After Ethan's explanation, the old man in front of him finally calmed down and stopped crying. He picked up the short knife from the ground, sheathed it, took a deep breath, and looked at Ethan and the others. In a low voice, he asked:
"So, you're not from this world? You come from a different timeline?"
"Actually, these are different parallel universes, but the general idea is the same," Ethan said with a shrug.
He continued, explaining how parallel universes could be visualized as a table of billiard balls: each ball represents a different universe, while timelines are like observing the same ball from different angles.
Hawkeye, or Clint Barton, scanned the four people in the room. His gaze finally landed on Frank Castle. "Is that... the Punisher?"
"Not bad," Frank nodded.
Clint remained silent for a moment. When he first entered the room, he'd been overwhelmed with joy, believing his comrades had miraculously returned to life. But now, realizing they were only doppelgängers from another universe, he felt as if he'd plummeted from heaven to hell.
Yet, for these travelers from a zombie-ravaged universe, it seemed they'd gone from hell to heaven.
"A universe where almost everyone has turned into a man-eating monster... That sounds like a nightmare," Clint muttered.
"So, you're not here to save my world? Just passing through? Or are you looking for shelter?" Clint asked, sitting down and casually wiping his blade with a piece of cloth.
Before Wanda could answer, Ethan spoke first: "No."
Seeing the old man's expression darken, Ethan quickly added: "But it could turn out to be a yes."
Clint's head shot up, his eyes glimmering with hope.
"Before we talk about what we want to do," Ethan said, "let's talk about you. At your age, why aren't you enjoying retirement like Logan? Why are you out here, risking your life, instead of staying with your daughter?"
Clint sighed. "Like you said, I don't have many years left. My eyesight's failing—I've been battling glaucoma for two years. Soon, I'll be blind.
"I've saved enough money for my daughter, Ashley. Sure, it came from dangerous work, but it's enough for her to survive. But…"
Clint paused, his hand instinctively brushing the bowstring.
"Every night, when I close my eyes, I see Natasha dying in front of me—stabbed by Zemo. I see Tigra and Falcon too. I failed them."
Wanda flinched, clenching her fists as Clint's voice trembled.
"Melissa warned me back then. She wanted to tell me something important, but I didn't listen. I brushed her off."
Tears filled Clint's eyes as he continued, his voice breaking. "Now, forty years have passed in what feels like a single night. I owe them. I owe all of them. I can't die without making things right."
Ethan stepped forward and gently helped him to his feet.
"That's why I called you here, Clint. I'm giving you a chance to take revenge and settle the score," Ethan said softly.
"A chance? What chance?"
"Look at this." Ethan unfolded a map on the table and pointed to a marked location labeled "Zemo."
Clint's teeth clenched at the sight of the name. Memories of Zemo stabbing Black Widow in the back came flooding back, her lifeless body collapsing into Clint's arms.
"I want you to take us to Zemo," Ethan said. "We'll break through his defenses, and after that, he's all yours."
"What's the catch? What do you want in return?" Clint asked warily.
"Everything Zemo has," Ethan replied bluntly.
"And not just Zemo. From now on, we'll take down every warlord in the wasteland. They all have something I need."
Clint hesitated, staring at Ethan.
Finally, he extended his trembling hand. "Alright. I don't have much time left, anyway. If I die, so be it."
Though his hands shook with trepidation, Clint's resolve solidified. The road to revenge would be fraught with danger, but he was no longer afraid.
For the first time in decades, Clint Barton knew he wouldn't have to face it alone.
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