MARVEL : Starts From Zombie universe

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As Clint listened to Zemo's voice, the faint whirring of a small motor caught his attention. The figure in the chair moved forward into the light, and at that moment, everyone got a closer look at Baron Zemo.

The sight surprised them.

"This is impossible!" Clint shouted, his voice tinged with panic.

Unlike the muscular, confident figure in the holographic projection, the real Zemo was a frail man confined to a wheelchair. His neck was twisted at an unnatural angle, and a breathing tube extended from beneath his purple mask, plunging directly into his bronchus.

The only parts of Zemo's body that seemed functional were a few fingers on each hand, which he used to tap lightly on a specialized keyboard.

"You shouldn't see me like this," came Zemo's voice, projected through the room's speakers. It was evident the sound had been pre-recorded, likely during a time when Zemo still had full control of his body.

"This isn't what I expected…" Clint muttered, lowering his bow and leaning against the wall in disbelief.

He had traveled across a wasteland from Las Vegas to the Weapon X Facility to confront Zemo. He had sacrificed ten years of his life, abandoning his family and estranging his daughter, all for revenge. Yet, the man who sat before him now was just a shadow of the criminal mastermind Clint had envisioned.

"No, don't pity me!" Zemo's distorted voice rang out, his fingers tapping the keyboard furiously. "I am Baron Helmut Zemo, thirteenth-generation heir of noble blood, scientist of the Third Reich, and son of Heinrich Zemo!"

Clint impatiently waved his hand. "Spare me the resume. Get to the point."

Zemo paused briefly before continuing, his words laced with venom. "You, a circus-raised bastard, humiliated me and usurped the Thunderbolts I created. Yet, you still won. The Thunderbolts betrayed us in Las Vegas."

His tone grew angrier. "And what do I have now? A stroke robbed me of my body while you, a failed father, failed husband, and blind fool, still walk free!"

Clint's patience wore thin. "I don't need a lecture," he snapped, his hand tightening on his bow.

Zemo's voice mocked him. "You've been diagnosed with glaucoma. Soon, you'll be as blind as the justice you claim to serve."

Clint, furious, loosed an arrow with lightning speed. It struck Zemo squarely, but not fatally. The marksman continued firing, arrow after arrow embedding in Zemo's body, leaving him a grotesque pincushion but still alive.

Finally, Clint stood over the dying man, his last arrow poised. The sound of Zemo's labored breathing filled the room, his life clinging to the oxygen flowing through the battered tube.

Clint leaned closer and muttered, "You've become a pathetic monster."

Without another word, he severed the breathing tube with his arrow. Baron Zemo, heir to the Third Reich's legacy, suffocated and bled to death in his wheelchair.

The room fell silent.

Though Zemo's death wouldn't fix everything, it marked a symbolic victory for the wasteland.

"You've avenged them," Adrian said, placing a reassuring hand on Clint's shoulder.

Clint stood motionless, staring at Zemo's lifeless body. His thoughts drifted to the Avengers who had perished in the line of duty. After a long silence, he finally spoke. "Yes. But it's not over. We have to kill every last one of them—all the monsters left in this world."

Adrian nodded. "We will. But for now, I need you and Wanda to sweep this facility. Eliminate every Hydra operative still standing."

"Then we'll think long-term."

Clint exhaled deeply, his grip on his bow steadying. He and Wanda headed deeper into the corridor.

Once they were out of sight, Adrian turned toward a bald scientist clutching a box.

"Name?" Adrian asked.

"Walter, sir. My name is Walter," the man replied quickly, stepping into the room while avoiding the blood pooling around Zemo's chair.

"Walter?" Adrian raised an eyebrow. Something about the name felt oddly familiar.

Walter clutched the box tightly. "Everything important is in here. It's the culmination of Hydra's research."

Adrian placed the box on a nearby counter, slowly undoing the latch. Inside, 99 vials of a green liquid glimmered under the harsh light.

"Is this it?" Adrian asked, casting a sidelong glance at Walter, whose chest swelled with pride.

"Yes, sir," Walter said, his bald head glinting in the light. "It's the semi-finished product of the Super Soldier Serum."

Adrian inspected the vials, then looked at Walter. "Nobel Prize winner?"

Walter shook his head, eliciting a sigh of relief from Adrian. But what Walter said next made Adrian's eye twitch.

"No, but I did win the Red Skull Science and Technology Chemistry Award. They said it was more prestigious than the Nobel that year."

Adrian's tone turned dry. "Sure, if you say so."

In a sense, Walter wasn't wrong. In a wasteland devoid of traditional institutions, self-taught scientists capable of advancing serum development were invaluable.

But that wasn't the point.

"Do you have cancer?" Adrian asked abruptly.

"No, sir. I'm in perfect health," Walter replied confidently.

Adrian sighed, muttering under his breath, "Good. One less thing to worry about."

For now, the focus was on the vials. Whatever lay ahead, this was just the beginning.

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