"Sorry to interrupt," Marcus said casually, brushing some dust from his shoulder as he turned toward the holographic screen. "Don't mind me—go on, finish your little speech."
Baron Strucker froze mid-sentence, his face twisting with rage. "You arrogant—! You think you can still escape from here?"
"Escape?" Marcus smiled faintly, his tone almost amused. "No. I came here to find you."
His right arm gleamed as it transformed into a long, silver blade. The edge shimmered with an intense metallic glow, vibrating at an impossibly high frequency. Heat waves rippled through the air as the blade's friction filled the vault with a low, ominous hum—like a lightsaber being drawn in the dark.
Strucker scoffed. "You think that cheap trick can—"
Before he could finish, Marcus thrust the vibrating blade into the thick alloy vault door. The metal parted like warm butter. With a single twist of his wrist, the locking mechanism within the door melted into a pool of molten steel.
"Impossible…" Strucker's words caught in his throat as the vault door gave way with a heavy clang, swinging open once again.
Even adamantium would have struggled to endure such power—what chance did alien alloy have? The high-frequency blade cut through it as though it were nothing more than paper.
"Stay where you are," Marcus said, his smile cold and deliberate. "I'll come to you. We can talk—face to face."
Strucker flinched. That smile wasn't human. It was the smile of death itself.
As Marcus stepped out of the vault, several Hydra troopers awaited him in the corridor, weapons raised. These men were better armed than the standard soldiers outside—clearly Strucker's remaining elite guard. Unfortunately for them, there were too few to make a difference.
A hail of red laser fire erupted, streaking toward Marcus like rain. He raised his left arm, which morphed into a round metallic shield. The blasts struck it harmlessly, leaving only shallow dents. Against that level of durability, conventional weapons were a joke.
Within ten seconds, it was over. The guards lay motionless on the ground, dispatched with brutal precision. Marcus hadn't even bothered to use conventional weapons this time—each kill was a direct strike, his arm forming into a needle-like injector that pierced their flesh and delivered the virus.
Soon, these soldiers would not remain dead for long. Within hours, they would rise again as zombies—perfect tools for his next stage of misdirection.
'S.H.I.E.L.D. came here for the zombie virus research? Then I'll make sure they see the "results" for themselves.'
To ensure the illusion was perfect, Marcus needed to leave tangible proof—evidence that Hydra had been conducting zombie experiments here. The reanimated soldiers would be that proof, and the chaos they unleashed would make the story believable.
The helpless Hydra scientists still trapped within the base would become the next fuel for the infection. Outside, the battle between S.H.I.E.L.D. and the Scarlet Witch still raged. Even weakened from exhaustion, Wanda Maximoff remained powerful enough to delay Captain America's advance for a while longer.
That was all Marcus needed.
He wasn't doing this for S.H.I.E.L.D. anymore. He was setting the board for his own game.
The data Hydra had traded with Killian months ago had already included partial zombie virus information—enough to mislead S.H.I.E.L.D. and let them "discover" something credible. But the real research, the true design, would remain Marcus's alone.
Let Hydra take the blame. Let S.H.I.E.L.D. think they'd achieved a victory.
Both would become pieces in his plan.
But simple undead soldiers weren't enough. Marcus's gaze turned toward the colossal figure looming in the shadows of the underground chamber—the Leviathan.
Half machine, half organism, plated in alien steel and lined with rows of jagged teeth, the creature's monstrous body stretched across the vast room like a sleeping dragon.
If it's alive—or was—it can be infected.
Marcus approached the creature's massive skull, resting his hand against its armored plating. His arm reshaped once more into the humming high-frequency blade, which he drove deep into the Leviathan's head. Sparks and heat flared as he carved through layers of metal until he reached organic tissue.
"Virus—transfer," he muttered.
The pulse of the Virus Touch spread into the dormant beast. Its massive body trembled faintly. Marcus pulled the blade free and then plunged it upward, slicing open the brain structure completely—ending what little life remained and ensuring the virus would take hold.
Estimated mutation time: five hours.
'Slow… but acceptable.'
Even at that pace, it would be more than enough. When the Zombie Leviathan awoke, it would unleash a horror the world had never seen—and give S.H.I.E.L.D. the "surprise" they deserved.
Satisfied, Marcus retracted his weapon. There was still work to do—erasing every trace of his presence.
He began walking toward Hydra's central command chamber.
---
Meanwhile, Baron Strucker stared at the empty vault feed in disbelief.
That vault—constructed from alien alloy, tested personally by the Scarlet Witch—was supposed to be unbreakable. Even she had failed to escape it in his trials. Yet this… this thing, this black-reaper, had cut through it as though it were nothing.
Strucker's pulse raced. He had underestimated him completely.
Every word Marcus had spoken before leaving—every casual threat—now rang in his ears like the tolling of a bell. He turned sharply to his aide, his voice trembling.
"Doctor. Gather everything—every file, every specimen. We leave. Now."
The aide hesitated. "But, Baron… the Scarlet Witch is still—"
Strucker's eyes flicked to the monitors, where Wanda Maximoff fought desperately outside, her crimson power tearing through the battlefield. For a brief moment, guilt flashed in his gaze. She was a weapon—one of his finest creations.
But now she was also a liability.
"The data is worth more than one mutant!" he hissed. "Especially that data—on Loki's scepter! The Russian branch will need it. Move!"
"But, sir," the doctor said weakly, "the scepter—it's already—"
"Enough!" Strucker snapped, slamming his fist against the console. "Don't say his name! Don't speak of him!"
His voice broke into a half-scream, the fury and panic overtaking him.
Because deep down, Baron Strucker knew the truth.
From the moment Marcus had stepped onto the battlefield, Hydra's fate had been sealed.
There was no more escape. No more control.
For Hydra, this was the end of the line.
_____
T/N:
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