Under Hawkeye's ruthless, lightning-fast assault, the dozens of zombies that came charging toward them were torn apart in moments. His movements, normally calm and precise, had turned wild and furious. The elegance of a master archer was gone—what remained was the unrestrained violence of a beast unleashed. Limbs flew, bones shattered, and blood splattered the rooftop like crimson rain.
"Hawkeye, are you alright?" Marcus asked, his tone filled with false concern.
Fortunately, Hawkeye still retained some composure. "I'm fine. I just… need a moment. Let's keep moving."
Marcus didn't send any more hordes of zombies their way—only the occasional straggler or two, just enough to maintain the illusion of danger without raising suspicion.
Through the mental link, Alex's voice echoed faintly in Marcus's mind:
"It's done. The fighting inside has stopped. The last survivor is dead."
Marcus smiled faintly. Forty-seven survivors—gone. Almost all of them had died by each other's hands.
Everything was unfolding perfectly.
---
After climbing several flights of stairs, the two reached the rooftop of a tall building overlooking the city. Hawkeye pulled a specialized arrow from his quiver and planted it into the ground. The shaft split open, unfolding into a small transmitter. It began to emit a steady beep-beep-beep signal into the night sky.
Then, making sure to block Marcus's line of sight, Hawkeye pulled out a small communicator from his jacket and glanced at the display.
"Five minutes," he muttered under his breath. "The chopper will be here in five minutes. Get ready to go home, kid."
Marcus's eyes narrowed slightly.
He pointed toward Hawkeye's back, feigning irritation. "What are you doing? You hiding something from me?"
Hawkeye didn't turn around. "That's right. Everyone's allowed to have a few secrets."
He pocketed the device again, completely exposed—completely unguarded.
'You're absolutely right,' Marcus thought, a cold smirk curving his lips. 'Everyone does have secrets.'
He slowly raised his right hand and aimed it at Hawkeye's back.
Fire, God Spear.
A thin streak of light flashed from Marcus's palm—silent, precise, deadly. The blade-like projectile tore through the air like a phantom, aimed straight for the base of Hawkeye's skull.
Flesh parted like paper. Blood fanned out in a mist.
[Your attack "God Spear" dealt minor physical damage (7% HP). Target is bleeding lightly.]
[Virus Touch activated. Target: Hawkeye. Zombie virus successfully injected. Status: Infected. Mutation in progress—estimated transformation in 4 hours. Subject classified as "Mutant Infected (retains human intellect)." Choose: Subjugate or Terminate.]
Marcus's expression darkened. "Damn. Only partial hit."
Hawkeye had sensed it—somehow, impossibly, he had felt the attack coming. His instincts, honed through decades of battle, had saved him at the last instant. The strike still grazed his neck, slicing flesh and spilling blood, but it wasn't fatal.
And yet… the virus had already entered his bloodstream.
But physical pain was nothing compared to the wound in his soul.
He turned around, disbelief and fury mixing in his eyes. The boy he'd risked everything to protect, the one he thought was a survivor worth saving, now stood before him with a cold, mocking smile.
"Who are you?"
Marcus's answer was calm—and chilling.
"Cut off one head…" he said softly, raising his arm.
The flesh of his forearm rippled and hardened into living metal. Etched across the surface gleamed a familiar emblem—an octopus with a skull-like head, its tentacles spread wide.
"…and two more shall take its place."
"Hydra," Hawkeye breathed, his voice trembling with realization.
The name hit like a hammer.
Marcus smiled. "Bingo."
Rage burned through Hawkeye's veins. He reached for his communicator, desperate to send a warning back to S.H.I.E.L.D.—but Marcus was already moving.
His right arm morphed into a gleaming blade, and with a flash of silver he swung it down.
CLANG!
The strike met steel instead of flesh. Hawkeye's reinforced compound bow intercepted the blow, the clash sending sparks into the air.
Marcus gritted his teeth. He dared not use his full power—no high-frequency attacks, nothing that could leave unnatural residue for S.H.I.E.L.D. to analyze later. He needed the scene to look human.
And so began their duel.
---
Under the pale light of the moon, steel clashed against steel. Sparks danced across the rooftop as blade and bow collided again and again.
Marcus's assault was relentless—his strikes flowed like a storm: sharp as lightning, fluid as water, unyielding as iron. Each slash was a blur, each step calculated.
But Hawkeye—veteran, assassin, hunter—met every strike with disciplined precision.
Every swing of Marcus's blade was deflected by the curve of a bowstring. Every thrust was parried with the grace of a man who had fought gods and monsters and lived to tell the tale.
Marcus was faster—stronger even—but Hawkeye's experience was immeasurable.
Still, the archer's movements were slower than usual. Shock, betrayal, and the sting of infection were beginning to take their toll.
"Why?" Hawkeye demanded through gritted teeth as their weapons clashed again. "Why Hydra? I saw something in you—someone who reminded me of him!"
Marcus tilted his head, feigning confusion. "Him?"
"The Captain," Hawkeye snarled. "Steve Rogers."
Marcus laughed—a low, cruel laugh. "Oh, that's rich. Maybe you're right."
He leaned closer, his metallic arm reflecting the moonlight like silver fire. "Maybe your beloved Captain America was Hydra too."
Hawkeye's eyes widened in disbelief.
Marcus smirked.
"Well," he said softly, "in one universe… he was."
Their blades met once more, the rooftop erupting in a cascade of sparks as hero and villain fought beneath the cold, indifferent stars.
____
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