After hearing Tony's words, Deathstroke shook his head, his voice reaching everyone's ears through the communicator:
"Paratroopers are destined to be surrounded every time they enter the field. Look at you, why panic? Show a little vision. You're a man with a mustache, after all."
"Does having a mustache mean zombies won't eat me?"
Iron Man flew up as well. He could fly, after all—better a fellow cultivator die than himself.
Deathstroke stood on the flying carpet, resting his chin on his fist. After putting on a briefly thoughtful expression, he tilted his head. "Not exactly. But if you have a mustache, the zombies might bite your mouth a little slower. Eating hair probably scratches their throats, right?"
"Ugh."
Seeing the zombies' rotten faces, their exposed gums, and their yellow saliva splashing everywhere as they ran, Iron Man dry-heaved exactly as expected.
That was the problem with smart people. Sometimes their brains were beyond their control; the moment they heard something, they automatically began imagining the details.
The heroes of Earth-1610 were all very practical. They would rather let someone else die than die themselves.
Seeing Deathstroke's group take to the air and Iron Man fly away as well, were they supposed to be the only ones left to face the Inhuman zombie army?
No way. If none of you were going to put your lives on the line, why should I?
Everyone thought the same way. So, before the zombies had even reached where everyone had been standing, they had all taken off within seconds.
"What's going on? Why did everyone run? Aren't we fighting?" Human Torch looked eager to give it a try. He could assume Elemental Form and believed the zombies posed no threat to him at all, so he was the one most eager to throw