The Gatling gun roared with terrifying intensity. At a rate of a hundred rounds per second, it unleashed a storm of lead upon Marcus, bullets raining down heavier than any downpour.
He dropped into a crouch, pulling his entire body behind his metal shield, using it as his only barrier against the overwhelming barrage.
"Clang! Clang! Clang! Clang!"
The sound of bullets ricocheting off the shield filled the alley, sparks bursting in every direction as the rounds tore into the surrounding walls, carving deep craters and sending clouds of dust billowing upward.
The once-smooth, silver shield quickly turned black and dented under the relentless assault, its surface warping from the heat. The sheer kinetic force pinned Marcus in place, forcing him to pour even more bio-energy into reinforcing the shield's hardness.
"Tch… only a tenth of my full power—it's annoying." He gritted his teeth. "Alex!"
"Understood, my lord!"
From within the smoke and shattered debris, Alex's tendrils burst forth—dark, sinuous, and deadly. They whipped through the air like serpents, streaking toward the massive gunner.
The big man reacted with surprising speed, dragging the spinning Gatling gun as he threw himself to the side. The tendrils missed his heart by inches—but one still pierced straight through his right arm.
"AAAHHHHHH!"
The scream tore from his throat as his arm began to dissolve, the flesh bubbling and melting away as if submerged in acid. The corrosion spread rapidly from the wound inward, consuming the limb. Desperation overtook him.
With a savage snarl, he drew his combat knife with his remaining hand—and sliced off his own arm in one brutal motion. Blood sprayed across his chest, and the agony nearly knocked him unconscious, but he remained alive. Barely.
Now cornered, trembling, and slick with his own blood, the gunner raised his remaining hand. Strapped to his wrist was a micro missile launcher—Hammer Industries' so-called masterpiece: the Ex-Wife.
The same weapon he'd boasted about moments ago.
"If I'm dying," he roared, his face twisting in madness, "I'm taking you with me!"
The launcher whined as a pen-sized missile spun to life. Its miniature thrusters ignited, producing a deafening roar that shook the air. Despite its size, the weapon's energy output was immense—far beyond anything its design should've allowed.
Finally, with a flash of blue fire, the missile launched.
"Let's go, Ex-Wife!"
The projectile streaked forward, leaving a trail of light as it rocketed straight toward Marcus.
And then—
Tink.
Instead of an explosion, there was a soft metallic ping.
The missile bounced harmlessly off Marcus's metal shield, dropped to the ground, and rolled into a puddle of blood with an anticlimactic plop. It sparked once. Twice. Then fizzled out completely.
Silence.
The big man blinked, dumbfounded.
"...Are you fucking kidding me?!"
That was his final sentence—his last, furious words in this life.
May heaven be free of Hammer Industries.
The battle was over.
Marcus and Alex began clearing the battlefield. Alex's ability—to disassemble and reconstruct organic matter—was equally suited for killing or healing. His tendrils could tear apart flesh, or rebuild it.
Now, he was using them to reassemble the broken bodies of the fallen mercenaries, reshaping them for reanimation. Once revived, they would serve as zombie soldiers, capable of joining the horde.
Marcus watched, curious. "So, Alex… these soldiers were trained and experienced. Will that make them stronger once they've turned?"
Alex nodded without pausing his work. "Yes, Master. In fact, those with strong willpower or combat experience have a higher chance of skipping the standard transformation stage entirely, evolving directly into Mutant Infected like myself. However…"
He hesitated briefly. "Such individuals retain much of their human consciousness. They may not be as loyal as the average infected. I would advise purging the rebellious portions of their minds to ensure obedience."
Marcus smirked faintly. "So even if I make a zombie hero, there's no guarantee I'll control him completely."
He leaned against a broken wall, thinking aloud. "Someone like the Hulk wouldn't matter—his brain's simple enough. But if it were someone like Tony Stark… turning him into a mindless puppet would be a waste. A walking machine with no genius inside has no value at all."
By the time Marcus finished his thought, Alex had already completed the reconstruction. Six mercenary corpses stood before him—repaired and ready.
Unfortunately, even the most experienced of them, the captain, had failed to evolve into a Mutant Infected. They were nothing more than ordinary zombies now—mindless but serviceable.
Then—
A faint hissing reached Marcus's ears.
It sounded like leaking gas.
His eyes narrowed as he scanned the area, following the sound… until he saw it.
The missile. The Ex-Wife.
It was lying in the blood, sparking faintly once more. White smoke coiled upward from its casing.
"Alex!" Marcus barked.
And then—
BOOM!
A blinding flash engulfed the alleyway.
A massive mushroom cloud of fire erupted, shaking the surrounding buildings to their foundations. The two structures forming the alley were torn apart instantly, collapsing into heaps of rubble.
The newly revived zombies were obliterated, shredded into scraps of flesh and bone that rained across the area like gore-soaked debris. A thick wave of black smoke rolled over the ruins, choking the air with the scent of ash and burnt metal.
"Cough… cough…"
Alex groaned, dragging himself from the rubble. To his shock, he was largely unscathed.
When he looked up, he saw why.
Marcus stood in front of him—his body completely transformed into solid bio-metal, the metallic surface scorched and fractured. He had taken the full brunt of the blast, shielding Alex from the worst of it.
Half of his body was charred black, steaming in the cold air.
"Master! I—"
Marcus raised a hand, cutting him off. He released his transformation, the metal dissolving back into flesh—torn, burned, and bleeding.
"Bring me food," he ordered calmly. "I need to replenish my bio-energy."
Alex's lips trembled. He opened his mouth several times, struggling to find words, but in the end, he simply nodded.
"Yes, Master."
Then he ran off into the ruins to do as commanded.
Marcus watched him go, his expression unreadable.
Loyalty was a useful trait.
But emotion?
That was irrelevant.
____
T/N:
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