Nick Fury's reaction was as sharp as ever. He knew that Professor X's telepathic abilities could easily establish mental links without relying on any electronic signal. The only reason Xavier hadn't done so yet was that his full attention was focused on scanning the battlefield in Queens. If the disturbance aboard the Helicarrier could somehow catch his attention, Fury could then use that link to explain the situation directly.
With Xavier's telepathic range, he could alert not only the entire U.S. military but the entire American population within seconds if necessary.
But before Fury could even consider how to make that happen, a blood-soaked S.H.I.E.L.D. agent was suddenly hurled through the door, slamming into the command center wall and collapsing in a trail of red. The man didn't even have the strength to groan before falling unconscious.
A split second later, a hulking monster burst into the command room—a towering, two-meter-tall creature with dark, leathery skin and a massive, razor-sharp claw dripping with fresh blood.
It was one of Marcus's elite creations—a Chaser—the backbone of his zombie army. The creature's claws gleamed wetly, blood still sliding down from its last victims. It was obvious this thing had already rampaged through the ship, tearing through countless agents on its way here.
"Why is there a zombie here!?" Hill cried out in disbelief.
Even if the alarm systems had been jammed, a creature of this size and weight shouldn't have been able to sneak through unnoticed—let alone reach the command deck. And the fact that no one had managed to warn them in time meant only one thing: this wasn't the only one.
But Fury didn't have the luxury of hesitation. The moment the Chaser burst into the room, he reacted on instinct—drawing his heavy-caliber pistol and firing three quick rounds into the creature's head.
The bullets cracked through the air, bursting small clouds of blood on impact. But the rounds weren't nearly strong enough. The Chaser's head jerked back from the force, yet its skull remained intact.
With a guttural snarl, the monster lunged forward. Its massive claws, shining like blades, slashed through everything in its path—chairs, consoles, metal panels—reducing the command center to chaos in seconds. Anything a human body could touch would have been sliced into ribbons.
Thankfully, Fury's quick response gave the other agents precious seconds to react. Several security officers stepped in front of him, raising military-grade automatic shotguns—weapons designed specifically to fight supernatural entities—and opened fire in unison.
A roaring storm of steel pellets tore into the Chaser's body. The creature staggered as the blast penetrated its thick flesh, the sheer kinetic force halting its charge mid-step.
These shotguns were designed for precisely this kind of target—hulking, resilient beasts. Even if they couldn't kill instantly, the repeated impact would keep the enemy pinned down.
Enraged, the Chaser abandoned its attack on Fury and turned on the nearest defenders. It swung its claws in a frenzy, slashing through the air with terrifying speed. In an instant, the soldiers who had stood bravely in its way froze mid-action—then fell apart, their bodies shredded into pieces like broken toys.
Blood sprayed across the walls and floor, painting the command center in crimson. The metallic stench filled the air, thick enough to choke on.
But the Chaser's last outburst had drained what little strength it had left. As it turned toward Fury again, Hill drew her rifle and fired a single, perfectly aimed shot. The bullet punched through the creature's skull, detonating its head in a burst of black blood.
The Chaser fell, twitching once before lying still.
This one was different from the Thunderbeasts fighting in Queens—it lacked the Extremis virus enhancements that allowed regeneration. Once its head was destroyed, it stayed dead.
Hill exhaled shakily, lowering her weapon. Fury, however, wasn't relieved. He grabbed one of the fallen soldiers' shotguns and charged into the corridor outside.
What he saw made his stomach twist.
The hallways of the Helicarrier were drenched in red. Dozens of agents and soldiers lay torn apart, their blood pooling beneath flickering emergency lights. Massive claw marks scarred the metal walls, some still fresh.
"Damn it," Fury muttered bitterly. "How many people on this ship are even still alive?"
He clenched his jaw in frustration. He'd relied too heavily on automated alerts, too focused on the battle reports from Queens to realize that chaos had already consumed his own ship.
The Helicarrier, once a symbol of human power, was now a floating graveyard—its corridors silent except for the distant echo of dripping blood. No one outside knew what was happening here. No one was coming to help.
Yet, even amid the carnage, Fury's mind remained steady. Returning to the command center, he barked orders with the precision of a man who'd seen the end too many times before.
"Everyone—combat or support staff alike—arm yourselves! Hill, take a team to find the source of the outbreak. Those things didn't come from outside—they're here already. Check the research labs and find out what the hell happened! Coulson, you take another squad to the flight deck. As I said before, fire on Professor X's ship to get his attention!"
"Yes, sir!" both officers answered without hesitation.
Fury stayed behind. He had no choice. The Helicarrier's nuclear weapons control system was housed in this very room. Without his authorization, no one could access the launch codes.
As long as this room stood, they hadn't lost yet.
Unfortunately, the situation was grim. Most of the remaining personnel were office staff—analysts, engineers, and communication officers. They had some combat training, but against something like a Chaser, their guns were barely more than toys.
Even Hill had to leave his side, taking what few capable agents they had left. Fury was now surrounded mostly by frightened civilians with weapons they barely knew how to use.
The only small comfort was that the enemy would need time to secure full control of the ship's systems. That delay—however brief—was his only window to strengthen their defenses.
Then, the sound of heavy gunfire echoed down the hall—the unmistakable roar of a Gatling machine gun. The vibrations shook the walls. Everyone in the command center froze, adrenaline spiking.
They all knew what that meant. The zombies could use heavy weapons too.
Every barrel in the room turned toward the door. The air grew thick with fear and tension as every finger hovered over a trigger.
They held their breath, waiting for whatever came through that door.