Just then, the sound of a car crash alarm suddenly came from outside. Miles jolted and vaulted over the sofa, rushing to the window.
While they had been watching TV and talking, the world outside had completely changed. Flames dyed the entire street red, and countless mangled figures were racing through the road, hunting down fleeing pedestrians.
A car had just crashed into a roadside telephone pole while fleeing. The dazed driver screamed as the zombies dragged him out through the shattered windshield, then tore into him on the hood.
But the soundproofing on Miles's windows was too good. They could only see the man's desperate expression and could not hear his screams, like an exaggerated silent pantomime.
In the blink of an eye, the middle-aged man whose stomach had been ripped open suddenly sat up. The surrounding zombies moved aside, because he had become one of them.
Miles could only stare in shock, not even knowing what expression to make. The Inheritors ate spiders too, but he had never seen anything this bloody.
This was not an isolated case, but a slaughter unfolding across the street. Humans had no ability to resist these living corpses.
This was the United States of Earth-1610, where almost everyone had a gun. Yet firearms seemed so weak and futile against zombies like a gray tsunami.
Deathstroke reacted faster. While Little Black Spider was still frozen in shock, he yanked the boy away from the window and gave his orders in a low voice:
"The chaos in the streets is concealing our presence. Loki, use magic to seal the doors and windows. Skye, hack into the S.H.I.E.L.D. satellites. I want to know the scale of this Biohazard Crisis. Jessica, just stay with me."
Loki, who had barely spoken until now, stood up. She unhurriedly