Jack visibly flinched at Albert's words. "W-We're really going to see him?" "Of course we are. It's just a routine inspection," Albert repli
Jack visibly flinched at Albert's words. "W-We're really going to see him?" "Of course we are. It's just a routine inspection," Albert repli
Jack visibly flinched at Albert's words.
"W-We're really going to see him?"
"Of course we are. It's just a routine inspection," Albert replied casually, brushing it off like he'd done this a thousand times—which, in truth, he had. "Don't worry, rookie. He's locked in a thick layer of armor. Not even a nightmare waiting to happen. You'll sleep just fine."
He waved Jack forward.
"Quit dragging your feet. The sooner we're done, the sooner we can grab some late-night snacks."
The two finally entered the very heart of Prison Island's S-class sector. This was the single most secure location in the entire facility—a square chamber known only as Room 837.
The walls had been designed from the outset to withstand direct hits from intercontinental ballistic missiles. Smooth, metallic, and seamless, the room lacked even the smallest crack or entry point. The only thing remotely resembling ventilation was a pin-sized air duct in the ceiling—too small for even a mosquito to pass through.
At the center of the room stood a structure that resembled a steel vault. Its outer shell was layered with opaque, glass-like material that pulsed with an ominous red glow. The warning was clear: this glass was not to be touched—or even looked at for too long.
Albert stepped inside and began his inspection with meticulous precision. He even checked the central air conditioning.
Once he was satisfied, he clapped his hands.
"Alright, rookie. Come take a look."
He pressed a button labeled "TRANSPARENCY."
The opaque glass gradually faded. The red warning glow dimmed. What emerged on the other side was a sight that instantly robbed Jack of his breath.
A massive figure sat motionless behind the glass. He was bound from head to toe in thick armor—or perhaps more accurately, a mechanical straitjacket. Even his face was sealed behind reinforced plating, leaving only two glowing yellow eyes peering out—cold, inhuman, and terrifying.
Jack couldn't even begin to imagine what it felt like to be entombed in such a suit. If it were him inside, he probably wouldn't be able to move a single finger.
But even though the creature was utterly restrained, the moment those yellow eyes locked onto Jack's gaze, a chill crawled up his spine and spread through his skull.
It was the unmistakable feeling of death. Suffocating. Merciless.
He didn't know how long he was paralyzed there—until Albert finally pressed the button again. The glass turned opaque, severing the visual connection.
Jack gasped and stumbled back, drenched in sweat.
"What the hell was that thing...?"
Albert laughed and clapped him on the back.
"You did pretty good, kid! When I first saw him, I nearly pissed myself. Alright, come on—let's go grab that snack."
Their footsteps faded beyond the reinforced door, leaving the monstrous prisoner alone in silence.
From within the armor came a deep nasal snort.
If I ever get out of here… those arrogant, pathetic humans…
"You'll tear them limb from limb, won't you?"
A seductive voice echoed inside his head.
His glowing eyes widened.
There—on what moments ago had been an empty wall—stood a golden-haired woman, smiling sweetly at him.
He blinked, unsure if it was a hallucination from the endless days of isolation. Surely, no one—especially not someone like her—could appear inside a place like this. Not in the most fortified sector of the most secure prison in the world.
Yet she looked so real. So alive.
"Easy there, big guy," the woman purred.
"I'm real. My name's Amora. I came to talk... or rather, someone else wants to."
As her image faded like mist, the wall shifted again—this time showing a new face, like a broadcast switching channels.
"It's a pleasure to finally meet you," said Baron Zemo, voice calm, eyes cold.
"Colonel Emil Blonsky."
Heavy, ragged breathing echoed from within the mechanical armor.
That name… Emil Blonsky—it belonged to someone long dead.
What remained now… was only Abomination.
___
Blonsky was born in Yugoslavia but raised in America. He was a soldier from the start—military brilliance flowing in his blood. His record was so spotless it almost seemed fabricated. He was a weapon with a human face. A born warrior.
By all accounts, he should've been promoted again and again. But he rejected advancement.
He didn't want a desk. Didn't want medals.
He wanted war. Wanted to be on the front lines where the blood was real and survival meant something.
But time is cruel.
By forty, Blonsky's body had begun to betray him. His techniques were flawless. His mind as sharp as ever. But human biology was never meant to last forever.
Then came his second chance.
Because of his vast experience, General Ross recruited him for the Hulk Retrieval Task Force.
And the moment Blonsky laid eyes on Hulk, he became obsessed.
That overwhelming strength… that monstrous vitality… Blonsky wanted it for himself.
First, Ross gave him a super soldier serum—one that granted him abilities similar to Captain America.
Then, in one final operation, Blonsky got what he truly desired—a sample of Hulk's blood.
Consumed by madness, he injected it into his own veins.
From that moment on… Emil Blonsky ceased to exist.
All that remained… was Abomination.
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