Within just half an hour, Marcus had already greeted nearly every survivor inside the supermarket, leaving behind a warm and trustworthy impression. Through a blend of dry humor, lighthearted antics, and calm optimism, he managed to lift the heavy atmosphere that had been suffocating the group since the outbreak began.
By contrast, Alex—the hooded man who had entered alongside him—was the complete opposite. He remained silent, withdrawn into the darkest corner of the store, muttering strange, unsettling words under his breath.
"Heavenly Father… in my anguish, You once made me strong. I beg You now, have mercy upon me, and hear my prayer…"
Though Alex seemed to whisper, his voice was just loud enough for everyone nearby to hear.
Marcus glanced at him with a disgusted expression and said to the group, "Don't mind him. The guy's… well, he's not right in the head. Honestly, he gives me the creeps."
Moments later, Alex pulled a small notebook from his coat and began scribbling frantically while continuing to murmur, "O Lord, rebuke Satan once more, bind him to the cross where he belongs, that he may no longer act freely…"
His behavior—part madman, part zealot—quickly drew glares and uneasy whispers from those around him. Even the religious survivors found his public prayers irritating and inappropriate in such dire circumstances. Now, more than ever, unity was vital. They needed fighters, not preachers.
Of course, that was exactly what Marcus wanted.
---
Mutant Infected Mental Link
Marcus: Not bad, Alex. That performance alone could earn you an Oscar.
Alex: You flatter me, Master. I'll continue to do my best.
Marcus: Good. Are the zombies in position?
Female Infected: Yes, Master. Three hundred of them, gathered behind the building across the street.
Marcus: Excellent. Proceed with the plan.
---
As the survivors moved away from Alex, unwilling to be near him, one man alone approached—the only one kind enough to care.
Hawkeye knelt down beside Alex, his tone calm but firm.
"Hey. Look at me. Listen carefully. It's not Satan that trapped us here—it's the infected. They used to be people—Bobby, Charles, whoever—but they're not demons. We're all doing our best to hold this place together. And right now, your God doesn't need more prayers—He needs you to pick up a gun and fight. That's how you keep the faith alive."
But Alex didn't hear him—or rather, he pretended not to. His voice grew louder, his tone frenzied, his eyes wild with fear.
"They're coming! In thirty minutes—they'll be here! They'll kill the heretics! The sinners will burn! They're coming! Nine minutes!"
Hawkeye frowned. He'd seen shell-shocked soldiers before, and this was the same thousand-yard stare. Useless to reason with. He sighed and motioned for the others to give Alex space, steering them away so his panic wouldn't spread.
Right now, everyone knew one thing: in this nightmare, faith wouldn't save them. Only bullets would.
Marcus watched from across the room, his expression unreadable. Then he said lightly to Hawkeye, "I told you he's dangerous. We should lock him up before he causes trouble."
But the Avenger shook his head, his moral compass unwavering.
"He's just scared," Clint said. "We're not imprisoning someone who hasn't done anything wrong."
Marcus smirked inwardly. 'Oh, you naive fool. Soon you'll learn just how deadly words can be.'
---
The next half hour passed quietly.
Marcus continued mingling with the survivors, charming them with humor and calm reassurance, while Alex kept muttering his prophetic ravings in the corner—his voice just loud enough to worm into everyone's thoughts. Suspicion, fear, and irritation slowly began to brew among the group.
Finally, Marcus checked his watch.
Right on time.
The first wave of zombies was closing in.
From the window, he could already see the leading corpse stumbling into view. Behind it, the shadows moved like a tide of death.
He glanced back at Alex. The man was rocking back and forth, whispering louder and louder:
"They're coming! They're coming! THEY'RE COMING!"
Everything was ready.
Marcus pulled out his 9mm pistol, aimed it toward the window—and fired several blank shots into the air.
BANG! BANG! BANG!
The gunfire shattered the silence of the night, jerking every survivor awake. Faces went pale as fear flooded the room. Marcus threw himself toward the nearest aisle, shouting at the top of his lungs:
"They're here! The dead are here!"
Panic erupted. People screamed, stumbled, and ran aimlessly for cover.
And then, cutting through the chaos like a blade, came a single, commanding voice.
"Everyone listen up!"
Hawkeye leaped onto a tall shelf, drawing a flash arrow from his quiver. With a snap, he fired it toward the ceiling.
A blinding burst of light illuminated the entire supermarket like daylight. The screaming stopped. People shielded their eyes instinctively, stunned into silence.
"Listen carefully!" Hawkeye's voice rang out, strong and steady amidst the chaos. "Whether it's day or night doesn't matter! These things bleed and die like anything else. Stay calm, hold your positions, and fire on my command! We can hold the line. Together!"
Even Marcus had to admit—Hawkeye's leadership was impressive. A true soldier. A man who could inspire courage when all hope seemed lost.
But that courage would soon turn to despair.
Because Marcus had no intention of breaking their defenses through brute force.
No—he planned to destroy them from within.
---
"Positions!" Hawkeye ordered, nocking another arrow.
Gunfire erupted from the second floor, a deafening symphony of handguns, rifles, and submachine guns raining bullets into the street. The undead horde shambled forward, wave after wave pouring out of the alleyways.
Marcus glanced toward Alex, who had already taken his place near the window.
Marcus: Ready, Alex?
Alex: Always, Master.
Marcus: Good. Wait for the extras to take their marks. Once the fear sets in… we begin the real act.
Alex: As you command.
The cacophony of gunfire grew louder, echoing like the overture of a grand, bloody opera. Shell casings rained onto the floor.
Outside, the undead screamed.
Inside, the first act of Marcus Vale's grand performance—
a tale of fear, betrayal, and chaos—
had officially begun.
____
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