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Afghanistan.
Beneath the relentless sun, a supply truck rumbled along a dusty, unmarked road, its tires kicking up trails of sand as it traversed the vast, barren desert.
The truck's driver and his co-driver sat comfortably in the front, engaged in casual conversation. Their voices carried an obscure dialect, one spoken only in a handful of Middle Eastern nations, unintelligible to most outsiders. Laughter filled the cramped cabin as they exchanged jokes, the ease of their conversation suggesting they had done this countless times before.
Both men were armed.
The driver had a holstered pistol at his waist while the passenger's assault rifle rested against the dashboard, within easy reach. Yet, despite their weapons, neither of them had any reason to suspect that they were being watched.
In the truck's cargo area, nestled among crates of supplies, four burly men sat in two rows facing each other. They were soldiers, hardened and confident, their weapons resting loosely in their arms.
One of them cracked a joke, prompting a round of chuckles. Another pulled a cigarette from his pocket, lighting it with practiced ease. They were at ease, completely unaware of the danger lurking just beyond the next rocky outcrop.
Because hidden in the shadows, a strike team was lying in wait.
Poised on the high ground, concealed behind jagged formations of rock and sand, six figures watched the convoy in silence.
Falconman, Clint Barton. Sharp-eyed, precise, and a master of aerial combat. Black Widow, Natasha Romanoff. Lethal, strategic, and calculating. Kingpin, Wilson Fisk. A behemoth of power and influence with brute strength to match. Deadpool, Wade Wilson. Unpredictable, deadly, and absolutely unhinged. Hope Van Dyne. Trained, tactical, and a force to be reckoned with.
And a contingent of S.H.I.E.L.D. operatives. Skilled professionals prepared for a coordinated strike.
Pepper Potts, however, was not among them.
She had insisted on joining the mission, arguing that her Bubble-Bubble Fruit ability could be useful in combat. And while no one denied the potential of her newfound powers, this wasn't just a fight—it was a military-grade operation.
At the end of the day, Pepper was still a civilian.
She wasn't a trained soldier. She hadn't spent years in hand-to-hand combat or undergone special operations training. No matter how much she wanted to help, her presence on the battlefield would have been more of a liability than an asset.
And so, after a firm and unanimous rejection from the team, especially from Falconman and Black Widow, Pepper had been forced to remain at the command center, listening in for updates.
Hope Van Dyne, however, was an entirely different case.
At first glance, she and Pepper weren't so different. Both were corporate figures, intelligent, resourceful, and accustomed to high-pressure environments. But Hope had something Pepper didn't—combat training.
Unlike Pepper, Hope had spent years honing her skills. She had trained in close-quarters combat, studied tactics, and prepared for situations exactly like this. She might not have had the battlefield experience of Black Widow or the raw precision of Falconman, but compared to the average S.H.I.E.L.D. agent?
She was more than capable.
And so, here they were. An elite strike force of Devil Fruit-powered operatives, poised for the perfect ambush.
A team assembled for one purpose.
To bring Tony Stark home.
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"Eyes sharp. The target is in sight," Falconman murmured through the comms, his voice low but firm. His reconnaissance was complete, and now, it was time to act.
Not that anyone really needed the reminder—the approaching supply truck was already locked in everyone's sights.
"Alright, Hope, you're up," Black Widow signaled, her sharp eyes flicking toward her teammate.
Hope nodded without hesitation, lowering her Wasp helmet into place and pressing the activation button.
*Shhhp!*
In an instant, her form shrank down to the size of a wasp, her translucent wings fluttering to life as she zipped toward the moving truck with incredible speed.
She was nearly invisible from a distance—just a tiny blur against the vast desert backdrop.
Deadpool, however, was not about to let this moment pass without commentary.
"Whoa! Did you guys see that? She actually shrank! That is so cool," he gushed, practically vibrating with excitement. Then, after a brief pause, he mused aloud, "Hey, do you think she'd let me borrow that suit sometime? I wanna try the whole tiny-flying thing."
Another paused. "Although… that suit looks kinda designed for a woman. It might feel weird. But you know what? I like weird."
Black Widow sighed so deeply it could've been mistaken for a desert breeze. "Wade, for the love of—can you shut up for once?" she snapped, her patience worn razor-thin.
She had already suffered through Deadpool's nonstop chatter in their group chat. Seeing him in person only confirmed her worst suspicion—he never stopped talking.
Since the team had assembled, his mouth had been running on overdrive. At first, they tolerated it. Some even ignored it. But now? In the middle of a high-stakes mission?
Natasha had officially reached her limit.
"Okay, okay! Geez, no need to be so mean," Deadpool muttered, making an exaggerated motion like he was zipping his lips.
She didn't buy it for a second. With an eye roll that could power a small city, Black Widow turned back to the mission at hand.
Hope was too small to see with the naked eye now, but that wasn't a problem for Falconman. Standing beside her, his expression unshaken, he saw everything.
His enhanced vision, sharpened both by natural talent and his Bird-Bird Fruit Model: Falcon, made it easy to track her movements.
Through his keen gaze, he followed Hope as she expertly weaved through the air, her tiny form a blur of motion. Then, with absolute precision, she shot straight into the truck's hood—phasing through the metal like it was water, a seamless display of her Devil Fruit ability.
Then—
*BAM!*
A sudden, sharp impact echoed through the air. Hope, still in her tiny wasp form, shot forward like a bullet and crashed straight into the man riding shotgun.
The guy convulsed violently, his body seizing up as if he'd been struck by a bolt of lightning. The sheer force of the hit sent him hurtling backward, the truck door swinging open as he was flung out onto the rough dirt road with a heavy thud.
"*&%@!#*&!—"
The driver barely had a second to process what happened before Hope struck again—just as fast and brutal. This time, it was his turn to be launched from the vehicle, tumbling through the air before landing hard on the ground.
Only then did Hope shift back to full size in a smooth, effortless motion. She grabbed the wheel, her grip firm, and slammed on the brakes.
*SCREEEECH!*
Even as the tires skidded against the road, the truck's rear doors suddenly burst open with a loud *BANG!*. Four heavily armed men leaped out, their submachine guns already raised and ready to fire.
*Swoosh!*
But before they could even pull the trigger—
An arrow sliced through the air, streaking down from above with pinpoint precision, landing right at their feet.
It didn't strike any of them directly.
It didn't have to.
The instant it touched the ground—
*CRACKLE!*
A surge of electricity exploded outward from the arrow's tip, crackling like a violent storm. The gunmen barely had time to react before the bolts of energy coursed through their bodies, sending them into uncontrollable convulsions. Within seconds, their weapons slipped from their hands, and one by one, they collapsed in a heap.
"Move in!" Falconman's command was sharp and immediate. The S.H.I.E.L.D. agents sprang into action, moving with precision as they swiftly secured the unconscious men.
The rest of the team emerged from their covers, closing in on the truck. Black Widow didn't hesitate. She walked straight to where the fallen driver lay, crouching beside him with a calculated look.
With practiced efficiency, she placed one hand against his face and the other against her own.
Then, in the blink of an eye, her form shifted. It was seamless. Almost eerie. By the time she stood up, the transformation was complete. She wasn't Black Widow anymore. She was a perfect replica of the driver, right down to the smallest detail.
"Whoa!" Deadpool blurted out, eyes wide with fascination. "So that's the power of the Mimic-Mimic Fruit? That's basically shapeshifting, right? Wait a sec—"
He leaned in, squinting at her with exaggerated scrutiny.
"Uh, Natasha, no offense, but when you turned into a dude… things kinda, uh, flattened out down there. That feels weird to you, or are you just really committed to the whole 'accuracy' thing?"
Black Widow let out an exhausted groan, pressing her fingers against her temples as if she could physically block out his existence.
"God, can someone please sew his mouth shut?" she muttered.
Only, it wasn't her voice that came out. It was the deep, gruff tone of the driver she had just copied.
Kingpin and Hope exchanged glances, both intrigued by just how seamless the transformation was. The Mimic-Mimic Fruit didn't just alter appearances—it provided a perfect disguise. No flaws, no gaps.
With everything in place, the team moved into the final phase of their plan.
Aside from Falconman, everyone—including the Devil Fruit users and S.H.I.E.L.D. agents—piled into the back of the truck, making sure to stay out of sight.
Black Widow didn't waste a second. With a smooth, confident motion, she fired up the engine and pulled the truck onto the road.
In moments, they were gone, disappearing into the distance, leaving nothing behind but a trail of dust in their wake.
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Next Chapter: A Stunned Tony Stark
Next Next Chapter: The Devastating Combat Power of the Devil Fruit Task Force!
Next Next Next Chapter: The Despair Brought by the Devil Fruit Task Force
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