."
He closed his eyes, visualizing the network of S.H.I.E.L.D. agents, the known safe houses, the early movements of Coulson's team. He needed to be subtle. He couldn't just walk up to Fitz and Simmons in the S.H.I.E.L.D. Academy and say, 'I'm your destiny.' He had to make it look like fate. Like a heroic intervention that just happened to involve him. A convenient, perfectly timed, completely not-manipulated coincidence. The best kind of coincidence.
Meanwhile, miles away, in the deepest, most secure levels of a S.H.I.E.L.D. facility, Nick Fury was staring at a screen, his single eye narrowed. Data streams flickered. Anomalous energy signatures. Impossibly fast movements. A brief, violent tremor during the New York invasion that wasn't attributable to a known Avenger or Chitauri. A ghost. A very powerful, very quiet ghost. And now, whispers of an unknown entity capable of manipulating localized space during the Leviathan takedown. It was all too much for a man who prided himself on knowing everything.
"Maria," Fury's voice was low, gravelly, a barely suppressed growl. "Any luck tracing that… 'anomaly' from New York? The one that disappeared after playing punch-face with Banner?"
Maria Hill, ever efficient, stood beside him, her face grim. "Negative, Director. It was like he just… vanished. No traceable energy signature, no discernible pattern of movement after the initial contact. Even the Hulk seemed… confused. And the energy manipulation during the Leviathan incident? Untraceable. It's like a phantom, Director."
Fury grunted, a sound of pure frustration. "Confused Hulk is a dangerous Hulk. And an untraceable anomaly is a threat. Keep every eye out. I want to know who, or what, that was. And I want to know why it decided to get involved. My spider senses are tingling, and I don't even have spider senses. This is worse than dealing with Stark's ego."
Adam, unknowingly, smirked on his rooftop. "Oh, Fury, you have no idea how deep this rabbit hole goes. And for the record, it's 'who,' not 'what.' And 'why' involves a hot dog and a very strong desire to not let the universe end. You're welcome for the free labor, by the way. Don't worry, I'll send you an invoice later. Probably with emojis."
He pulled out a salvaged tablet from his backpack, his fingers flying across the screen with newly acquired hacking prowess. He was sifting through public records, obscure online forums, anything that might lead him to a tangential link to Yelena. He knew it would be a long shot, but he had to start somewhere. The threads were out there, tangled in the grand tapestry of the MCU. And he was going to pull them, one by one, until he found his queen. His future partner in sarcastic crime.