Once the system confirmed that Marcus had gained Hawkeye's complete loyalty, he issued his first command without hesitation:
"Forget everything that just happened. Act as if nothing is out of the ordinary."
Hawkeye's expression instantly shifted — the anguish and inner conflict vanished, replaced by his usual composed, stoic demeanor. He wiped the blood from his hand where the glass had cut him, stood up mechanically, and stepped out of the washroom.
Through the mental link, Marcus could now sense everything Hawkeye did — every sight, sound, and scent, the brush of air against his skin, even the archer's uncanny sensitivity to motion and airflow.
It was as if part of Marcus's own soul had merged with Hawkeye's body.
He checked Hawkeye's physical condition first. The wound on his back from last night's explosion hadn't completely healed, but there was no pain — a clear sign that his body had undergone full transformation into a mutant infected. Like the others, he'd gained a special ability unique to him.
Enhanced Hearing: By focusing, the user can perceive sounds even through thick barriers.
It wasn't an ability suited for direct combat, but for espionage — the role Marcus intended for Hawkeye — it was absolutely perfect.
Hawkeye closed his eyes, focusing his mind. Immediately, the world came alive with layered sound. Gunfire and the clash of battle echoed all around, mixed with the banter of Tony Stark's voice and the sharp, commanding tone of Captain America issuing orders.
Marcus recognized the place at once — S.H.I.E.L.D.'s headquarters, the Triskelion. Fury and the six assembled heroes were currently purging the Hydra infiltrators hidden within.
No wonder the hospital was deserted. Every doctor and nurse had already fled to safety.
Hawkeye's weapons and armor were neatly arranged on the table near the door. He equipped himself, adjusted his quiver, and stepped into the corridor — its sleek, silver walls gleaming with that familiar futuristic sheen.
To his right, a figure emerged — a man clad in black, his body sheathed in an advanced combat suit. Even through the tight material, the lean strength of his muscles was visible. Around his neck hung a necklace of sharp, bone-like ornaments. His gloved hands ended in claws that glinted coldly under the light.
Black Panther.
Two S.H.I.E.L.D. agents in uniform charged him without hesitation, tactical knives flashing. Black Panther didn't even bother to dodge — he allowed the blades to pierce his abdomen. Then, with a smooth, fluid motion, he brought both hands down in twin strikes. The agents crumpled instantly, unconscious before they hit the floor.
As their knives slid free, Hawkeye noticed something strange: the blades had bent backward — as if they'd struck solid steel instead of flesh. Both tips were curved almost 180 degrees.
Vibranium suit. Practically indestructible.
Though Marcus knew Black Panther was an ally — a hero — Hawkeye had never met him before. The man in black looked too much like an enemy operative for comfort.
Hawkeye instinctively raised his bow. "Who are you?"
Black Panther's sharp eyes narrowed. "You're with them — Hydra?"
The tension between them thickened instantly. Fury's earlier order echoed in Black Panther's mind:
Better to kill a thousand by mistake than let one traitor go free.
He didn't plan to kill, only to subdue and confirm. But Marcus, watching through Hawkeye's senses, thought otherwise.
'If he dies here,' Marcus mused coldly, 'that's one less hero I'll have to deal with later.'
For a few long seconds, the two men stared each other down like duelists waiting for the signal to strike.
Then, from somewhere down the hall, a gunshot rang out — a sharp, echoing crack that marked the start of their battle.
Black Panther moved first. His muscles tensed, and then he sprang forward with the explosive grace of a hunting predator. In an instant, the distance between them was halved. His claws tore through the air, leaving five bright arcs like streaks of lightning.
Hawkeye didn't flinch. His eyes locked on the charging hero as he drew his bowstring to full tension. He loosed an arrow — but not at Black Panther. The arrow hit the floor between them.
Split-Shot Scatter Arrow.
The arrowhead struck the metal ground and burst apart, splitting into a dozen smaller shafts that ricocheted in all directions. They bounced off walls, ceilings, and floors, filling the corridor with a deadly storm of steel.
Ting—ting—ting—ting—ting!
Dozens of arrowheads struck Black Panther's body, sparking golden flashes across his armor. The sparks intertwined, weaving a net of dazzling light that illuminated the entire hallway like a fireworks display.
It was beautiful — and completely ineffective.
Black Panther never broke stride. He lowered his stance, claws extended, and continued to charge through the onslaught.
"Bulletproof, huh?" Hawkeye muttered coldly. "Then let's see you handle this."
He pivoted sharply, retreating just enough to gain distance, already drawing another arrow mid-turn. In a single smooth sequence — draw, aim, release — he fired.
The arrow flew straight for Black Panther's face.
But Black Panther was faster. His hand shot up like lightning, fingers closing around the shaft in midair. The arrow stopped dead, clutched firmly in his grip.
"Beep-."
A faint beeping noise came from the arrowhead. Black Panther frowned, just as it began to glow blue —
Then orange.
Then—
BOOM!
The explosion was deafening. Fire and shockwaves engulfed the corridor, the blast so violent that even Hawkeye — several meters away — was thrown off his feet. Smoke flooded the hall, swallowing both combatants in a storm of fire and debris.
'Rule number one,' Marcus thought with dark amusement, 'never try to show off by catching Hawkeye's arrows.'
"Ugh—cough, cough…"
Hawkeye staggered back to his feet, coughing from the smoke. His ears rang, and visibility was nearly zero. The hallway was a haze of black and orange, the air thick with dust and gunpowder.
Marcus, controlling him through the mental link, raised the bow once more.
"Let's make sure he stays down," he muttered.
Hawkeye nocked four arrows in rapid succession and fired into the smoke. The shafts whistled through the air, disappearing into the haze. None of them came out the other side.
Marcus smiled faintly. "Of course. He's still standing."
Because Black Panther was never that easy to kill.
___
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