In Marvel with Ultimate Gacha

Felicia twirled the stem of her glass between her fingers, her smirk returning as she leaned slightly forward.

"You always talk like you're three moves ahead of the rest of us," she said, voice low and teasing. "So tell me, Michael—what's your next move?"

Michael didn't answer right away. The candlelight glinted off his silver eyes, catching the sharp edge of thought behind them. He finally leaned forward, elbows on the table, meeting her gaze with intensity.

"That depends," he said, voice calm but weighted. "Are you planning to run after tonight? Or stay long enough to find out what I really am?"

Felicia's smirk twitched, not fading—but it softened at the corners. Her fingers stilled around the wine glass.

"I don't run, Michael," she said. "I slip away. There's a difference."

He nodded. "Then slip into my world. I won't stop you."

A gust of wind stirred the air on the rooftop, brushing strands of her white hair across her face. For a moment, she didn't speak—just studied him.

"Alright," she said at last, her voice quieter. "One night. One chance. Impress me."

Michael rose slowly, walking around the table. She tilted her head up to look at him as he reached out a hand.

"I don't impress," he murmured. "I change people."

Felicia stared at him for a heartbeat, then laughed—a real laugh this time. She took his hand and stood.

"Then let's see how much change I can handle."

They left the rooftop restaurant, the red BMW waiting below like a faithful hound in the shadows. Felicia leaned against it as Michael unlocked it again with a gesture.

"Where to next?" she asked.

Michael glanced up at the sky. "You said something earlier—about robbing a museum?"

Felicia blinked. "You were serious?"

He smirked. "I know one. Off-the-books. Hydra...um criminal organisation owned. Illegal collection."

Her smile turned feral. "Now you're speaking my language."

They slid into the car again, this time with energy coiled tighter between them—not romantic tension, but the thrill of a shared hunt. The engine roared, and they vanished into the night like wolves chasing the moon.

Secret Hydra Vault – Upper Manhattan Industrial District

The vault was buried beneath an old textile warehouse. Felicia perched above on a hanging crane, dressed in her sleek black gear, goggles shimmering with thermal filters. She clicked into the comm.

"Three guards. Infrared trips near the north stairwell. I'm in."

Michael's voice crackled back, cool and clear. "I'm disabling the main power. When the lights drop, move."

A second later, the building shuddered—and the lights went black.

Felicia moved like a shadow through shadows, flipping down and landing silently behind one of the guards. In three seconds, all three were unconscious.

Down below, Michael strolled through the darkness like he belonged there, unbothered by alarms or traps. His aura flared subtly—just enough to bend sensors and scramble cameras.

Felicia regrouped with him at the steel vault.

"That's the one," she whispered. "Whatever they're hiding is behind that."

Michael placed a hand on the thick metal. His aura surged—a quiet pulse, almost soundless—and the entire lock system melted like wax.

Felicia raised an eyebrow. "Cheater."

Michael looked at her. "Winner."

They stepped inside.

Inside were rows of secured crates, all carefully stacked and stamped with Hydra insignias. Some bore military serials. Others were completely unmarked—deliberately erased. Felicia pried one open and blinked.

"Holy hell…" she muttered. "Hydra's been busy."

Michael didn't feel surprised that she knew about Hydra as her father is connected to Hammerhead, the guy who work with Hydra.

Though he fond it funny that a cat burglar know about HYDRA but S.H.I.E.L.D. doesn't.

Stacks of cash. Neatly bound, vacuum-sealed bricks. Euros. Dollars. Yen. Black market currency.

The next crate she cracked open was filled with pristine, museum-grade historical relics—ancient coins, gold-plated ceremonial daggers, Nazi-era war bonds, even lost artworks that hadn't seen daylight in decades.

Michael stood still, eyes sweeping across the containers. One in particular drew his attention. It wasn't labeled, but its biometric locks hummed with energy.

He placed his hand on the surface. A brief scan. The locks hissed open.

Inside was a compact, silver case—lined with lead and coded with multiple embedded encryption seals. Michael opened it.

Felicia leaned over his shoulder—and her mouth dropped open.

Inside were digital schematics for Hydra surveillance satellites, experimental drone prototypes, and nanoweapon blueprints. A small chip sat nestled in the center, protected like a crown jewel.

Michael's expression darkened. "Hydra's intelligence cache," he murmured. "Stolen tech. Global surveillance feeds. Some Project Overwatch schematics. "

Felicia whistled low. "This isn't a vault. It's a goddamn treasure chest. You know how much this is worth?"

Michael closed the case and slid it into a reinforced pouch under his coat. "A few billion—minimum. But that's not the point."

She arched a brow. "Then what is?"

He turned toward her, voice quiet. "Some things aren't for sale."

They passed more crates—each one like an echo of darker times. Photographs. Documents. A crate labeled simply "Prague" revealed hard drives marked with the logos of collapsed governments and fallen intelligence cells.

One even held a set of preserved notebooks written by Nikola Tesla himself—covered in diagrams and blueprints too advanced for their time.

Felicia stepped back, overwhelmed. "This place… it's a time bomb."

Michael nodded. "That's why we're not burning it. We're going to move it—erase the location, store it where even the World Security Council can't touch it."

She looked at him, expression unreadable. "And you're just going to hide it all?"

His voice was firm. "Some legacies shouldn't be erased. But they can't be public, either. If this falls into the wrong hands... we don't get a second chance."

Felicia stared at him for a long moment. Then, slowly, she nodded.

"You really are different from the rest."

He looked at her. "And that's why you are dating this guy."

In that dimly lit vault, surrounded by decades of stolen wealth, power, and secrets worth a war, their hands brushed.

Felicia didn't pull away, as Max look in her eyes as he leaned in kissing her.

"Still think I came just for the wine?" she asked, voice low now, almost breathless.

Michael's answer was a another kiss—slow, passionate as inside the vault both body began to coil together and a beautiful sound began to echo inside.

*******

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