In the spacious training room, Ethan stood shirtless, his muscled torso gleaming under the stark lights. Before him loomed a massive Doombot, a towering construct of cold metal. Its green eyes glowed ominously, a lifeless stare that seemed to challenge Ethan's very existence.
Without warning, the robot lunged forward, its enormous fist hurtling toward him. Ethan twisted his body with precision, his reflexes honed to perfection. His leg shot out like a whip, colliding with the robot's chest.
CRACK!
The sharp sound of rending metal reverberated through the air as the robot's chest plate fractured under the impact. Shards of gleaming metal scattered across the room, and the robot staggered, momentarily thrown off balance.
Ethan didn't hesitate. He pressed the attack, darting forward with a predatory grace. The robot recovered quickly, its circuits sparking as it emitted a low whirring noise. It turned abruptly, its movements mechanical yet surprisingly fluid, and lashed out again.
This time, Ethan dodged low and grabbed the robot by its shoulders. With a calculated move, he locked his arms around its neck, applying a chokehold honed in countless battles. His arms tightened like steel cables, straining against the unyielding metal.
The robot thrashed wildly, clawing at Ethan's arms in a desperate attempt to break free. Ethan's muscles burned, veins bulging as he summoned every ounce of his strength. With a guttural roar, he applied a final burst of pressure.
The robot's neck emitted a hideous screeching sound as the metal twisted and buckled.
SNAP!
The head wrenched free, sparks spraying into the air as Ethan released his grip. The lifeless remains of the robot collapsed to the ground with a resounding crash. Ethan exhaled slowly, his chest heaving as he surveyed the wreckage around him.
The room was a battlefield. Dozens of robots lay strewn across the floor, their once-imposing forms reduced to mangled heaps of metal. Circuits sparked feebly, and shattered components littered the ground like fallen soldiers.
Ethan wiped the sweat from his brow, his gaze falling on the decapitated head of the Doombot. The green light in its eyes dimmed and finally went out.
"Impressive," came a slow clap from the doorway.
Ethan turned to see Nick Fury entering the room, his signature trench coat billowing slightly as he moved. He held a clipboard in one hand, his single eye gleaming with approval.
"Not bad, Ethan," Fury said, handing him the clipboard. "Looks like you didn't waste the gift I gave you."
Ethan took the clipboard and glanced at it. "What's this?"
"Performance data," Fury replied. "Doom's training room is equipped with observation tech. It tracks your stats during combat."
Ethan scanned the list, muttering to himself, "Bench press, 1,200 pounds. Clean and jerk, 370 kilograms. Top speed… 97 kilometers per hour?"
Fury smirked. "Your numbers are a notch higher than Steve's were back in his prime. If he were here now…"
"He wouldn't stand a chance," Ethan interrupted, folding the list and tucking it into his pocket.
Fury raised an eyebrow, his expression neutral. "I was going to say he'd still give you a run for your money. Steve Rogers isn't just muscle. He's a strategist, a battlefield commander, and—let's not forget—that shield of his."
Ethan chuckled dryly as he pulled on his shirt. "Yeah, well, I don't see Steve here, do you?"
Fury crossed his arms, watching as Ethan flexed his fingers. "And for the record," Fury added, "you do know robots don't need to breathe, right? Strangling one is… unconventional."
Ethan laughed, a sharp sound that echoed through the room. "Sometimes the old ways work just fine, Fury."
The two left the training room, leaving the mess of destroyed robots for Doom's minions to clean up. As they walked, Ethan glanced over his shoulder.
"How's the portal coming along?" he asked.
Fury's expression turned serious. "Doom says it'll take time to recharge. There are still some details we need to iron out."
"Like what?"
"Every teleportation burns through an astronomical amount of energy," Fury explained. "And locking onto a safe target in a parallel universe? That's no small feat. If we rush it, you might end up in the middle of a zombie hive—or worse."
Ethan frowned, his jaw tightening. Fury's words carried weight, and the thought of misstepping into a hostile world made his stomach churn.
"You're saying there's a chance I won't make it back," Ethan said flatly.
"There's always a chance," Fury replied. "But that's not the worst of it. This zombie crisis started because of a loop between Earth-2149 and Earth-91126's zombie wasteland. If you're unlucky enough to land in 91126, you'll find a world already ravaged by the virus—a dead world."
Ethan rubbed his chin thoughtfully. Fury was right. The loop between the two universes was a ticking time bomb, infecting one Earth after another. If he wasn't careful, his actions could upset the balance further.
"Let's find Doom," Ethan said finally. "The longer we wait, the closer those zombie heroes get to Latveria."
They entered Doom's lab to find the monarch standing at the center, his imposing figure framed by a platform bathed in silvery light. Around him, scientists in white coats worked frantically, calibrating equipment and monitoring data.
The platform itself was a masterpiece of technology, large enough to hold several people and gleaming with a metallic sheen. The air buzzed with energy, the hum of advanced machinery filling the room.
Doom turned slowly, his piercing gaze falling on Ethan.
"Dinner was excellent, Doom," Ethan said with a smirk. "But I hope dessert comes with a plan."
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