π•‹β„π•Œπ•ƒπ• 𝕄𝔸𝔻𝕃𝕐 𝔾𝕃𝔸𝔻𝕃𝕐

Steve: Prologue

Malibu, California

"I don't like this, Tony," Steve said uneasily. Pennsylvania was under siege. Buildings were on fire. And somehow, the dead were alive.

"No one likes it, Cap." Tony sighed, taking a seat beside him, grabbing a remote and turning the television off. "I don't like ravaged faces, either. They're going to give me nightmares."

"Do you think they've really got this under control?" Steve gestured at the blank television.

Tony shrugged. "SHIELD says so."

"And you believe them?"

"Have you ever seen me trust a word they say, except in life-and-death situations?"

"No, I haven't," Steve admitted. "But what if it . . ."

"Spreads globally?" Tony leaned back in his armchair as he counted off his finger. "Pennsylvania, Ohio, Wisconsin, Illinois, Iowa, Albania, Louisiana, Indiana, Michigan, Virginia, North Carolina, South Carolina, Georgia, Alabama. The United States isn't safe anymore, and no one can contain them. Canada's next on the list, then maybe Iceland, then who knows?"

"They're saying it's the Chitauri," Steve stated. "They released some kind of virus into the air when they came."

"Figures," Tony snorted. "It all goes back to our big bad villain."

"You think Loki intended this?"

"Well, that would kinda defeat the purpose of taking over. So no. Maybe. Yeah, I don't know."

Steve looked over the horizon, where the sun was rising, painting rough streaks of red and orange and yellow into the gray palette of a sky. Somewhere in the east, a battle was raging. He found himself dragged into a memory back in 1945, during a mission, what he had observed as his soldiers rested and refilled their bottles by a river they had found mid-forest.

People are dying. Pain ripples through all of us. The war is almost lost. And the tears never stop. Yet somehow, life goes on.

"Fury hasn't called the Avengers in," Steve said absently, still engulfed in his past. "Why?"

But how can it go on, when we could be exterminated completely?

Tony tapped his knuckles. "Two reasons. One: it's totally controlled. Two: it's totally not, and he's afraid of what we might do if we get infected. You and Natasha and Bruce are enhanced and all that, and I might still know how to use my suit even if I'm half-dead. And Clint will know how to use his bow. I swear, Katniss can get a bull's eye even when he's blind."

"I'm guessing the second."

Tony yawned. "Never pegged you for a pessimist."

"It's called being practical."

Steve felt something numb in his body. The end of the world may be upon them, yet here they were, he and Tony, exchanging rebuttals and acting like the normal, while on the other side of the world, the number of enemies increased every minute.

A zombie apocalypse. Such things only existed in the world of fiction . . . or so he had believed.

"Let's think the worst," Steve said, turning to Tony again.

"Let's not."

"What if we are annihilated completely? Every one of us?"

Steve could imagine it. Ransacked half-corpses pillowing through the streets in their bloodthirst. Blood littering every inch of the earth. Gone. Just gone.

Tony broke into his thoughts. "Not happening, Cap. We'll stop them. It's the world against a few hundred zombies. Sure, they have the bite, but we have the good old weaponry."

Steve saw it. The flicker of doubt. Tony didn't believe what he was saying.

"Sir, Director Fury is requesting a dire call."

"Take it," Tony responded sharply, getting to his feet at the sound of the AI.

"Stark, Rogers. Code Red." Fury's voice was low yet urgent. "Report to New York base. SHIELD is being immersed with the infected. I repeat, SHIELD is being immersed with the infected."

"What?" Steve stood up, alarm on his face. "Already?"

"Report to New York base," Fury restated. "Now."

The call ended.

Steve looked around. Tony was already downstairs to get his suit. Steve turned, and started running for his own armor.

The end of the world could wait. What was important now was saving New York.