AutumnXd
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CHAPTER 5
🕑 Added 2025-04-11 19:58:35 +0000 UTC"Missile?"
The word slipped from someone's lips, but the sheer disbelief behind it made it feel more like a question than a statement.
A shrill, ear-piercing whoosh tore through the battlefield.
Blazing like a comet, the projectile cut through the darkened sky, its metal casing glinting under the flickering emergency lights. The roar of propulsion sent shockwaves through the air, an unmistakable harbinger of destruction.
Cries of alarm erupted from behind.
Every agent present had undergone rigorous training, their instincts honed to react instantly to threats. They recognized high-tech weaponry the moment they saw it—
And this missile, streaking toward them like an avenging spear, was no exception.
They didn't wait for confirmation. Survival instincts took over.
A synchronized motion—bodies hitting the ground, arms shielding heads, bracing for impact.
The sheer force of the missile's descent sent waves of heat pulsing through the air.
Even the monstrous creatures—grotesque, mindless things driven only by hunger—flinched at the incoming threat. Some halted mid-lunge, their diseased, rotting forms twitching as if sensing imminent death.
And yet—
One figure remained upright.
A figure locked in a deadly struggle.
Black Widow.
Her sharp instincts flared—danger.
A Licker, all sinewy muscle and exposed brain matter, launched at her, claws poised to tear her apart.
Her body tensed, every nerve on high alert.
She could dodge. She could counter. But—
A gut feeling struck her, deeper than any rational analysis.
This wasn't an enemy strike.
This missile—
It wasn't aimed at them.
It was—
Friendly support.
"Hahaha!"
A deep, self-satisfied chuckle echoed through the clearing smoke, growing louder as the source approached. The sound carried an undeniable arrogance, the kind that belonged to someone who had seen the world, conquered it, and had enough wit to joke about it afterward.
Through the haze of destruction, a silhouette emerged—bold, confident, and unmistakably armored.
Clank. Clank.
Metal-clad boots pressed into the cracked pavement, leaving slight indentations with each step. The figure strolled forward leisurely, as if strolling through chaos was just another Tuesday afternoon.
Then, that all-too-smug voice rang out—smooth, rich, and dripping with flirtatious amusement.
"Hmm? Didn't expect to see such a long-legged beauty here!"
Natasha Romanoff tensed, her battle-honed instincts assessing the new arrival even before turning. She already knew who it was.
"How about coming to my room for a drink later as a thank-you for saving your life?"
A playful, teasing lilt accompanied the suggestion, utterly unfazed by the apocalyptic scene around them.
Natasha exhaled sharply through her nose. Under normal circumstances, she'd have had a knife at his throat before he finished that sentence. A long-legged beauty? Really?
But right now—
"You're… Tony Stark?"
Her voice carried a note of disbelief, something rare for someone as unshakable as the Black Widow.
The wind shifted, pushing away the last remnants of smoke, unveiling the unmistakable red and gold of the Iron Man armor.
"Tsk~"
Tony Stark smirked, his gloved fingers flicking a small piece of debris off his shoulder plate.
"Didn't expect a beauty like you to recognize me! Seems like my charm is as unstoppable as ever!"
The armor whirred, mechanisms clicking into action. A soft hiss filled the air as his helmet retracted with effortless mechanical precision—revealing tousled dark hair, sharp eyes glinting with mischief, and that signature devil-may-care grin.
His expression said it all.
"Yeah, I'm just that good."
Online Reaction: A Storm of Shock and Speculation
The internet was in chaos.
Live chat feeds scrolled faster than the eye could follow, usernames flashing by as people flooded forums, social media, and streaming platforms with frantic messages.
"No way! That's really Iron Man?!"
The disbelief was palpable. At first, most assumed this was an elaborate marketing stunt—some high-budget, cinematic crossover event. But as more angles of footage surfaced, that explanation became harder to swallow.
"How did they even get Iron Man for a cameo? This budget is INSANE!"
Clips of the red-and-gold armored figure streaking through the sky, blasting zombies apart with repulsor beams, played in endless loops. No CGI breakdowns, no behind-the-scenes green screens—just raw, unfiltered footage.
And yet, some still clung to denial.
"Wait… you guys still think this is just a movie behind-the-scenes clip?"
A voice of skepticism cut through the hysteria. It came from an account that had been active in tech circles for years, someone known for exposing viral hoaxes and breaking down the latest innovations.
People took notice.
"What are you talking about? Explain!"
The smug reply came almost immediately.
"Idiots! This is Tony Stark! The man behind Stark Industries! Do you really think any movie studio could just hire him for a cameo? Use your brains!"
A stunned silence rippled through the online spaces.
The gears in countless minds began turning at once.
Tony Stark wasn't some actor. He wasn't a Hollywood creation. He was a real billionaire, a technological genius who owned one of the most powerful companies in the world.
And yet, there he was, caught on multiple livestreams, fighting alongside a red-haired woman who bore an uncanny resemblance to Natasha Romanoff.
The realization spread like wildfire.
"Gasp…"
"So you're saying… all of this is real?!"
Like a thunderstorm crashing into a calm lake—
Shockwaves spread across the internet.
News agencies scrambled to cover the footage. Conspiracy theorists exploded with wild claims. Governments remained eerily silent.
The world as they knew it had just shifted.
"Tony? That guy got caught up in this too?"
Bruce Wayne's voice was barely above a murmur, yet it carried a weight of deep concern. His sharp eyes remained locked onto the screen before him, analyzing every frame of the footage playing in real-time. The flickering monitors illuminated his chiseled features, casting deep shadows across his already somber expression.
There was no mistaking it—Iron Man was there.
The infamous red-and-gold armor, the telltale blue glow of the arc reactor, the unmistakable arrogance in his stance. Stark was involved.
Bruce's jaw tightened.
Damn it, Tony.
Of all people, Stark was the last man he expected to see wrapped up in this madness. If there was one thing Bruce knew for certain about the billionaire inventor, it was that Tony Stark didn't do anything without reason. He wouldn't lend his face or technology to some elaborate viral marketing campaign.
Which meant—
This wasn't a hoax.
This wasn't some over-the-top movie stunt.
This was real.
"So this 'invasion game'—it's real after all."
Bruce exhaled sharply, his mind working at lightning speed. He had been skeptical when the first leaks of the so-called 'game' had surfaced. Theories had flooded the internet—some claiming it was an alternate reality experiment, others swearing it was a government black ops simulation.
But none of those explanations held water.
Now, with Stark's direct involvement, there was only one conclusion to be drawn—something far bigger was happening behind the scenes.
His fingers curled into a fist, knuckles whitening.
The world was on the precipice of something dangerous.
His mind shifted gears, already calculating the next steps. Information was power, and right now, he needed more of it. If Stark had thrown himself into this, willingly or not, that meant Bruce had to move—fast.
His long, measured strides carried him across the Batcave, past rows of high-tech equipment, past towering supercomputers running complex decryption algorithms.
There—
Waiting in the shadows, stood the figures he trusted.
His allies.
If this invasion was real—
Then Batman wasn't going to face it alone.
Chaos and Uncertainty on the Battlefield
The battlefield was a warzone of fire, smoke, and flesh-rending chaos.
BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!
A relentless barrage of firepower rained down from above. Rockets tore through the undead ranks, their deafening explosions illuminating the darkened ruins like miniature suns. The concussive force sent bodies flying—rotting limbs and grotesque torsos reduced to smoldering remnants of their former monstrosity.
In the center of the destruction, the Licker—a nightmarish mutation of sinew and rage—shrieked in agony as it was caught in the blast radius. Its elongated tongue, which had once lashed out with deadly precision, now writhed uselessly in the air before being incinerated along with the rest of its twisted frame.
The smell of burning flesh filled the battlefield.
The zombies, sensing overwhelming firepower, staggered back. Their primal, brainless hunger was momentarily overridden by the instinctive fear of annihilation.
Victory seemed close at hand—
Until—
Something shifted.
The air itself felt heavier, charged with an ominous presence.
A grotesque gurgling sound cut through the battlefield, followed by a sickening squelch. The scattered remains of the Licker convulsed, moving, its flesh bubbling as though something unnatural was brewing within.
Then—
The mutation began again.
"Hmm? Something's wrong!"
Black Widow's instincts flared, an icy chill racing down her spine. She had fought too many battles, faced too many monstrosities, to dismiss that gut feeling—
Something worse was coming.
Then—
Gunfire.
Sharp. Precise. Human.
Widow's body moved on autopilot. She dived, rolling into cover behind a crumbling concrete pillar, her breath steadying as she surveyed the new threat.
Unlike the mindless undead, intelligent enemies with firearms were an entirely different level of danger.
And in a world turned upside down—
Humans were often more dangerous than the monsters.
"Hmm? More recruits?"
Nick Fury sat in the command center, one hand resting on the desk as his remaining eye narrowed at the live battlefield feed. The holographic displays reflected in his intense gaze as his mind dissected every second of footage.
From the far hallway, a new force entered the fray.
Black tactical gear. Military precision. Flawless formation.
They didn't move like panicked civilians. They didn't hesitate like ill-trained security personnel.
These were professionals.
And yet… something was off.
Fury had seen countless military outfits in his time, from elite covert units to mercenary bands willing to sell their skills to the highest bidder. But these operatives—
They were too clean.
Too equipped.
Too coordinated.
"They're… mercenaries?!"
Fury's pupils contracted. His gut told him this wasn't just some ragtag group of hired guns. No—these men carried the unmistakable aura of killers.
Hardened. Efficient. Unforgiving.
Only those who had walked through warzones and survived carried themselves with such an unshakable presence.
But since when did mercenaries have top-tier military-grade equipment?
The sleek, customized rifles in their hands weren't off-the-shelf black-market hardware. Their armor—reinforced, lined with advanced plating—wasn't standard-issue. Even their movements, synchronized like a well-oiled machine, suggested training that went beyond private security firms.
Who sent them?
As Fury's mind raced to connect the dots—
As S.H.I.E.L.D. scrambled to analyze their origins—
A new development unfolded.
With the immediate battlefield momentarily cleared, the various factions hesitated.
The gunfire slowed.
The undead had been obliterated or retreated.
And now—
Two forces stood across from each other.
Cautious.
Evaluating.
A man stepped forward from the newly arrived mercenaries, his movements unhurried yet exuding authority.
"You all… are the personnel the company sent for the handover?"
His voice was steady, unreadable.
The others remained still, watching him carefully.
"I'm Matthew Addison."
"Leader and field commander of this special task force."
The man's combat rifle rested in his hands—not raised, but not lowered either. His stance was calculated, controlled. Every move he made carried the weight of experience.
Battle-hardened.
Dangerous.
A professional.
And yet, as he regarded them, there was no hostility. No immediate call to arms.
Instead—
Recognition.
An unspoken understanding that, for now, both sides had a common goal.
But whether that alliance would hold—
Remained to be seen.
At that moment—
A long-absent system notification echoed, crisp and undeniable:
[Ding!]
[Main storyline character Matthew Addison encountered! Main quest unlocked!]
[Reward: Rationalized Identity ×1]
[Points Earned: 100]
Tony Stark blinked. What the hell?
Black Widow's brows knit together, but she remained silent, processing the implications just as quickly.
A 'main storyline character'?
A 'quest'?
And more importantly—
[Rationalized Identity]
Tony's gaze flickered to the notification.
His mind worked fast—too fast, maybe—but he wasn't about to ignore a detail like that.
A power that could alter human perception so effortlessly?
The weight of the realization hit like a sledgehammer.
That meant…
This 'system' wasn't just feeding them missions.
It was rewriting reality.
A Shift in Perspective
Matthew Addison, the battle-hardened field commander, regarded them now with a completely different demeanor.
The initial tension in his posture melted away, the earlier hostility vanishing like it had never existed. His eyes—once guarded, evaluating—now held the steady confidence of someone addressing allies.
"How bad is the virus outbreak inside the Hive?"
His tone was level, professional, as if they had always been part of the same mission.
Tony and Black Widow exchanged glances.
Shock mirrored in both their eyes.
Whatever just happened—
It had rewritten Matthew Addison's perception of them.
Matthew reviewed the intelligence swiftly, his sharp mind processing it with practiced ease. After a brief nod, he turned to them.
"So, this is the intel on the base? Got it."
Then, with an air of finality—
"The area's been cleared of zombies. Stay here."
The words carried an almost reassuring tone.
A command meant to protect them.
But to Tony? To Natasha?
That reassurance felt more like a cage.
Even before they could fully react, an undeniable truth settled in:
They weren't here to watch.
They weren't here to wait.
They had a mission.
[Assist Umbrella Corporation personnel… Enter the Hive… Shut down the Red Queen…]
Sitting on the sidelines wasn't an option.
Inaction meant death.
Tony's heart sank. Black Widow's expression hardened.
She had lived through too many betrayals, seen the worst that the world had to offer.
And one absolute truth remained:
Never place blind faith in a soldier's orders.
Her response was immediate.
Cold. Uncompromising.
"No."
A short blade gleamed in her hand, its edge catching the dim battlefield light.
Her stance was lethal. Precise.
And the blade?
Aimed directly at a vital spot.
If Matthew refused—
She was more than willing to force the issue.
