The live broadcast on television suddenly erupted into chaos. Soldiers who had been guarding the streets instantly raised their weapons, retreating behind makeshift barricades with alarm written all over their faces. Their fingers trembled on the triggers as if preparing for a full-scale assault.
Yet, the source of their fear was just a single figure—a man staggering unsteadily down the street like a drunk.
Yes, only one.
And judging by his sluggish movements, he didn't seem to pose any threat at all.
"What's going on?" the reporter, Mary Jane Watson, reacted on instinct, pulling her cameraman closer to capture the scene. But before they could advance, two soldiers rushed forward and physically blocked them.
"Step back! No recording! This area is under federal quarantine!"
The figure had appeared on camera for only a brief moment—too distant and blurry to be clearly identified. But Marcus's enhanced vision picked up every detail.
The man's face was crisscrossed with dark purple veins, his skin pale and lifeless. Thick saliva dripped uncontrollably from his mouth. His gait was unnatural, twitching with erratic spasms.
Marcus's heart sank.
That was no drunk.
That was a zombie.
The outbreak had begun.
Queens—New York's most densely populated borough—was now a city of the dead.
Marcus quickly pieced it together. The infected gang members he'd killed days earlier… their corpses must have triggered the chain reaction. The virus he'd injected into them hadn't disappeared—it had spread.
That meant Virus Touch was a passive ability—once the infection started, it couldn't be stopped.
"Damn it," Marcus muttered, clenching his fists. "If it weren't for those two idiots—Spider-Man and Iron Man—I would've had time to clean up those bodies."
Where were the so-called heroes when he was being hunted, bleeding and cornered? Now, suddenly, they appeared one after another, always in his way, always interfering.
It was as if fate itself had conspired against him.
The system had chosen him to be the villain, the destroyer, and every step of his path was already written.
Now that the existence of the zombie virus had been exposed, the world would react swiftly and ruthlessly. The U.S. government, superheroes, villains, mutants, corporate powerhouses—every group with influence or fear in their hearts would join forces to hunt him down.
No matter where he hid, someone would come for him.
And once captured, Marcus knew exactly what awaited him: dissection tables, laboratories, and endless experiments. He'd become nothing more than a specimen—a living weapon to be studied and exploited.
There was no turning back now.
Either Marcus destroyed the world, or the world destroyed him.
Humanity would never allow a being like him—something that threatened the very survival of their species—to coexist among them. It didn't matter how many lives he saved or what good he tried to do. He was a virus, and viruses were meant to be eradicated.
This wasn't a war of good versus evil.
It was a war of species—a fight for survival.
---
Back on the live broadcast, the situation worsened. The lone zombie, sensing the scent of human flesh, turned toward the soldiers and reporters. Driven by the primal hunger of the virus, it began to stumble forward—one jerky, awkward step at a time—heading straight for the camera.
"Zoom in! Get a close-up!" Mary Jane ordered, excitement rising in her voice. "We're witnessing something historic here!"
Her cameraman obeyed, tightening the focus on the staggering figure. The image sharpened, though still grainy from the distance.
Tomorrow's headlines were already writing themselves—
"BIOHAZARD IN NEW YORK!"
Marcus's blood ran cold.
No. That couldn't happen. The fewer people who knew about the virus, the safer he'd be. Exposure meant annihilation.
"Stop moving forward," he muttered instinctively at the screen. "Go back!"
And then, unbelievably—
The zombie stopped.
Its body went rigid, freezing mid-step like a puppet with its strings cut. The mindless hunger in its eyes vanished, replaced by a blank, empty stare. Then, as if receiving a silent command, it took several shaky steps backward—retreating from view—and stood motionless once more.
Marcus stared at the screen in stunned silence.
"…Am I controlling it?"
He recalled the description of his ability.
[Skill: Virus Touch]
Pierce an enemy with your fingers or teeth to inject the zombie virus. Ordinary humans will mutate into zombies within four hours. Mutant-type beings possess partial resistance. Infected subjects will obey your commands unconditionally.
So he could control them—telepathically, even across great distances.
Marcus focused again. Retreat, he commanded silently.
The zombie obeyed without hesitation, stumbling backward into an alley until it disappeared completely from sight. The broadcast team stared, bewildered, as their "breaking story" literally walked off camera.
Mary Jane sighed, disappointed. "Great. There goes our headline."
Marcus exhaled with relief, leaning back against the velvet couch. "That was close…"
For now, at least, the existence of the virus would remain hidden from the public eye. But deep down, he knew this cover-up wouldn't last. The infection would spread faster than any government could contain it.
Still… there was a silver lining.
If Queens had a population of over two million people—then that meant two million potential soldiers under his command.
Just one thought from him, and they could rise in unison—
a tidal wave of the undead, crashing through barricades, overwhelming the military, infecting New York, America, the world.
A single day. That was all it would take.
Marcus allowed himself a brief smile.
Of course, he knew it wouldn't be that simple.
Whenever an apocalypse began, the heroes always rallied together. They'd shout their noble slogans, form their alliances, and inevitably stand in his way.
That was fine.
He'd already decided how he would play this game.
No reckless outbreaks. No direct assaults. Not yet.
He would move in shadows, plan in silence, and wait for the perfect moment.
He'd strike when the world least expected it—when its heroes were blind, complacent, and divided.
Marcus Vale would wear the mask of a hero—beloved by millions, trusted by the righteous.
And behind that mask, he would build an empire of death.
The world would never see it coming.
_____
T/N:
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