Ice-Ice Fruit in Marvel

George Stacy stood frozen, his face a mixture of disbelief and horror. The scene before him was almost otherworldly—three entire streets of Hell's Kitchen encased in ice, with gang members suspended in frozen agony like lifelike statues. It was as though time itself had been stopped, capturing the moment of their demise.

"Boss, all of the Hell's Kitchen Triad strongholds were hit tonight. It ended when this 'Ice Demon' stormed the Triad's main headquarters and went into the Zhonghua Building," the captain of the anti-crime and anti-narcotics department reported, his expression as dark as George's.

"Also, sir… the FBI, National Security Agency, and Homeland Security have all shown up."

George Stacy sighed. It was too big to cover up now. The carnage was undeniable—over a thousand dead, even if they were criminals. Tomorrow's headlines would be a global sensation, and New York would once again be the focal point of the world.

"These damned Mutants," George muttered under his breath. He was no stranger to the chaos that extraordinary beings could bring. Mutants had attacked the White House and infiltrated the military before, but nothing like this—nothing on the scale of what had happened tonight in Hell's Kitchen.

As much as George Stacy wanted to take control of the situation, he knew this was far beyond the jurisdiction of the NYPD. Supernatural powers on this level were out of their hands, but it still gnawed at him. This was his city, his responsibility. New York wasn't just a place on a map—it was his territory, and the thought of superpowered beings wreaking havoc with impunity made his blood boil.

If these kinds of people weren't kept in check, how many more families would suffer? How many more would lose loved ones to these living disasters?

"Director, the agents from Homeland are here," Captain Mark said softly, bringing George back to the present.

George turned and saw a middle-aged man in a black suit, with a receding hairline, approaching. Behind him was a squad of agents, all equally serious and ready for action.

"Director George, I'm Phil Coulson, Agent of S.H.I.E.L.D. I'm here under direct orders from the White House. This area is now under our control. I'll need your full cooperation," Coulson said, smiling politely but with an edge of authority.

Mark clenched his fists, anger flashing across his face. He wanted to punch the man, but the document in Coulson's hand made it clear—this was an official White House order.

"By the way, take care of the Triad's drugs and any bodies that aren't frozen. You won't need those for your investigation," Coulson added, his tone firm. He knew that the only way to get cooperation from the local police was to assert dominance.

George Stacy extended his hand, though reluctantly. "Captain Mark here will assist you with whatever you need," George said as he shook Coulson's hand, then turned and left without another word. This was too much for the NYPD to handle, and he had to prepare for the media circus that was sure to follow.

After George departed, Coulson nodded to Mark. "Let's get started. We need to secure the scene before anyone else shows up."

As Coulson walked among the frozen corpses, his breath turned visible from the cold. Even in his suit, he felt like winter had suddenly descended on the streets of Hell's Kitchen.

"Do we know if it was a mutant?" Coulson asked quietly.

"Mr. Coulson, we've scanned for X-gene markers—no traces so far," one of the agents reported.

Coulson frowned. For years, S.H.I.E.L.D. had developed technology to track mutants, and while there was still a chance this was mutant-related, the initial evidence suggested otherwise. If this wasn't the work of the X-Men's Iceman, then who—or what—was behind it?

In his years at S.H.I.E.L.D., Coulson had come across people with extraordinary powers that had nothing to do with being mutants. Artifacts, cursed objects, even alien technology had given some people immense abilities. These were the ones hardest to control—individuals who had no natural limits, no governing body, and often no loyalty to anyone but themselves.

"This level of ice manipulation—if left unchecked, it's a massive social threat. He wiped out the Triad, but what if he turns on civilians next? We need to find Mrs. Gao. She's the key to understanding what happened tonight," Coulson said, his mind already racing with plans.

He issued orders for the entire area to be sealed off. "No photos, no leaks. The official story is that there was a fire during a gang war. Let the public think it's Hell's Kitchen being Hell's Kitchen."

Professor X's voice echoed in Coulson's mind, "Thank you, Mr. Coulson."

Coulson sighed. "You're not making any friends with this, Professor."

"I will find Mrs. Gao for you. This incident can't be allowed to fuel more anti-mutant sentiment. If it does, a full-scale war could break out between humans and mutants, and no one will win that."

Coulson felt the weight of Professor X's warning. If word got out about the Ice Demon, the media frenzy could easily be twisted into a narrative that would paint mutants as the villains. It was a delicate balance that could tip the world into chaos.

"We're not enemies, Professor. Infighting will only make us weaker," Coulson replied.

But the Professor had already disconnected.

Across the city, Wilson Grant Fisk—better known as Jin Bin, the underworld kingpin of New York—stood on the top floor of his skyscraper, overlooking the chaos below. His massive figure cast a long shadow over the city.

Behind him stood his assassin, Bullseye, casually chewing on a toothpick. "You know I can get him, Wilson. My bullet passed right through his head. But it didn't kill him. That ice demon… nothing we threw at him worked."

Fisk didn't turn around. His gaze remained fixed on the distant skyline. "There isn't a man alive without weaknesses, Bullseye. I need you to find his."

Hell's Kitchen was Jin Bin's domain, and the chaos that the Ice Demon had sown threatened his empire. Mrs. Gao's absence left a vacuum that other gangs would soon fight over, and the instability could cost Fisk millions in business. Worse still, Vanessa had left him, taking their child with her, and now his grand plan—to bring them back through his secret project—was at risk.

Bullseye's cold voice broke the silence. "I'll get him, Wilson."

Fisk finally turned, his massive presence exuding raw power. "I don't doubt your abilities, but this Ice Demon has caused too much disruption. We need control restored, and I need you to take care of it."

Fisk's mind churned with possibilities. There had to be a way to take advantage of this Ice Demon. Whether through manipulation, elimination, or something else, Fisk always had a plan.

"Wilson," Bullseye said, his voice low and dangerous, "I'll find his weakness, and when I do, he's dead."

Jin Bin nodded, satisfied. No one threatened his empire and walked away unscathed—not even an Ice Demon.

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