After concluding his conversation with Alex, Marcus began his long-overdue inspection tour. His first stop was deep beneath the New Umbrella Tower — the Supervillain Recruitment Program. The breakout from the island prison had been immensely successful, and according to Alex, Thunder and Killian had already brought most of the captured villains under control.
Now, Marcus wanted to see the results for himself.
As soon as he stepped into the underground chamber, his sharp eyes immediately spotted Sandman, who stood silently among the others, respectfully listening to orders.
A man composed entirely of sand should have been completely immune to the zombie virus. But Thunder had found a way to secure his loyalty: his daughter.
By infecting the girl with a controllable strain of the virus, Sandman had been forced into obedience. He was a father willing to sacrifice everything for his child — and Marcus knew such a man would never risk rebellion.
With him subdued, one more piece of the puzzle fell neatly into place.
The other villains were much the same — silent, defeated, resigned. The only exception was Crossbones, whose empty, lifeless shell had been tossed aside like refuse. His fate had served as an effective warning. They all understood now what defiance meant. Marcus's psychic control was far crueler than any explosive collar General Ross had ever used.
Across the chamber, Thunder, dressed in sleek combat gear, was addressing the assembled villains — her tone sharp and commanding, mixing equal parts threat and promise. Her movements were swift and decisive, every word carrying the weight of authority. Killian, meanwhile, was absent, no doubt buried in some joint research project with Tony Stark.
Marcus stepped forward.
"How's the progress, Thunder?"
At once, Thunder turned to him, bowing her head slightly with military precision. Her short platinum hair shimmered faintly in the light as she answered in a clear, steady voice:
"Master, aside from that one"—she gestured toward the motionless Crossbones—"everyone has accepted our terms."
Marcus's gaze swept slowly across the chamber.
Aside from Sandman, Juggernaut, Dr. Curt Connors (the Lizard), Doctor Octopus, and Green Goblin, there were four new additions: Whiplash, Quake, Toadman, and Porcupine. Including the mindless Crossbones, the team from the island prison now totaled ten.
This was a major boost to the mid- and upper-tier strength of Marcus's undead army. Four of them — Octavius, Connors, Norman Osborn, and Whiplash — were exceptional scientists in their own right, men whose genius bordered on madness. Combined with Tony Stark and Killian, they formed a research team capable of creating technological horrors beyond imagination.
Just then, Whiplash stepped forward, his movements heavy and deliberate. His long, tangled hair framed a face hardened by years of anger and loss.
"So," he said in his thick Russian accent, his tone sharp as steel, "you're the one who killed Tony Stark?"
Marcus's expression didn't change. "Not quite," he said calmly. "I turned him into something… greater. Something like you." He took a step closer, his gaze locking with Whiplash's. "I know what you want, Ivan Vanko. Serve me, and I'll restore your father's name. You know I can."
For a moment, Ivan said nothing — his jaw tightening, his breath slow. Then his eyes flickered with a deep, guarded pain.
Ivan Vanko, son of Anton Vanko, had once been a brilliant engineer in his own right. His father, Anton, had co-developed the Arc Reactor with Howard Stark, Tony's father. But when Anton attempted to sell the design for profit, Howard had him exiled to Siberia, claiming the invention as his own.
Anton had lived out his days in disgrace and poverty, raising his son amid the cold and the bitterness. When he finally died, it was in front of a flickering television — watching Tony Stark, the son of his betrayer, bathed in wealth and glory.
Ivan never forgot that moment. Using scrap metal and stolen components, he recreated the Arc Reactor by hand and forged a weapon to avenge his father's name — electrified energy whips capable of slicing through steel. He had hunted Tony down in a blaze of vengeance… and lost.
Now, Marcus was offering him what he had sought all his life: redemption, and revenge.
"Deal," Whiplash said without hesitation. "But I refuse to work with Tony Stark."
Marcus's lips curved faintly. "That won't be an issue."
Whiplash's expertise mirrored Tony's in many ways — his knowledge of the Arc Reactor and exosuit design was formidable, though rough and less refined. Yet his existence alone served a far greater purpose for Marcus.
By ensuring S.H.I.E.L.D. knew that Whiplash had been "taken" by Hydra, Marcus could now openly deploy Stark-style technology — Arc Reactors, repulsor systems, armor plating — without suspicion. Any future use of Stark's inventions by Marcus's army would simply be blamed on Whiplash, not Tony.
And even if doubts arose, a single public appearance of Whiplash wearing an Iron Man–style suit would erase all suspicion.
To S.H.I.E.L.D., Whiplash would appear as nothing more than a savage imitation of Stark — a lesser genius copying a greater one.
That was exactly what Marcus needed.
"Thunder," Marcus said evenly, "Lab B-04 on the third floor has been prepared for Whiplash. Escort him there."
"Yes, Master." Thunder saluted, her tone steady but respectful. The faint hum of electricity sparked along her gauntlet as she gestured for Whiplash to follow.
Marcus had already anticipated Whiplash's refusal to work beside Tony and had assigned him a private, fully equipped workspace.
He had no interest in seeing Whiplash waste time duplicating Iron Man technology. That field belonged to Stark. What Marcus truly valued was Whiplash's craftsmanship — his obsession with perfecting close-combat weapons.
Whiplash's creations were works of deadly art. His electrified whips, flexible yet strong enough to slice through reinforced steel, represented the peak of energy-conductive weaponry. Such expertise could only come from a man who had spent his entire life mastering the balance between precision, power, and chaos.
Marcus smiled faintly to himself. With Whiplash's mind at work, his undead legions wouldn't just be powerful — they'd be armed like gods.