Jessica heard the noise above, a beam of light slashing across her vision.
The flimsy sense of safety from the iron door was slipping away, leaving her to clutch her weapon tighter.
"Fight?"
Fear dulled her thoughts until the walkers' stench seeped through the widening crack, assaulting her senses.
In that moment, her body snapped awake!
Her past encounters had forced her body and mind to clash in battle time and again. Unbeknownst to her, her muscles were already primed for combat.
As her consciousness caught up, the foul taste of walker pus in her mouth triggered a gag, and she vomited.
The retching expelled everything in her stomach, draining the energy she'd gained from her meal.
Vomiting sapped her strength and cut off her body's access to fuel.
A sharp creak rang out as the metal door was torn apart. A decayed arm, oozing rot, thrust through the gap, clawing aimlessly.
The disgusting limb swiped past Jessica's face, stirring a wave of rancid odor.
Crack! Her axe swung instinctively, severing the walker's arm.
She rose, ready for battle—or rather, her body had readied itself without her full awareness.
No one knew how many walkers remained. This fight would end only when one side could no longer move.
No one expected a terrified girl to track her kills. Even Orak, in relentless slaughter, hadn't counted the walkers precisely.
"Hah!"
Jessica shouted, suppressing the burning in her stomach from vomiting. Before her mind fully cleared, she charged!
Her axe cleaved the head of a walker reaching through the crack, shattering the iron door completely.
Several walkers perched atop the door tumbled down, knocking the charging Jessica to the ground.
As her axe swung, the claws reaching for her were hacked off, falling to the earth.
…
"What do you want?"
Bulkathos didn't look up, hammering a metal block with steady strikes, as Tony walked in.
He felt a rare twinge of urgency—Malthael's existence was an unavoidable hurdle.
Assassin Monkey swung from the doorframe like a pendulum, looking carefree.
Only Tony occasionally glanced up, the monkey's paw prints still faintly visible on his face.
"I want to know about that truck. It's not normal machinery."
Tony pointed at the pickup outside, eyeing Bulkathos. His gaze flicked to Assassin Monkey, still wary of the creature.
But the truck, incomprehensible to him, held his attention more.
Tony's question wasn't hard to answer, but it reminded Bulkathos of something.
Matt had been sent to the Sacred Mountain, and his truck still needed cleaning.
"I forged it bit by bit. The power system's my tweak. Looks pretty good, right?"
Bulkathos set down his hammer, meeting Tony's eyes.
When it came to forging, he rarely showed it, but pride crept into his mood.
Gill was with Frank today, so no worries there.
Meanwhile, Frank held a pistol aimed at Nick Fury, his other arm shielding Gill behind him.
Nick Fury, under immense pressure, was growing reckless, and his old friend Frank naturally came to mind.
"Buddy, Gill's school's been notified for leave. You don't need to take him. Got time to talk?"
Nick Fury ignored the gun barrel. If Frank wanted, no tactical maneuver could dodge the shot that would follow.
"You're hurt? That's not normal!"
Frank scanned Nick Fury, noting his shoulder and waist.
The posture, adjusted to ease pain, didn't escape his trained eye.
Nick Fury always used Life Model Decoys to meet him; injuries shouldn't show like this.
Every decoy was healthy.
"My soul's wounded. Nothing you need to care about."
Nick Fury's lone eye narrowed, hiding his thoughts.
But such habits meant nothing to Frank.
"You pissed off my friend? Bulkathos?"
Frank instantly guessed the source of Nick's injury.
"Alright, what do you want me to do? Just say it."
Frank felt Gill tug his arm—Bulkathos's name had tensed the boy.
"I need your strength. S.H.I.E.L.D. lost a lot of firepower. The Howling Commandos are nearly wiped out."
Nick Fury, seeing his cover useless, dropped the spy act. He leaned back, balancing the chair on two legs, visibly relaxed.
"Don't tell me you want me to assassinate my benefactor. Say that, and you'll lose this decoy."
Frank holstered his gun, tucked Gill into the bedroom, and pulled up a chair across from Nick Fury.
"We've found Hydra's got a mystical armed force. Our combat strength's critically low."
Nick Fury tilted his head back, speaking casually. Frank's place was one of the few where he could ease up.
"So, what? I shoot those things dead again?"
Frank opened a milk carton, filling a glass.
Enjoying breakfast with his son was cozy until this troublemaker showed up—not exactly welcome.
Frank's words dripped with sarcasm. He wasn't helpless against enemies, but he doubted bullets could kill ghosts.
"Vampires. Our enemies this time are likely vampires. Your methods work well against them."
Nick Fury propped one leg on the table, hugging the other to his chest.
His boot sole faced Frank, mercifully free of dirt.
Biu!
A silenced shot rang out. A bullet hole appeared in Nick Fury's leg, blood bursting forth.
Just a Life Model Decoy—Frank had no qualms shooting. Roughhousing with his old friend was par for the course.
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