Marvel's Death Merchant

“Alright! Your pension is safe!” the Blackwatch officer said to the culprit who had brought Morser there.

The soldier who caused the accident: "..."

"By the way! What was that white shell just now? Is it the white light weapon they were talking about finally arriving?"

"Yes," the soldier said, pointing to an armored vehicle slowly approaching in the distance.

"This... isn't this a hot barium tank...?"

As you can see, the white light weapon's design is very similar to the hot barium tank... no! You could say it was made based on the hot barium tank! It's just a little larger than the hot barium tank.

Chapter 645 The Anomalies in the Main World [6]

It seems that due to the Twisted Overlord's deliberate alterations, the protagonist who slaughtered the Prototype world has entered the main Marvel universe and encountered the Flash. But this is only the beginning; everything is constantly changing, even beyond imagination.

Philadelphia, USA, days before the virus fully infects the population.

"No entry! No entry!" Four young officers struggled to maintain order at the police station entrance, but were drowned out by the cacophony of reporters. Officer Carlisle calmly walked through the chaotic police station lobby. Standing inside the doors, he straightened his wrinkled uniform, took a deep breath, and, as if making a great decision, opened the police station doors. As soon as Officer Carlisle stepped out, he was engulfed by countless camera flashes. He instinctively squinted, and when his eyes adjusted, he found himself surrounded by reporters; the four officers had long since been pushed aside.

"Officer Carlisle, why are you concealing a series of cases?"

"Is this how the Philadelphia Police Department protects the safety of Philadelphians?" "How will the police department handle this matter?" "What are the government's response measures?" One question after another disrupted Carlisle's carefully prepared thoughts. He knew that this matter could not be kept secret forever, but who knew that it would have such a huge impact on society and even affect the image of the Philadelphia government.

The reports about the case piled up to a meter high, and it's no longer just a case; the number of missing persons in the West Side is steadily increasing. The government went from indifference to extreme concern, and by the time the police chiefs reacted, it was too late. Reporters got wind of it, and the truth was out. Now, the West Side's police force is deployed to the point where there's an officer on duty at every street corner, in an attempt to salvage the government's image. Carlisle has finally escaped the constant questioning and flashing lights; he needs a good rest. Perhaps tomorrow's headlines will be about Philadelphia police officers admitting to covering up the incident, or worse—reporters love to exaggerate. He might even be suspended tomorrow, but it doesn't matter anymore. He just needs to get today's work done.

Carlisle was walking along when he accidentally bumped into a police officer carrying a stack of reports. The reports scattered all over the ground. The officer snapped out of his daze, saluted, and said, "Excuse me, sir." Carlisle looked at his pale face and said, "It's alright." After collecting all the reports, the officer hurriedly walked past Carlisle and ran towards his destination.

Carlisle watched the departing figure. He recognized him: Kevin Smith, a new officer who had recently joined the police station. Judging from his haggard appearance, he probably hadn't slept for 24 hours, relying on instant coffee to get through the night. Carlisle felt sorry for him; he could even use his authority to allow him a proper rest, a day off. But he wouldn't allow himself to do so. The police station already had enough to do; even if one person did the work of several, they still wouldn't have enough manpower.

Everyone was barely holding on; he couldn't give everyone a day off, or the Philadelphia Police Department would have to disband. Carlyle slowly walked back to his office, picked up a framed photo on his desk containing pictures of himself, his wife, and their daughter. He touched it and sighed. The mistakes made by higher-ups had become the consequences for us—that was the dog-eat-dog world. After signing the last document on his desk, Carlyle's tense nerves finally relaxed. A wave of weariness washed over him, and he realized he hadn't slept for 24 hours. Carlyle looked out the window at the peaceful scene of people coming and going, pulled his hat down low, and decided to enjoy this precious rest.

Time passed slowly, the busy afternoon was over, and the cool evening breeze soothed the restless mood of the day. Carlisle drank a cup of coffee and glanced at his watch; it was almost time. Normally, Officer Carlisle should be driving home by now, but out of a sense of duty as a sheriff, he decided to patrol the West Side for peace of mind. He left the police station, started his car, and drove towards the West Side. Ten minutes later, Carlisle stopped at an intersection waiting for the traffic light. He noticed that the further he went into the West Side, the fewer pedestrians he saw on the streets, and even police officers disappeared. This made Carlisle uneasy. The government was indeed somewhat concerned about the missing persons in the West Side, but it hadn't reached the point of a curfew. Carlisle saw a man in a t-shirt approaching at the intersection. Carlisle got out of his car and stopped the man.

“Hello, I’m Sheriff Carlisle. May I ask you a few questions?” Carlisle said, showing his police badge. The man said impatiently, “Please hurry up, officer, I have other things to do.” Carlisle said apologetically, “It’ll be quick, it won’t take up too much of your time. I just want to ask you a few questions.” But Carlisle quickly noticed something was wrong; the man seemed to be avoiding something—the light! That’s right, he was avoiding the light. Why was that? Carlisle asked a few questions, but the man answered that he didn’t know or wasn’t sure about them.

"Are you alright? Can I see your face?" Officer Carlisle said, reaching out to grab the man's shoulder. The man, startled, quickly pushed Carlisle's hand away. However, Carlisle still pushed the man towards the streetlight. Though only for a moment, Carlisle saw the man's pale face. Carlisle asked, "Sir, are you alright? Should I call a doctor?" The man finally said impatiently, "Thank you for your kindness, officer! I have other things to do!" He then pushed Carlisle away and disappeared into the night. Carlisle looked at his throbbing hand and said, "That's quite strong." Carlisle returned to his car, started the police car, and continued deeper into the western district. Suddenly, the radio in the car crackled to life: Public address: This is Police Headquarters. We have received a report from the public that a murderer has been discovered. Please have the nearest officer proceed to the scene immediately to verify the situation. Location as follows (repeated).

Carlisle, thinking he wasn't far away, picked up his pager and said, "This is Officer Carlisle. I'll verify the situation as soon as possible."

"Okay, officer, good luck."

Carlisle didn't understand what "good luck" meant, and without giving it much thought, drove towards the scene. Carlisle sped through the streets of the West Side in his police car, Midnight Riders rock music blaring from the blast, as he whistled and watched the approaching checkpoint. Two officers emerged from the checkpoint. "Hey, buddy, turn the music down. Curfew's already in effect today, shouldn't there be any orders for a shift change?"

Chapter 648 The Anomalies in the Main World [9]

The nurse walked in, looked at Bill smoking a cigarette, and said, "Mr. O'Beck (Bill's last name), this is a sanatorium, smoking is not allowed here."

Bill exhaled another smoke ring and said calmly, "Young lady, you don't know what a cigarette means to a veteran who has survived the Vietnam War. Besides, I know my own condition; it might be incurable, isn't it?"

The nurse said, "Mr. O'Beck, Dr. Coulson says your condition is still treatable. You must cooperate, cooperate." Bill's cigarette glowed and dimmed again as he said, "Yes! Yes! Sir, I will cooperate."

Bill casually flicked his cigarette away; it gracefully struck the pristine white wall, leaving a grayish-black mark before falling into the trash can. The nurse looked at Bill with displeasure. Bill grinned and said, "It's time to talk to Dr. Coulson about my condition." Bill then stood up, smoothing the wrinkles in his hospital gown, his entire demeanor sharpening. If the Bill sitting on the hospital bed just moments before was a retired veteran who had seen through life and death, then the Bill standing upright now was a sharp sword ready for battle at any moment. Bill, who had once been in the world of Left 4 Dead, had reappeared, but this world was even worse than before.

In the doctor's office, Bill sat across from Dr. Coulson, listening to him describe his condition. "Mr. O'Beck," Dr. Coulson said, "you have mid-stage lung cancer. As you know, the cause is excessive smoking. You still have a good chance of being cured." Bill waved his hand, saying, "Stop talking nonsense. Tell me how much longer this old man can live." Dr. Coulson said helplessly, "With your cooperation, there's a 60% chance of recovery." Bill stood up and said, "So there's still a chance to live a few more years, right?" Dr. Coulson said, "The next step is surgery. The surgery will be on the 7th floor of Mercy Hospital the day after tomorrow, understand?" Bill looked out the window and said, "Yes, yes, I understand. To get out of this prison-like place as soon as possible."

Chains, carrying a backpack, went up to the third floor. Watching the evacuation elevator, he discreetly placed his first-aid kit and some emergency medications down. Houston was chatting happily with a nurse on the first floor…

A black Hummer pulled up in the darkness not far from the hospital. Dallas: "Everything's going according to plan, understand? No dragging things out, no unnecessary trouble." Wolf whistled, lightly wiping his M92F silenced pistol with a towel, and nodded to indicate he understood. Chains adjusted his headphones and replied, while Houston chewed gum, watching the people coming and going outside the car window. Dallas assumed he had received the message.

Dallas straightened his suit, making the lightweight bulletproof vest underneath as comfortable as possible, put on sterile gloves, and clipped his mask to his lower back. "Bane, stay in touch," Dallas said into his earpiece as he opened the car door. Bane's voice came through the headset: "Roger that. I will be your eyes." Four strange men in suits appeared at the hospital entrance.

Bill went to Dr. Coulson for his routine check-up today. Just as he pressed the elevator button, four strange men in suits entered. Wolf: "Guys, it feels like something's floating in the air... money!" Bain: "You're distracted, can you hear me?" Wolf: "Yes, yes, yes, run the plan."

The four people from Dallas entered the isolation room and slowly walked away under the watchful eyes of two armed guards at the entrance. A female doctor was walking around outside an isolation ward, holding a form in her hand, which looked like a patient's file. The sharp-eyed Dallas also noticed that the female doctor's name tag on the front read Erikson.

Dallas gestured for the other three to disperse and then walked up to the female doctor. Dallas said, "Hello, are you Dr. Erickson?" Mary replied, "Yes, just call me Mary. Are you new here, Dr. Dallas?"

Mary glanced at the fake ID badge Dallas was wearing around her neck, then looked up at Dallas again. Dallas smiled and said, "What's wrong, doctor? Is there something wrong with me? I'm the one who's just been transferred to the isolation room."

Mary bowed slightly apologetically and said, "It's alright. Dr. Dallas, how can I help you?" Dallas looked around the isolation ward and asked, "Excuse me, what illnesses are these patients infected with?"

Dr. Mary said with a slight headache, "These are all Phase I patients brought in by Ceda from the West District. There are also some Phase II patients with strong aggressive tendencies. Several of our nurses have been injured." Dallas followed Mary around the wards, learning about the various infected patients.

Bain: "You need to find a patient with a tattoo of Williams on his neck, and you'll know he's the right person."

Dallas interrupted Mary's introduction, asking, "Excuse me, I wanted to ask, which ward is Williams in?" Mary looked at the patient file in her hand with suspicion and said, "That Williams?" Dallas pretended to think for a moment and replied, "He has a tattoo on his neck." Mary said, "You mean that Williams? He's in stage two and has serious aggressive intent. Why do you need him?" Dallas said, "My director needs one of his reports on T-virus and rabies." Mary said, "Okay, come with me."

Dallas pointed his gun at the hostages and said, "We don't want to hurt anyone, but if you don't cooperate, you'll end up like them."

Bill merely watched everything with a cold laugh. Although he had lost the protection of the Umbrella Corporation, it didn't mean he had no power. Although Bill served Tang Tian, ​​he had not been infected with the T-virus.

Bain: We need two valid virus samples. If one of them fails the test, we'll send more blood from that patient. Once you've collected two valid virus samples, you can leave.

Wolf broke the isolation glass that was preventing virus-laden air from escaping and grabbed a blood-drawing device to begin his work. Suddenly, Mary said that Dallas hadn't been paying attention and ran towards the isolation front desk. Dallas immediately turned around, and the M92F's iron sights were already aimed at him.

Dallas said, "You shouldn't have done this, Mary." As Mary ran to the front desk, Dallas opened fire. The bullet hit her, but Mary managed to press the alarm button before she died.

Those people were originally Hydra members, and their orders were to worsen the situation here. After all, Umbrella Corporation had only temporarily disappeared, so they were still waiting.

Chapter 651 The Anomalies in the Main World [12]

The first year after the cataclysmic event in the Marvel universe. John Smith is documenting his survival. At least, before all of this happened. By this time, the superheroes had already evacuated to other locations, taking over the former underground city of the Umbrella Corporation and slowly surviving.

John turned and looked around to make sure it was safe, then continued recording his last words into the digital recorder: "If you find this recording, it means I am dead. Please spread this recording. This is the experience I gained with my life. I hope you can make good use of this knowledge and continue to live."

He paused for a moment, slung his backpack over his shoulder, and carefully opened the door from his room to the garage. He first peered into the garage to observe the overall environment, and after confirming it was safe, he slowly walked to his SUV, cautiously guarding his only remaining safe space. Once he had confirmed the safety of the garage and the car, he immediately climbed into the car, closed the door tightly, fearing that even half a second's delay could lead to an accident.

He sighed with relief as he sat in the car and continued recording: "My city, New York, has been hit by some unknown plague and has become a complete hell, with streets teeming with crazed mutated creatures—or rather, zombies. Fortunately, the electricity and internet at home haven't been cut off, and I've collected some data uploaded to the internet by other survivors. Based on this data, I've devised a plan. There's a small military museum here, which has now become a temporary military outpost. If I'm lucky, I might find the stationed troops there, which would give me proper protection, making me safe. If not, at least I'll find some useful weapons, which is much better than the knife and two homemade Molotov cocktails I have. That's my short-term goal."

John quickly discarded some useless items from the car, placed his backpack in the passenger seat, and dared not stray too far from it. The backpack contained only a set of clothes and a few canned foods, but it was all he had now. He confirmed everything was in place and continued recording: "However, there will definitely be many zombies on the road to the museum. My plan is to drive out first, attracting the attention of all the zombies near the museum, making them chase me. According to the data I've gathered, at the speed of an SUV, they absolutely cannot catch me; they can only follow behind me. Once I've confirmed they've all gathered behind me, I'll throw two Molotov cocktails behind me, creating a sea of ​​fire to block the road. According to the data, they have very low intelligence and will recklessly rush into the fire and burn alive. Then I can safely enter the museum, this 'fortress.' That's my plan. However, all the information for this plan is from the internet and hasn't been verified yet. So, wish me luck."

John took a deep breath, pressed the remote to open the garage door, and his adrenaline surged as the door slowly opened. He gasped for breath, licking his dry lips repeatedly, gripping the steering wheel tightly, his eyes fixed on the slowly opening door, ready to rush into the hell outside at any moment.

At that moment, countless images flashed through John's mind: his first day of school, his first university graduation, his first job, his first promotion to game design supervisor—so many firsts kept flashing through his mind. He gave a helpless, quiet chuckle and gently shook his head.

John took another deep breath, gazing at the sunlight streaming in through the half-open door. His eyes hardened, and his voice calmed. He said, "Although I'm now sitting in this SUV, the only thing I can rely on, with a meat cleaver on my back, in this unprecedented predicament, I've discovered the preciousness of life. That's not wrong; it's given me the courage to break free." The SUV suddenly roared with a powerful engine sound, and like a tiger released from its gates, it surged out of the garage and headed towards that hell on earth.

The outside world was a devil's paradise, a bloody playground. The walls of neighbors' homes, the streetlights, the mailboxes across the street—all were covered in dried blood. Zombies were everywhere, gleefully devouring entrails and limbs; not a single intact corpse could be found. John glanced at his neighbor Mr. Brown's house, and a gruesome scene unfolded before him: two zombies were frantically fighting over the body of either Mr. or Mrs. Brown on the balcony. A chill ran down John's spine; fear gripped every cell in his body. Though he gripped the steering wheel tightly, his hands trembled slightly. He forced himself to muster his courage and truthfully recorded everything before him: "The outside world is just as I expected. Zombies are everywhere I look. Hundreds of zombies are rushing towards me from the street, and their numbers are constantly increasing. They are pouring out like a tide from windows, balconies, doors, cars, bushes, and street corners, as if they are going to bury me alive, as if everyone in this city has turned into a zombie. In their eyes, I am now just a piece of moving fat meat, and they wish they could devour me alive. I can't believe I was just safely at home. There is no sign of other survivors yet, and it seems that the chances of finding any other survivors are very slim."

John glanced in the rearview mirror at the relentlessly pursuing zombies, thousands upon thousands chasing him like ravenous wolves. He then looked at the convenience store at 11 o'clock, where another wave of zombies surged out. John immediately turned the steering wheel to the right, and the SUV veered to the right. At the cake shop at 2 o'clock, several well-dressed zombies poured out, and the SUV immediately veered to the left, avoiding the danger. The SUV weaved left and right through the streets, trying to avoid anything that might stop it, but some zombies would recklessly charge towards it, only to be killed. John continued recording his experience into the digital recorder: "So far, this 'Death Race' plan is progressing relatively smoothly. If you want to escape by car, here are a few tips. First, cars are a very easy way to attract zombies' attention; in fact, most vehicles will. Second, when driving, try to avoid hitting any zombies or anything that might stop the car, because if your car stops, it means you're not far from death. Third, try to conserve your gas, because you never know how far you might have to go."

The SUV weaved through the horde of zombies, holding out for about 20 minutes. Although it was only 20 minutes, every taut nerve in John's body told him that this was no ordinary 20 minutes; it was a 20 minutes he never wanted to experience again. As the saying goes, after darkness comes light. This was absolutely true. After enduring this 20-minute journey in darkness, John could finally see the light at the end of the tunnel. "I can't believe it, I'm almost there! I can see the museum! Can you see it? That's the safe zone. Once you get there, there's a space that isolates you from the outside world. It's a safe and warm fortress. But I've decided to circle the museum first, and only proceed with the next plan after confirming that all the nearby zombies have been attracted." John finally saw the end of the road safely.

Chapter 652 The Anomalies in the Main World [13]

The SUV circled the museum, attracting more and more zombies to join the race. Looking at the increasing number of zombies in the rearview mirror, John couldn't help but wonder if a single SUV and two homemade Molotov cocktails could handle them all. There were so many of them—at least several thousand, no, probably tens of thousands. Although John had calculated the number of zombies based on the area's population density, and two Molotov cocktails should be enough, there were too many uncertainties in practice. John began to summarize the progress of the plan: "Currently, I've attracted all the zombies near the museum. Based on the population density, there should be tens of thousands. They're chasing me at about 30 kilometers per hour. Now I'm going to use a tactic called 'roadblock' to wipe them all out. The core of this tactic is to create a roadblock or trap, then lure all the zombies through it, thereby slowing them down or eliminating them. Wish me luck."

The SUV roared to life and charged straight toward the intersection. The horde of zombies behind it, naturally, didn't dare slacken, giving it their all and frantically chasing after it. When the SUV reached the intersection, its front veered slightly to the left. John then yanked on the handbrake, causing the rear of the SUV to pull to the right, and the entire vehicle began to coast to the left. John immediately swerved the steering wheel to the right to prevent the SUV from spinning out, allowing it to continue its coasting motion. John muttered to himself, "The knowledge I gained while making racing games is coming in handy today." John's sharp turn was so fast and sudden that the zombies had no time to react. Because of their numbers, those in front slowed down due to the sharp turn, while those behind couldn't slow down in time and crashed into him. The zombies in front, after being knocked down, tripped over those behind, creating a chain reaction that sent them sprawling to the ground. John saw all of this in the rearview mirror. He reached for his homemade Molotov cocktail, a victorious smile spreading across his face. "Come on! You sons of bitches! Come on!" he said. He opened the roof and threw the Molotov cocktails back. Two bottles landed one after the other in the middle of the road. John grabbed the remote control of his modified model airplane and activated the igniter in one of the Molotov cocktails. Instantly, two walls of fire blocked the road. The zombies that had fallen to the ground struggled to their feet, desperately trying to get through the fire walls, completely ignoring the raging flames—it was like moths to a flame, courting death. Almost no zombie could get through the second wall of fire; even those that did were already engulfed in flames, collapsing after only a few steps. This was John's tactic.

Watching the zombies burn to a crisp, seeing the monsters annihilated, witnessing his victory, John tasted the true flavor of victory for the first time. John eagerly recorded his first triumph: "The tactics were executed flawlessly; all the zombies were wiped out. With the right tactics, coupled with courage, faith, and hope, we can achieve victory." The SUV pulled up to the museum entrance. John glanced at the only thing he could rely on—a knife, a gift from a friend. The knife's blade was made of a military-grade material—7Cr17Mo—hard yet lightweight. This was why John had brought it with him in the first place. John picked up the cleaver, slung his backpack over his shoulder, and slowly walked towards the museum's entrance. A warm and safe fortress lay before him.

However, the light after darkness was far from arriving so quickly. The darkness before dawn had only just begun. John, blinded by his temporary victory, had lowered his guard. He was only thinking about the supplies inside the museum, forgetting to check the safety of his surroundings first. Just as he was about to open the bright doors of the museum, he suddenly heard rapid footsteps and howls behind him. John had a bad feeling and turned around to see a zombie charging towards him over the extinguished wall of fire. How could one have escaped? Was it because too many fallen zombies were blocking the entrance, and the last one had to wait until the fire went out to reach this point? Regardless, the most important thing now was to get into the museum quickly. John tried to push open the door, but it wouldn't budge. The door was locked! John pounded on the door, shouting, "Open the door! I'm a survivor! Open the door! I'm going to die if you don't open it!" There was no response from inside the museum. Had the army gone out on a rescue mission? Although he still had a meat cleaver, if a zombie bit him, he would be completely transformed into a zombie within 24 hours. He was doomed! This is it!

John steeled himself, dropped his backpack, and ran towards the zombie, prepared to die alongside it. To kill a zombie, he needed to destroy its head or heart. However, a stab to the heart wouldn't kill it instantly; in close combat, it would only give the zombie a chance to bite him. John gripped his knife tightly in his right hand, charged at the zombie, and leaped into the air, now less than 40 centimeters away. He could even smell the stench from its breath. John raised the knife with both hands and thrust it towards the zombie's forehead. The zombie, in turn, raised its pale, deathly hand to attack John's collarbone, its virus-filled maw ready to sever his carotid artery. Victory or defeat, life or death, would be decided in this moment.

With a sharp crack, the knife plunged deep into the zombie's forehead, and a stream of green liquid, carrying a foul stench, gushed from the wound. Its pale hands hung limply at its sides. John had won this gamble between life and death!

John's legs gave way, and he collapsed to the ground. He wiped the cold sweat from his forehead, stared at the grotesque corpse before him, and said, his lips trembling, "The plan... the plan went a little awful. But thankfully, Lady Luck was on my side this time. If another zombie had come, I'm afraid I wouldn't have been so lucky."

John used his left hand to push himself up, struggling to direct his trembling legs to stand. His head felt heavy, his whole body was dizzy, and his vision began to blur. Was it from fear? It didn't seem so. He couldn't explain it; too many inexplicable things had already happened. The most important thing now was to get into the museum as quickly as possible. He slowly walked towards the museum door, his steps faltering, like a frail old woman. John said with heavy steps, "I hope this will come in handy today, something I used to design for stealth games." John carefully examined the keyhole, trying to recall the lessons of a seasoned thief. The door was locked with a pin tumbler lock. The principle was to use multiple cylindrical parts of different heights (called pins) to lock the lock cylinder. When the correct key was inserted, the pins would be pushed to the appropriate height, releasing the lock cylinder and opening the lock. At least two paperclips were needed to open this lock.

Just as John was thinking this, he suddenly had a feeling, an inexplicable and eerie feeling. He unconsciously turned around, his previously wandering gaze fixed on a stationery store across from the museum. "Why am I like this? Why am I looking at a stationery store?" John couldn't help but ask himself. He stared blankly at the store, his fists gradually clenching, his slightly bent legs as if preparing for something. A deathly silence surrounded him, like the calm before a storm. The silent wind, the silent SUV, the silent street—the complete opposite of the recent bustling scene.

A howl, like a dog's, accompanied by rapid footsteps, broke the silence. Then, the stationery store's tightly closed door slammed shut with a series of loud bangs. After a sudden pause of about a second, a deafening roar, like a gust of wind snapping a tree, filled the air as the door was smashed open, scattering debris everywhere.

Chapter 654 The Punisher and Deacon (Part 2)

Just as Deakin was about to express his doubts about the vehicle, a "whoosh" sound suddenly came from inside. A zombie jumped out of the vehicle and bit the soldier's neck!

"Ah!" The soldier fell to the ground in pain, struggling, but the soldiers did not hesitate at all, and a large number of bullets were fired at the two of them, instantly turning them into two beehives.

"That woman is infected too, let's kill them both!" a soldier shouted, and immediately the gun was pointed at them again.

The Punisher quickly took down the two soldiers and then said to Deacon, "Get in the car first, it's too dangerous here."

Deakin snapped out of his daze, nodded to the Punisher, and they both got into the back seat of the car. The Punisher didn't linger, immediately turning the car around and driving back. Seeing the battle between the soldiers and the monsters receding into the distance, the Punisher immediately turned and asked, "What on earth is going on? Why is this world experiencing a virus outbreak? What exactly is Hydra trying to do?"

The Punisher's father pondered for a moment, then answered irrelevantly, "Do you want even greater power?" He then reached for the backpack, only then noticing that it was the long-lost virus box.

The Punisher pressed a key, and instantly rows of enhanced T-viruses appeared.

"...Perhaps you've already heard from the Umbrella Corporation that the T-virus enhancement drug might suppress the virus and strengthen the body...Why don't you give it a try first..." After saying that, he handed over a bottle of blue liquid with an injection port on the bottle that looked like a leech's sucker.

“Just press it on your arm, and it will automatically inject into your bloodstream,” the Punisher explained from the side.

Daken was also extremely excited. In this world, it is impossible to do without power, so he immediately pressed it onto his arm. Instantly, the veins on Daken's arm bulged out and then disappeared, and his body, which had been somewhat stiff before, gradually softened.

"It seems to be very effective," Deakin said excitedly, as his healing factor and the T-virus slowly began to merge.

The Punisher was very pleased to see that things were going well and breathed a sigh of relief. He slowly said, "We're here. Get out of the car." Before Daken could react, the Punisher had already picked up the virus box and gotten out of the car.

The Punisher and Deakin's squad got out of the car and found themselves at a cargo airport on the outskirts of the city. However, it seemed to be relatively safe there. Apart from the corpses that were already dead, there was nothing moving. Moreover, they had already walked far away, and the resistance fighters hurriedly chased after them.

The Punisher led them through the terminal, navigating the airport's winding streets, past the cargo planes parked in the plaza, and stopped in an open area where a lone helicopter stood forlornly. They had received that information thanks to intelligence from S.H.I.E.L.D.

“Alright, get on. You’ll be safe once you’re out of here. Your father, Wolverine, also wants to see you,” the Punisher said in a low voice, then prepared to board the helicopter.

"If you're afraid of the crisis caused by the virus, let me tell you, it was Hydra that did it. What we need to do is destroy them," the Punisher said coldly.

"What?" Deakin asked in surprise, though he had heard of it before. "Why would Hydra do this, damn it?"

The Punisher continued, "Besides, there are many organizations that want the virus from Hydra. To get rid of them, Hydra needs to create chaos. After they understand the virus's effects, they plan to use it, so it's very possible that they will use the virus. What surprised S.H.I.E.L.D. was that the Umbrella Corporation completely disappeared and no one knows where they went."

Deakin then understood why other organizations were having such strange missions at this time; it turned out they wanted to obtain that kind of virus.

"What? Can you tell me the origin of the T-virus? I'd like to hear about it." Daken thought for a moment, then said seriously, "That's just how things are right now."

"Umbrella Corporation was once the chairman of a very large and global conglomerate with deep ties to S.H.I.E.L.D., and Umbrella promised S.H.I.E.L.D. that after fulfilling its request to eliminate Hydra, it would share the results of the virus with them."

At this point, the Punisher chuckled softly and continued, "Because of mutual need, the cooperation began. We got the opportunity first, and after several outbreaks of the virus, S.H.I.E.L.D. obtained the virus from Umbrella Corporation."

"Hydra delivered itself to our doorstep. S.H.I.E.L.D. has already obtained many of their viruses. All they need is another disaster to destroy the evidence, and Hydra can start all over again." At this point, the Punisher clenched his fist with a hint of helplessness.

"Can I help you?" He was somewhat stunned; he wanted to help the person in front of him, someone he used to hate and despise.

“Of course you can do it. You have your father Wolverine’s power. And you’re still very young. S.H.I.E.L.D. has recently been contacting all available forces, including mutants, villains, and the military, including former members of the Watchmen. We’re getting increasingly dangerous, and there’s something very dangerous in Manhattan—new infected have appeared.” The Punisher frowned and then said to Deacon.

"It seems our situation is not optimistic. What about our next plan? Is it somewhat dangerous? It seems there are a lot of dangers lately." Daken frowned. He was a mutant himself, and he had dealt with zombies before. Including various viral infections, those things had shocked him greatly; he hadn't expected those things to possess a kind of immortality.