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"T-Virus modification?!"
Black Widow stared intently at the fluorescent glowing vial before her, the sickly green luminescence casting eerie shadows across her face. The liquid inside pulsed with an almost sentient rhythm, as if alive and aware of her scrutiny.
It was unmistakably the same item she had glimpsed earlier—the reward Tony had obtained, his prize for whatever Faustian bargain he'd struck during their mission. The cold glass container seemed to hum with malevolent potential beneath her fingertips.
The raw, terrifying power of the T-Virus had already manifested itself beyond any shadow of doubt. She had witnessed it firsthand, the memory seared into her consciousness like a brand.
With nothing but amplified physical strength, Tony had demolished a Tyrant—a nightmare given flesh that had been engineered to withstand military-grade weaponry—reducing it to scattered chunks of twisted biomatter. He'd then proceeded to dismantle the Red Queen's defenses as if they were made of tissue paper. Even the coveted top position on the leaderboard, which Black Widow had come to regard as practically her birthright after countless missions of perfect execution, had been wrenched away from her grasp.
To claim she wasn't tempted by such raw, transformative power would be a blatant lie, one she couldn't even convince herself to believe. The vial whispered dark promises to her—of invincibility, of supremacy, of never again feeling the vulnerability that had haunted her since childhood.
"Damn it all to hell!!!" Black Widow hissed through clenched teeth, her composure finally cracking under the weight of realization. She barely stopped herself from unleashing a torrent of expletives that would have made even hardened SHIELD operatives blush.
She could rationalize away the disparities in points. She could swallow the bitter pill of a lower medal ranking. With enough mental gymnastics, she could even convince herself that she'd reclaim her rightful position in subsequent missions, that this was merely a temporary setback.
But THIS?
The magnitude of these follow-up rewards defied comprehension. Her emerald eyes widened as she scrolled through the holographic display, each new line of text hitting her like a physical blow.
Biological modification technology?Template unlocking: Zombie Dogs, Neptune, Lickers...
The implications crashed through her mind like a runaway freight train. These weren't mere power-ups or skill enhancements—this was the blueprint for apocalypse, packaged as a reward.
"No... this can't be happening," she whispered, her voice scarcely audible even to herself.
Black Widow's pupils dilated with shock, her world tilting on its axis as comprehension dawned. The realization felt like ice water flooding her veins. Her hands, which had steadied sniper rifles in howling blizzards and defused bombs with seconds to spare, now trembled uncontrollably.
In essence—
The hell-on-earth nightmare they had just survived—the grotesque mutations, the insatiable hunger for living flesh, the systematic collapse of civilization—Tony now possessed the means to recreate it at will.
And not just in some sealed-off simulation or parallel universe.
In THEIR world. Their home. Earth.
Black Widow's expression transformed, her features hardening from disbelief to resolute determination in the span of a heartbeat. The calculation was simple: no potential benefit could justify this level of existential risk. Her training kicked in automatically, years of conditioning narrowing her focus to a laser point.
She moved with lethal intent—there was no universe in which she could permit something this catastrophically dangerous to breach containment and enter their reality. Her hand reached for the concealed blade at her thigh, mind already cycling through twelve different scenarios for neutralizing both the threat and, if necessary, Tony himself.
However...
In the very next instant—time itself seemed to congeal around them.
The entire world froze like an insect trapped in ancient amber, suspended by some unseen cosmic force. Every molecule, every atom, held perfectly still under this impossible constraint.
Their surroundings transformed into a three-dimensional photograph, a perfect diorama of a moment stopped in time.
Utterly—frozen.
[Ding—]
The sound rang out with crystalline clarity despite the temporal stasis, seeming to originate from everywhere and nowhere simultaneously.
[Invasion complete!]
[Main mission completed. Teleportation sequence initiated!]
[Countdown...]
[3... 2... 1...]
A dispassionate mechanical voice echoed through the stillness, each syllable precise and final, carrying the weight of irrevocable judgment.
Brilliant beams of golden light materialized from above, descending like the fingers of some capricious god to envelop Black Widow and her companions. The light possessed substance, wrapping around them with gentle but unyielding pressure.
Just as when they had first arrived, there was no opportunity for protest or resistance. No appeals process, no chance to argue their case. The system's decision was absolute.
And now, with the same clinical efficiency, they were being extracted.
As the countdown reached its conclusion, the golden light intensified to blinding brilliance—and their physical forms dematerialized from this reality, leaving nothing but displaced air molecules in their wake.
In the now abandoned underground facility—
Only the devastated landscape of their battlefield remained as silent testimony to their presence. Shattered concrete, twisted metal, and the acrid smell of gunpowder and blood lingered like ghosts.
The desolate scene resembled the final, haunting shot of a post-apocalyptic film—a poignant visual epilogue that carved itself into memory.
Lingering and unforgettable.
Yet...
To those observing from outside—
All that remained was absolute chaos!
"Holy sh*t—"
"Holy sh*t—"
Cries of disbelief erupted across viewing platforms as audiences worldwide sat paralyzed by shock, their faces illuminated by screens glowing with the unfolding catastrophe.
"How in God's name did he have the audacity to do that?!" A middle-aged man in Chicago shouted at his television, spilling his beer across the carpet without noticing.
"Has the mastermind behind this whole operation completely lost their mind?!" A university student in Tokyo typed frantically into the live chat, her fingers trembling.
"This kind of technology—how could they simply hand it over to a civilian? And now it's been transported directly into our reality?!" A retired military officer in London muttered, his weathered face ashen as he calculated potential casualty figures.
"Oh my God! Is our entire world going to transform into... THAT now?!" A teenage girl in Sydney clutched her younger brother protectively, as if the threat might emerge from her smartphone screen.
"I don't... I can't... I refuse to become one of those THINGS!!" A businessman in Mumbai whispered, his dinner forgotten as images of shambling, decomposing corpses filled his mind's eye.
"..."
Across continents, the livestream viewers descended into unmitigated panic, comment sections flooding with expressions of terror and disbelief faster than moderation systems could process.
They had logged on as spectators seeking entertainment, perhaps even the voyeuristic thrill of watching others face danger from the safety of their homes. How had they become potential victims in this unfolding catastrophe?
Technology with the capacity to literally trigger the end of human civilization... distributed as a casual REWARD? The concept was beyond terrifying—it was existentially shattering.
"Grand prize surprise?"
No—this was the grand horror to end all horrors!
Meanwhile, within the fortified depths of military command—
"What options do we have... what viable options remain..." A colonel murmured, his polished brass insignia reflecting the grim faces around the table.
"How in heaven's name are we expected to contain this situation..." The Joint Chiefs exchanged glances heavy with unspoken dread.
The panic consuming the outside world paled in comparison to the suffocating tension permeating the highest echelons of military leadership.
An oppressive atmosphere smothered the secure conference room like a physical presence. The air itself seemed viscous with apprehension.
The silence stretched so thin it threatened to snap, punctuated only by the occasional nervous tap of a finger or the soft rustle of classified documents.
The expressions worn by the assembled generals progressed through a spectrum of darkness—each countenance more foreboding than the last, years of battlefield experience unable to prepare them for this unprecedented threat.
After an eternity of weighted silence—
Finally...
A voice ventured into the void.
"This level of threat to global security—it must be immediately secured under our direct authority..." Admiral Jensen suggested, his voice carrying decades of command but undermined by a new edge of uncertainty.
"He's technically classified as a superhero, isn't he? Perhaps we could appeal to his sense of responsibility for peace and request he voluntarily surrender the technology?" General Williams offered, desperation evident in his tone.
"Stark has collaborated with government agencies before. Maybe he would recognize the greater good and compromise in this instance..." Colonel Reed added, though his voice lacked conviction even as he spoke.
A terrible suggestion, obviously.
Before the final syllables had even faded from the air—
Someone interrupted with undisguised contempt.
"Heh~"
The sound was more snort than laugh.
"Hero? Greater good?"
General Ross's voice sliced through the room, cold and sharp as surgical steel:
"And the last time we attempted that precise approach—when we applied pressure for him to relinquish the Mark armor technology in the name of global security—what precisely was the outcome?"
His weathered fingers drummed once on the polished conference table, the sound like a judge's gavel.
"Our so-called 'hero' responded by calling an international press conference and publicly declaring himself Iron Man to the entire world!" Ross's voice rose with each word, culminating in barely contained fury.
He sneered, his gaze sweeping the room with glacial contempt, challenging anyone to contradict him.
Tony Stark hadn't yielded to governmental pressure then, when the stakes were comparatively lower and the technology less immediately devastating.
And now?
Did anyone seriously believe he would surrender this unprecedented power simply because of these laughable threats and appeals to conscience?
Utterly ridiculous!
Tony Stark was fundamentally not a man who bowed to abstract concepts like the "greater good"—especially not when defined by others.
Such thinking wasn't merely optimistic; it was naïve to the point of dangerous self-delusion!