The wind howled mercilessly across the rooftop, sharp enough to sting the skin. Hawkeye groaned as he slowly pulled himself free from the crater his body had made in the concrete wall. Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth before he coughed up another mouthful. He was still badly hurt, but not beaten.
He glanced at the horizon—ten minutes until S.H.I.E.L.D.'s rescue helicopter arrived. Ten minutes until safety, medical treatment, and reinforcements.
For Marcus, that meant he had only ten minutes left to end this.
"Hey, Hawkeye," Marcus called out suddenly, raising his hands as if in surrender. "I bet you've been wondering something—why did I keep warning you about Alex back in the supermarket?"
Hawkeye sneered. "What, you mean your little 'warning' to gain my trust? Don't flatter yourself."
Marcus chuckled and shook his head. "Oh no, that wasn't it. It's because…" He smiled faintly, eyes gleaming with mischief. "Alex was Hydra too."
"What?" Hawkeye's face froze. Then, realization struck like lightning. "My God… it was all you. The whole thing—everything that happened—was your plan from the very start!"
His voice shook with fury. As the puzzle pieces fell into place, the truth cut deep: Marcus and Alex's supposed rivalry had been a farce, a carefully orchestrated performance meant to fracture the survivors, drive them into hysteria, and watch them destroy one another.
Veins stood out on Hawkeye's forehead. His fists clenched so tightly his knuckles turned white. "Why?!" he shouted. "You could've killed them outright—why go through all that?!"
Marcus tilted his head, grinning like a devil. "Because it was fun."
"You son of a bitch!"
The word turned into a roar. Hawkeye had never felt rage like this before—pure, burning hatred that eclipsed every battle, every enemy he had faced. He reached behind his back and grabbed hold of his deadliest weapon—the explosive arrow.
At that exact moment, Marcus smiled.
Finally.
"Boom!!!"
The explosion erupted instantly. The moment Hawkeye drew the arrow, a spark ignited at the bottom of his quiver. A small but violent detonation set off a chain reaction, triggering every explosive arrow stored within.
The resulting blast was enormous.
Hawkeye didn't even have time to react. The shockwave slammed into his chest like a battering ram, hurling him backward. His vision flashed white, then black. The world vanished beneath a roaring thunderclap of fire and smoke.
Marcus watched it happen, shielding his face from the searing light.
"Game over," he whispered, smirking.
Of course, this had all been his doing.
When he'd claimed to be "out of ammo" back at the supermarket and borrowed two arrows from Hawkeye, he'd subtly slipped something into the quiver—right into the slot where the explosive arrows were stored.
A fragment of volatile bio-metal, a compound as unstable as TNT and ten times more unpredictable. A mere touch, a slight vibration—anything could set it off.
From the very start, Marcus's plan was never to overpower Hawkeye in battle. It was to make him pull the trigger himself. By flaunting his regeneration ability, Marcus had planted the idea that only the explosive arrows could truly kill him. He provoked Hawkeye, taunted him, and forced him into a state of pure, murderous instinct.
The instant Hawkeye reached for that arrow, the friction of his movement ignited the compound.
One spark, and the whole quiver went up in flames.
A perfect trap.
The legendary archer had been played from the very beginning. His reactions, his decisions—all flawless, all predictable. And that predictability was what killed him.
Marcus approached the wreckage, his expression calm. Hawkeye lay motionless several meters away, his body scorched, his bow shattered beside him. He was still breathing, but unconscious—out cold, completely defenseless.
"Don't worry," Marcus murmured. "You won't die. Not yet."
He checked the sky. Five minutes left until the helicopter arrived. Time enough to tidy up the scene.
There were two loose ends to handle: first, Hawkeye's infection.
S.H.I.E.L.D. would undoubtedly perform a full medical scan once they recovered him. If they found the zombie virus in his system, Marcus's plan would collapse before it even began. Fortunately, a past failure had provided the solution.
He recalled a system message from weeks ago:
[Virus Touch activated. Target: Spider-Man. Injection failed—mutation gene detected. Virus entering dormant state.]
If the virus could enter dormancy when rejected by a host, then Marcus, as the virus's creator, could likely trigger that mode manually.
He concentrated—and the system responded.
[Command received. Virus entering Dormant Mode. In this state, detection is extremely difficult. All parasitic activity suspended until reactivated.]
Perfect.
Marcus set a timer in his mind. "Three hours," he said softly. "That should be long enough for their little medical check-up."
After that, the virus would quietly reawaken.
By then, S.H.I.E.L.D.'s best archer—Clint Barton—would be nothing more than his. A sentient infected under his control.
With one of S.H.I.E.L.D.'s top operatives feeding him information, Marcus would have a direct pipeline into the organization's secrets—and, by extension, the entire U.S. military intelligence network.
The spy who once guarded the world would now help him destroy it.
Marcus chuckled darkly. "Information warfare… checkmate."
But there was one last detail to handle.
He needed someone to take the blame.
Naturally, that honor fell to Hydra.
Both S.H.I.E.L.D. and Hydra were his enemies—two sides of the same corrupt coin. One claimed to protect the world; the other sought to rule it. Marcus intended to make them tear each other apart.
As for Hydra's response? He smirked.
"What, you think they'll deny it? Hydra doesn't deny evil deeds—they collect them. Being blamed for a massacre is like getting a promotion."
He knelt near a concrete pillar and etched a symbol into its surface—a serpent coiled into a skull-like shape, Hydra's infamous insignia.
Then he set the scene. Burn marks, debris, a few well-placed shell casings—everything to suggest a Hydra hit squad had ambushed Hawkeye.
"Let's see how you explain this one to Fury," he murmured.
The distant sound of rotors began to echo through the night. Marcus stepped back, blending into the shadows, satisfied with his work.
Soon, S.H.I.E.L.D. agents would find their injured hero. They'd see the Hydra mark, the aftermath of an explosion, and a barely breathing Hawkeye. He'd tell them what he remembered—or what Marcus wanted him to remember.
Everything fit perfectly.
Marcus looked to the stars, a wicked grin spreading across his burned face.
"The board is set," he whispered. "The next move is theirs."
____
T/N:
Hello everyone! My Patreon is just $3 — a perfect opportunity to access 27+ advanced chapters and support the translation.
🔗 patreon.com/user?u=79514336
Or simply search Translator-Sama on Patreon