"RRAAAAGHHHH!!"
Abomination's roar tore through the night, raw and full of pain.
For the first time since he'd injected himself with that bastardized Super Soldier Serum—enhanced with a trace of Hulk's blood—he was bleeding.
He was supposed to be the pinnacle of human evolution, the perfect fusion of science and brute strength.
The result of cutting-edge bioengineering!
And yet… here he was, being toyed with by a walking tin can.
By Darren, in his BT-7274 Titan mech.
The humiliation was unbearable.
"Damn you!" Abomination snarled, eyes glowing with fury as he lunged forward. His massive right hand clamped down on BT's sword arm like a steel vice, fingers digging deep into the armor plating.
Ignoring the agony from his severed left wrist, he began hammering BT's chest with brutal, piston-like blows—each strike ringing out like a thunderclap.
BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!
The Titan's shimmering energy shield flared under the assault, rippling violently. Its power levels dropped fast—too fast.
But inside the cockpit, Darren barely flinched.
"Alright, big guy," he muttered. "You wanna play rough? Let's play rough."
He triggered the command with a thought.
BT's shoulders snapped open, revealing twin missile pods brimming with micro-rockets.
FWOOSH!
A burst of fire erupted as the missiles shot out—point-blank, straight into Abomination's snarling face.
BOOM!!
The explosion rocked the street, blinding light and heat swallowing both combatants.
The shockwave hurled Abomination backward, sending him tumbling through the wreckage like a ragdoll.
BT, shield intact, spun in midair—landing hard but steady, hydraulic limbs locking into position with a heavy metallic thunk.
"Let's end this."
The Titan's right arm shifted, armor plates sliding into place as the long, glowing barrel of a sniper railgun emerged. The weapon hummed with escalating power; the core in BT's chest began to pulse with an orange glow, resonating like a heartbeat.
Darren's eyes narrowed.
"Eat my plasma railgun, you ugly lizard!"
BOOOOOOM!
A blinding beam of orange plasma erupted from the cannon, cutting through the air with a thunderous crack—
and struck Abomination square in the chest.
The impact was catastrophic.
The beam didn't hit him—it erased him.
When the light faded, Abomination looked down in disbelief. A hole, as wide as a basketball, gaped through his chest.
Charred edges sizzled, the stench of burnt flesh and ozone rising as his organs and bones crumbled into black ash.
"H-how…" he croaked weakly, voice trembling with shock and fury.
Then his body gave out.
The monster's pupils dimmed, his massive frame collapsing with an earthshaking THUD.
Dust rose. Silence followed.
And in Darren's ears—came the familiar, glorious chime:
[You have defeated Boss: "Abomination" Emil Blonsky!]
[Calculating damage rewards…]
Rewards obtained:
15,000 Experience Points
+7 Free Attribute Points
Skill: Fiery Insight (Fire-Eyed True Vision)
Item: Memory of the Cat
Item: Senzu Bean
…
Skill – Fire-Eyed True Vision:
Grants the ability to see through all falsehoods and disguises. Unmasks illusions, makeup sorcery, beauty filters, and catfishing alike. Never get scammed by fake selfies again.
Item – Memory of the Cat:
Forces a target to witness "the memory of the cat." Contents are indescribably horrific. Side effects on the viewer are unpredictable. Use with caution.
Item – Senzu Bean:
Instantly restores all physical strength and heals external/internal injuries. Does not cure diseases. One bean sustains ten days without food.
…
Darren whistled lowly. "Now that's a payday."
The rewards were way more generous than before—clearly, the stronger the boss, the better the loot.
He casually distributed his seven attribute points across Strength, Agility, and Constitution, feeling the surge of raw power ripple through his veins.
With Abomination down, he didn't even glance at General Ross's forces regrouping in the distance.
He simply turned BT around, thrusters flaring, and stomped off into the night.
…
By morning, the Harlem Incident dominated every major headline.
The footage of the Titan vs. Abomination battle spread like wildfire—
smoke, fire, a skyscraper-sized mech firing a plasma railgun in the middle of Manhattan.
The world lost its mind.
Every outlet except The Daily Bugle (which, as usual, was too busy accusing Spider-Man of jaywalking) ran the same story:
"MYSTERY WAR MACHINE DESTROYS MUTANT MONSTER IN HARLEM—NOT STARK TECH, CLAIMS STARK INDUSTRIES!"
That denial from Stark's PR department only made things worse.
Now everyone—from tech analysts to conspiracy nuts—was obsessed with the question:
Who the hell was piloting that thing?
Meanwhile, Harlem residents flooded the streets in protest.
Their homes? Gone.
Their cars? Crushed.
Their insurance? Useless.
And the banks? Still demanding mortgage payments on houses that no longer existed.
You could practically hear the collective mental breakdown.
Fueled by "certain shadowy figures" (namely, a certain bald man with an eyepatch), the mob's anger turned toward one name—
General Thaddeus Ross.
Once word leaked that his own experiment had turned Harlem into a warzone, the outrage became unstoppable.
People demanded accountability. Compensation. Blood.
Ross's career went up in flames overnight.
And with public fury raging at full blast, even he had no time left to chase Bruce anymore.
…
Back at S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters, Darren lounged on the couch as the system chimed again:
[Mission "Protect Bruce Banner" Complete!]
Rewards:
> 1,500 EXP
> +30 S.H.I.E.L.D. Reputation
> Equipment: Electrocutive Ring
> Item: Hair Growth Serum
Electrocutive Ring: Emits high-voltage electrical current on command.
Hair Growth Serum: Guarantees a full, luscious head of hair. Programmers rejoice.
Darren smirked. "So Bruce finally got away, huh? Good for him. Hope he made it out of the country by now."
"Agent Darren!"
The familiar baritone sliced through his thoughts.
Nick Fury stood across the room, face darker than his coat.
He'd clearly been talking for a while—Darren, as usual, hadn't heard a word.
Fury pinched the bridge of his nose. "Do you have any idea how much chaos you caused last night? You've got half the world looking for you right now!"
Darren blinked innocently. "Looking for me? Why?"
"Because of that thing you were piloting, that's why! The military's already crawling all over Stark, begging him to build them a copy of your mech—but he turned them down flat."
Of course, Fury already knew the truth.
That Titan wasn't Stark's doing—it was Darren's.
And that fact scared him more than anything.
He'd analyzed some of Darren's "gifts" before—those bizarre items he kept pulling out of thin air—and found nothing.
No material signatures, no chemical traces, not even atomic readings.
They didn't just defy science—they defied existence.
And if someone else tried to take them?
They vanished instantly, reappearing right back in Darren's possession.
As for forcing him to hand them over?
Not. A. Chance.
Fury had learned long ago that while Darren played along, did missions, and even cracked jokes, he wasn't controlled by anyone.
He was a wildcard—dangerous, unpredictable, uncontainable.
And above all, he didn't care who you were.
If someone ever crossed him—be it a thug, a general, or a world leader—
he'd shoot them in the head, loot the body, and walk away humming.
After all, as he once told Fury himself—
"I'm a Player, Nick. You're just an NPC. You sure you wanna test the respawn system?"
The memory sent a chill down Fury's spine.
The first time they met, Darren had casually mused aloud about "testing whether Fury dropped loot."
Fury had his hand on his gun the entire time.
Now, looking back, he thanked every god he hadn't drawn it.
Because if he had? By sunrise, S.H.I.E.L.D. would've been hosting his funeral.
-------------------------
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