On an abandoned city street, the wreckage of a Quinjet lies next to a dilapidated building.
The fighter jet's structure is nearly unrecognizable, with torn and twisted metal scattered around the fuselage. Black smoke rises from the wreckage, filling the air with a heavy smell of burning.
Surrounding the wreckage, lifeless bodies are strewn across the ground, mangled and deformed from the impact. Twisted limbs and shattered bones contribute to the overwhelming sight of horror and decay, the stench saturating the air.
It's clear that a world-shaking battle has unfolded here.
In this apocalyptic scene, a zombie-infected American colonel chews on a piece of flesh, his face smeared with fresh blood. He chews with disturbing satisfaction, saying to Hawkeye, "This is great, Barton. There's all the delicious meat you could ever want in this city."
As he speaks, his mouth reveals sharp teeth, with bits of bloody flesh caught at the corners.
Hawkeye's shoulder bears a nasty gash, with blood flowing freely from it. The surrounding skin is broken, forming a field of blood that soaks his purple suit in dark red. His breathing is heavy and strained, as he feels the infection's sinister influence spreading. He knows his fate is sealed after being bitten by the colonel.
Writhing in pain, Hawkeye fights against the overwhelming hunger consuming his mind, holding on to his last shred of willpower. Through gritted teeth, he replies, "No! It's not supposed to be like this! I won't become like you, Colonel!"
"Tony and S.H.I.E.L.D. will find a way to cure us sooner or later."
The American colonel lets out a raspy laugh, eyes filled with mockery. Lifting a piece of bloody flesh, he tears into it with gusto, blood splattering as he devours it.
"You're just wasting time, Hawkeye! You can't escape, and soon enough, we'll enjoy this news together."
His smile is twisted, a cruel distortion of what once was heroic. His eyes blaze with hunger as he revels in the taste of flesh and blood, lost in his macabre appetite.
Hawkeye bites his lip, desperately attempting to block out the colonel's taunts. His body trembles, his own hunger clawing at him like a dagger to the heart. His willpower wanes with each passing second, even as he clings to memories of his family, friends, and comrades—those who fought alongside him.
Snap. A bloody piece of meat lands at his feet.
"Come on, Clint. Stop torturing yourself and taste it!"
The smell rises from the meat, rich and smoky, its tender look unbearably tempting. Hawkeye resists, saliva pooling in his mouth, his resolve crumbling as the scent fills his senses.
Finally, Hawkeye surrenders to his hunger. Eyes blurred, breath quickened, he reaches for the meat, biting into it.
He remembers Adrian from the Howling Commandos, a vampire who managed to control his bloodlust to become an anti-hero. He thinks, Maybe I can be like Adrian, and bites down again.
Blood fills his mouth, bringing a strange sense of relief. Strength seems to flow back into him, reminding him of his old days in the circus. The weight of his struggle seems to evaporate, his vision growing distant.
A faint voice within him cries out, but Hawkeye feels himself slipping further into darkness. The taste consumes him, each bite erasing his former resistance until all that remains is pure indulgence.
"This… how is it possible… it tastes so good, Steve. I… can't resist."
The zombie in the tattered American flag wipes blood from his mouth, his lifeless eyes lighting up with a feral grin. He rises, raising his shield, which gleams with a dim, unholy light.
"Hahahaha!" he cackles. "No one can resist this!"
Hawkeye doesn't respond. He remains on the ground, gnawing on the flesh in silence.
"Come!" he says in a low, raspy voice, his body wavering as he stands. "Let's return to the House of the Undefeated. It's our duty to spread this hunger across the world!"
The infected Hawkeye stumbles to his feet, following the colonel with eyes devoid of hope. As they walk away, he catches sight of a tattered beige coat lying on the broken Quinjet windshield.
The trench coat's fabric, though ripped and dirtied, still retains a hint of its original brightness. Blood stains the collar, adding to its worn, defeated appearance.
Hawkeye looks at it, feeling a surge of regret and pain. The coat, once a symbol of honor and duty, now lies in ruin, its purpose forgotten.
He turns away, embracing his fate as he trails behind the colonel.
A gust of wind lifts the coat off the Quinjet, sending it flying momentarily before it falls into a crimson pool of blood. The fabric darkens as it absorbs the blood, blending seamlessly into the apocalypse around it.
The coat trembles in the blood, a silent witness to the horrors unfolding. But no matter how much it shudders, it can't alter reality. It lies quietly, absorbed by the blood-soaked ground, a relic in a world of ruin.
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