"Good thing I called off your attack," Marcus remarked, his tone calm but edged with satisfaction. "Fury's gathered several superheroes. By now, they're probably tearing S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters apart."
He recalled the earlier battle vividly — six superheroes fighting in perfect coordination, cutting through Hydra's elite strike squad as though they were nothing but paper targets. The difference in power was overwhelming.
To ordinary soldiers, these heroes were like war gods, capable of holding entire armies at bay. Against opponents like that, even his enhanced mutant lieutenants would have been hard-pressed to gain the upper hand.
And with all their cutting-edge tech and impossible weaponry, these "ordinary humans" were anything but ordinary. In the Marvel world, the greatest powers weren't born from mutation, but from technology and magic. Mutants, compared to these two forces, were often the weakest pieces on the board.
---
New York — August 1st, 1:00 A.M., Queens Pharmaceutical Tower
Dozens of zombie birds took flight from the rooftop, wings slicing through the night air as they vanished toward the ocean horizon. They were the first step in Marcus's plan to infect all of humanity — a plan that would take time to unfold.
He paused, realizing something peculiar: it had been less than four hours since he'd awakened, yet so much had already happened. Every moment felt heavier, the pace of chaos accelerating.
'Time,' he thought grimly, was the most precious resource — both for him and for mankind.
Then, through his mental link, Marcus received news — good news.
The superhero he had painstakingly captured and infected the night before — Hawkeye — had finally awakened as a mutant infected.
Marcus immediately shifted his focus to that link.
---
Hawkeye's consciousness returned slowly. When he opened his eyes, the first thing he noticed was the unfamiliar weight binding his limbs. His entire body was wrapped in medical restraints, and while his memory told him he'd been gravely injured, he felt no pain.
Instead, he felt… alert. Rested. Powerful.
"What the hell…?" he muttered, struggling upright. His wounds — deep, jagged gashes that should've left him crippled — were completely gone. He grabbed a nearby mirror and examined his reflection.
Everything looked normal. Human.
And yet, deep down, something was terribly wrong.
He tore out the IV line in his arm. The fluids felt meaningless. He stood, testing his balance — solid, steady. Moving on instinct, he walked to the washroom, the floor tiles cold beneath his bare feet.
No one came to stop him. No nurses. No doctors. The hospital felt deserted.
He turned on the faucet, splashed water on his face, then glanced back up at the mirror—
—and froze.
The reflection staring back at him was not his own.
Marcus's cold, smiling face looked at him from inside the glass.
"You—!" Hawkeye choked, his voice strangled as invisible fingers tightened around his throat.
"Don't panic," Marcus said calmly. "I'm not really here. This is our mental link. I'm communicating directly through your consciousness. By now, I assume you've realized what's happened to you."
With those words, memories and understanding flooded Hawkeye's mind — the virus, the infection, the hierarchy of mutants and carriers. The truth crashed down on him like a tidal wave.
The man once known as Clint Barton no longer existed.
"What do you want from me?" Hawkeye demanded, voice shaking.
Marcus spread his arms, smiling faintly. "Simple. Your obedience. Unconditional. Absolute. Even if it costs you your life."
"And why the hell would I ever do that?" Hawkeye shot back.
Marcus's tone remained casual — almost conversational. "Because I can turn your family into carriers. If you refuse me… they'll die as ordinary humans, torn apart by the plague."
Hawkeye froze. Through the mental link, he already understood what a virus carrier was — a human in appearance, immune to control, yet still spreading the infection. To Marcus, that was the only way for a human to "survive" in his new world.
And to a man like Clint Barton — husband, father, protector — that choice hit deeper than any arrow.
He clenched his fists. "You think you'll win in the end? The Avengers will never let you succeed."
Marcus chuckled softly. How predictably heroic.
"Of course," he said, voice dripping with mock sympathy. "Even if you die, your noble teammates will avenge you, right?"
He took a step closer, his spectral image in the mirror darkening. "But tell me something, Barton. Do you truly believe they can protect the people you love? Or the world you're so desperate to save?"
Clint's heartbeat quickened. A cold dread crawled up his spine. He wanted to deny it — to shout it down — but something in Marcus's gaze froze him in place.
"Yes," he forced out. "They can."
Marcus's smirk widened, shifting into a sneer. "Then tell me, Hawkeye… why do you fight?"
Clint blinked, momentarily stunned.
"If you believe the Avengers can handle everything without you," Marcus continued, voice soft but cutting like a blade, "then what's the point of your existence? Why risk your life, your family, your peace — for a team that doesn't even need you?"
Clint's mind blanked. His chest tightened.
"The truth," Marcus pressed, "is that you've never believed they were enough. You fight because you know they aren't perfect — because deep down, you feel that they need you. That without you, they'll fail."
He leaned closer in the reflection, whispering: "You don't trust them to save the world. You never have."
"That's a lie!" Hawkeye roared, his voice echoing through the empty room. His denial was fierce, desperate — but hollow.
"Then prove it," Marcus taunted. "Kill yourself. Leave your family in their care. If you truly trust them, you have nothing to fear… do you?"
Hawkeye's breath hitched. The mirror cracked beneath his trembling hand.
Marcus's tone dropped to a cold murmur. "Be honest with yourself, Barton. Do you really think the world will still accept you now that you're one of us?"
"Shut up!"
With a roar, Hawkeye smashed his fist through the mirror, shards scattering across the floor. Blood mixed with glass, dripping down his arm. He stared at one jagged fragment for a long, shaking moment—then lifted it to his throat.
Marcus's voice softened, almost kind.
"Join me, and you'll live to see your family again. They'll remain human — untouched, safe. If I win, you can be with them, even as carriers. But if I lose…"
He paused.
"They'll still have a chance to live normal lives — without you. Either way, they survive."
The words sank deep, wrapping around Hawkeye's heart like chains.
The glass shard slipped from his grasp, shattering against the tiles.
He fell to his knees, gasping, then screamed — a raw, broken sound of anguish and surrender.
"AHHHHHHHHHH!"
[You have successfully subjugated the zombie hero: Hawkeye.]
[This subject is now bound by the mental link. He cannot resist any command issued by you, unless his consciousness is completely destroyed.]
____
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