章節 32: Chapter 32: Hank Pym
"Come on, T'Challa! My lab isn't far from here—just hold on a little longer!"
Ant-Man, summoning his strength, grew from his normal size to a towering height of nearly ten meters in just a few moments. With his enormous hand, he carefully grabbed the edge of a burnt-out car and pushed it aside, clearing a path into the alley.
As Hank Pym cracked his neck and returned to his normal size, he turned and smiled at Black Panther.
T'Challa, breathing heavily, was in rough shape. His clothes were torn and damaged, but his black, tightly-fitted leather mask remained intact. Thankfully, he hadn't been injured by the monsters they had encountered.
Black Panther struggled to lift his head. "Hank, have we lost contact with the main group?"
Hank didn't seem to hear the question. He peered cautiously into the shadowy alley, his movements deliberate as if searching for infected individuals lurking in the darkness.
"Oh my God, T'Challa, did you see what happened to Colonel America after that creature bit him? Just seconds later, he turned into a mindless, ravenous monster and devoured that reporter alive!"
"Even though I saw it happen with my own eyes, I still can't believe it. The most righteous man in the world, harming the very people he swore to protect…"
Hank's words brought a deep sorrow to T'Challa's face. The situation was beyond bizarre, but there was little he could do now. Quietly, he prayed that the virus wouldn't reach Wakanda.
Wakanda's scientists would need time to develop a cure, but T'Challa had faith in their unmatched technological prowess. Surely, they would find a way to overcome this crisis.
Suddenly, T'Challa's gaze fixed on Hank's abdomen. He noticed Hank clutching his stomach, blood seeping through his fingers. His eyes widened in alarm.
"Hank! What's going on with your stomach? Were you bitten by one of those zombies?"
"No, it's just a scratch from some rebar," Hank replied quickly, waving off the concern. "Why would you even think that, my friend?"
"I'm not infected. You don't need to worry about me. Let's keep moving; we're almost at the lab. We can regroup and rest there before rescuing others."
Hank's voice held a trace of irritation, and the shadows partially obscuring his face made it difficult to read his expression.
Without waiting for T'Challa's response, Hank walked into the alley ahead of him.
Hearing this, coupled with Hank's decisive demeanor, eased T'Challa's doubts. After all, when he had been surrounded and out of ammunition, Hank had saved him, growing to giant size and crushing the zombies that threatened to overwhelm him.
If Hank were infected, wouldn't he have sought a cure instead of risking himself to save others? It didn't make sense for someone infected to stay close and protect him.
T'Challa chastised himself for doubting Hank, a founding Avenger who had just saved his life. He shook his head, resolving to trust his companion. Perhaps it was time to retire after this crisis, settle down with Storm, and live a quieter life in Wakanda.
As T'Challa stepped into the pitch-black alley, he suddenly realized Hank was gone. A sense of unease crept over him, his heart pounding faster.
Had Hank been attacked? Or had he stormed ahead in frustration?
Instinctively, T'Challa began to turn back, but the moment he did, a massive hand came crashing down on him. His eyes widened in shock.
Boom!
The impact hurled T'Challa into a nearby wall. Bricks crumbled and dust filled the air as his body slid to the ground, limp and motionless.
The massive hand quickly shrank back to its normal size before grabbing T'Challa by the leg.
"Sorry, old friend," Hank muttered.
Hank removed his mask, revealing a face cold as ice. Slinging T'Challa over his shoulder, he turned away from the alley and approached a storefront across the street. Knocking on the wall a few times, he triggered a hidden mechanism, revealing a concealed door.
Dragging the unconscious Black Panther inside, Hank spoke to himself—or perhaps to his incapacitated ally.
"I've seen what happens after infection. I won't wait to starve like the others. You might not understand, but I don't need you to."
"Those infected by the virus experience insatiable hunger, devouring everything in sight. At this rate, they'll eat every last human within weeks, especially the superpowered ones."
"I wish I could turn back time and avoid being bitten, but it's too late now. In a few minutes, I'll be one of them."
Hank pulled T'Challa into a sterile-looking chamber. At its center stood a metallic surgical table, its polished surface gleaming faintly. Hank carefully bound T'Challa to the table, ensuring he was secure.
Standing beside the restrained Black Panther, Hank picked up a bone saw, running his fingers over its blade.
"…and you'll make a fine snack when the time comes."
The saw grazed T'Challa's left arm, leaving a shallow cut before Hank suddenly stopped. He set the tool aside.
"The hunger's already burning in my stomach, clawing its way up my throat. But it's not time yet. Too soon."
Hank tossed the saw into a metal bin and rummaged through drawers, retrieving several vials of anesthetic. Injecting them into T'Challa, he whispered:
"Sleep well, Your Majesty. When you wake, you won't have to worry about your people anymore."
Hank pulled his hood back on and stepped out, locking the chamber behind him. Growing to skyscraper height, he began striding down the street.
He recalled two recent messages. First, a directive from Colonel America summoning all infected heroes to Avengers Mansion. Second, an invitation from Janet—the one who had bitten him.
The thought made Hank's face twist into a grimace, but he shrugged. "For the meat, I'll let it slide."
Stopping briefly, Hank crouched and grabbed a familiar figure in yellow. It was Piledriver, one of the wrecking crew.
"Please! I'll change! I'll stop robbing people! Don't eat me!"
Piledriver's desperate cries were futile. The strength he once boasted about meant nothing against Hank's titanic grasp.
Hank sneered, his expression savage. Without a word, he tossed Piledriver into his cavernous maw. Crunching sounds echoed in the empty streets.
"Delicious," Hank muttered, resuming his journey.
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