By the time Marcus completed his final preparations, the clock had already struck midnight on August 15th—the eve of the day humanity would launch its full-scale assault on New York.
Through long-range telescopes set up along the rooftops of Queens, Marcus could already see the distant glow of naval searchlights sweeping across the ocean horizon, and the faint hum of Seahawk helicopters circling above the fleet. From time to time, a few military drones attempted to cross into the city for reconnaissance, but each one was swiftly shot down by his Pursuers using EMP weaponry.
It was clear—the three U.S. carrier strike groups anchored within the New York Bay were ready for battle. The most powerful army on Earth was about to wage total war on Queens.
Standing beside Marcus, the Winter Soldier gave his assessment. "They'll likely rely on their long-range advantage first. That means they won't engage in urban combat at night. But by dawn, they'll launch their full offensive."
Marcus, who had access to inside information through Hawkeye, knew Bucky's analysis was correct. He turned slightly, his eyes falling on Doctor Octopus and Aldrich Killian, who were still busy finalizing the power amplifier atop the New Umbrella Tower. The machine's skeletal frame was nearly complete. If they worked through the night, it would be operational before sunrise.
In the distance, his Extremis-enhanced zombies—the Thunderbeasts, Chasers, and Infected mutants—were already dispersing into defensive positions throughout the city, ready to spring their ambushes at the first light of day. Every formation was in place; every contingency accounted for.
Marcus exhaled quietly, his voice low but resolute.
"Then let the war begin."
From the moment he had awakened in Tony Stark's mansion, Marcus had been preparing for this. Gathering resources, subduing enemies, building his army—every move led to this single point in time.
Tomorrow would decide everything.
Would victory belong to the so-called "heroes" fighting to save the world?
Or to the man who sought to unmake it—Marcus Vale, the unwilling harbinger of its end?
Who would be left standing when dawn came?
---
On the other side of the coming war, Nick Fury, commander of the Human Alliance, was meticulously reviewing his own plans. To him—and to the superheroes under his command—the Battle of New York wasn't just a mission. It was the last hope of preventing the complete collapse of the United States.
Deputy Director Maria Hill stood before him, giving her report. "We still haven't been able to contact Doctor Strange or Spider-Man. Spider-Man reportedly disappeared from the hospital last night, though we're still investigating the details. As for Doctor Strange—well, he's as elusive as ever."
Nick frowned but said nothing.
Doctor Strange, the Sorcerer Supreme, was rarely present even in world-shaking crises. Unless he returned to find Earth on the brink of total annihilation, he likely wouldn't interfere. For all anyone knew, he was somewhere in the multiverse bargaining with Dormammu at that very moment.
Hill continued. "Not all of the X-Men have joined us, either. Cyclops, Storm, and Shadowcat stayed behind at the Xavier Institute to deal with Magneto's latest movements. However, Professor X himself is leading the majority of the team here. They'll be a strong addition to our forces."
Fury nodded. "Understood. Anyone with mutant genes or radiation-based powers should be kept in the reserve division. I don't want to risk an uncontrolled virus mutation spreading through their systems. But if things go south… we may have no choice but to use them."
Hill tried to sound optimistic. "I'm confident the military can handle this. According to your plan, all landing operations will use a beachhead strategy to avoid exposing weaknesses in the quarantine line. The army will deploy in three divisions—north, central, and south—to converge on Queens. Once we secure the center, we'll establish a forward command base and push outward to cleanse the city block by block. The Air Force will provide cover from Pearl Harbor, while the Navy maintains artillery support from New York Harbor. This is the finest the U.S. military has to offer, sir. We can't lose."
Fury's tone, however, remained grim. "Never underestimate the enemy, Hill. Sokovia proved HYDRA has access to technology beyond our understanding—and now they've joined forces with A.I.M. We have no idea what kind of weapons or monsters they've built. Prepare for the worst."
He rubbed his chin thoughtfully before asking, "What about that zombie control helmet we recovered? Any progress in replicating it?"
Hill sighed. "Unfortunately, no. The technology is incredibly advanced—on par with, or even beyond, Tony Stark's Iron Man suits. With the blueprints, we can recreate one or two prototypes, but mass production is out of the question right now."
Fury wasn't surprised. He had expected as much.
"Then what about the arc reactor investigation?" he asked.
Hill flipped through her dossier and handed over the report. Her expression softened slightly. "According to the engineers who once worked with Stark, that particular arc reactor wasn't his design. In fact, the craftsmanship resembles the technology found in the zombie control helmet more than any of Tony's own creations. At least we can confirm that Whiplash—not Stark—was behind it. There's no doubt about his presence in New York, and all evidence links him to the Stark Industries weapons theft and the murder of the Human Torch."
But Fury didn't share her relief. Instead, he sighed heavily. "That's not good news, Hill. Whiplash was captured and taken by HYDRA and A.I.M. If he's here, it means he's working for them. The stolen weapons from Stark Industries suggest one thing—tomorrow's battle won't just be against zombies. We could be facing enemy units equipped with Iron Man-level technology."
Hill forced a small smile. "At least that means Tony's not a suspect anymore."
Fury's expression didn't soften. "That's still far from certain…"
---
Beneath Fury's helicarrier, the American fleet lit up the dark waters like a floating city. The massive cannons of the battleships slowly rotated toward Queens, locking into firing positions. Aircraft carriers hummed with life as recon planes and early-warning jets took off one after another.
On every deck, soldiers stood ready, weapons in hand, awaiting the dawn signal.
The wind howled across the ocean, carrying with it the metallic scent of war.
And as the first faint light of morning began to edge across the horizon, both armies—one of men, the other of monsters—waited for the same moment.