The sky hung oppressively dark and gloomy overhead, perpetually overcast with clouds that never seemed to break.
Dilapidated buildings stood like broken teeth—structures that appeared to have been ravaged by prolonged warfare, making the entire world resemble the aftermath of some catastrophic apocalypse.
Tony Stark's frown deepened as he surveyed the devastation below through his armor's advanced scanning systems.
I've lost all hope for this reality, he thought grimly.
"This world has already been destroyed once," he announced to the team, his voice carrying that distinctive edge of someone who'd witnessed too many horrors. "Possibly multiple times."
"Stay alert. We might encounter Mapmakers here."
During one of their five previous collision crises, they'd confronted those entities directly—and barely survived the encounter.
Mapmakers were a massive mechanical army whose ultimate directives remained unknown, though their immediate purpose was horrifyingly clear: eliminate humanity from Earth. When collision events occurred, the Mapmakers would travel to alternate universe Earths through the dimensional connection, systematically exterminating every human on that planet before the actual planetary impact. This technically ended the collision crisis for that specific universe.
The fundamental problem was that simply eliminating humanity from one Earth never solved the underlying issue. As long as another Earth with human populations existed somewhere in the multiverse, the collisions would continue indefinitely.
Therefore, the Mapmakers' methodology ultimately led only to the systematic genocide of all Earthlings across all universes—an infinite cascade of extinction events.
When this universe's Earth had been targeted by Mapmakers, it had already been beyond salvation. The world was functionally dead.
Their current mission was straightforward: evacuate any survivors, then activate antimatter annihilation weapons to destroy the planet entirely—preventing Mapmakers from potentially following them back to their home universe.
"Wait," E.U.N.I.C.E. interrupted, raising one hand to halt Tony's advance.
Her golden optical sensors scanned the ruins methodically, electronic information streams appearing to flash across her visual processors in rapid sequence.
"I'm detecting vital signs. Multiple biological signatures."
"Seriously?" Tony was genuinely shocked, disbelief coloring his voice. "There are people who survived whatever butchers created this nightmare?"
"Perhaps Mapmakers aren't responsible for this world's condition," E.U.N.I.C.E. suggested, her tactical analysis running probability matrices. "I'm not detecting any Mapmaker energy signatures. The devastation pattern suggests a different causative agent."
"Looks more like someone who failed art school enrollment is now giving passionate speeches in beer halls," Pietro quipped darkly.
He was referencing the appearance of wholesale warfare—as though the world had experienced a new global conflict rather than robotic genocide.
"That's actually fortunate," Peter said with obvious relief, then immediately realized how that sounded and quickly clarified: "I mean—if the world is already devastated, it becomes significantly easier to persuade remaining survivors to evacuate! They don't have established infrastructure to defend!"
"Peter's assessment is correct," Tony agreed, adjusting their tactical approach on the fly.
The team temporarily abandoned their evacuation-without-contact plan and began descending slowly toward the ruins.
Their arrival apparently attracted considerable attention almost immediately.
From within the dilapidated structures, multiple pairs of eyes watched them—hidden observers lurking in shadows. The tranquil atmosphere concealed something that felt simultaneously fearful and utterly mad.
"Did someone say there were 'few' survivors?" Tony muttered, his sensors identifying the watchers.
He glanced around systematically and spotted hundreds of distinct thermal signatures converging on their position.
This was only within a half-block radius. If the proportion of survivors across the entire planet matched this density, the total population might still number in the millions.
"That means we'd better work quickly," Peter observed. "We really should have brought thousands of Plumber personnel for this operation!"
He felt acutely understaffed for a potential planetary evacuation.
Tony looked embarrassed. "Honestly, I never genuinely expected we could convince anyone to leave. Based on past experience with these collision events, negotiations usually devolve into combat almost immediately."
While they were discussing logistics, Pietro had already walked ahead toward the nearest ruins, his youth and compassion overriding tactical caution.
From within the destroyed structures, a filthy, red-haired little girl emerged timidly, clutching a worn plush toy with one ear torn completely off.
She kept her head lowered, long red hair hanging in tangled clumps that obscured her face. Her body trembled slightly—seemingly caught between curiosity about the newcomers and profound fear of... something.
Her pitiful appearance immediately reminded Pietro of Wanda during their childhood in war-torn Sokovia. Standing amid bombing ruins, staring at family members' corpses, experiencing that unique mixture of grief and emotional numbness that came from witnessing too much death too young.
He turned and glared at Tony with sudden, fierce accusation.
War criminals deserve death!
Tony received that look and, feeling genuinely guilty, remained silent. Fortunately, Pietro and Wanda seemed to have processed their trauma—especially after witnessing Tony's own suffering and humiliation. They felt he'd received appropriate punishment for his past.
Of course, the most crucial factor had been guidance and encouragement from Aunt May and Uncle Ben, who'd helped the twins navigate their complicated feelings about Stark Industries' legacy.
Tony should prostrate himself in gratitude before those two saints, Pietro thought.
"I'll ask Norman to deploy several evacuation transports," Harry offered, already composing the request.
Pietro approached the little girl carefully, each step measured and non-threatening.
"Are you alright, child?" He tried making his voice sound as gentle and reassuring as possible.
But the closer he came, the more violently the child trembled—as though genuinely terrified. The rabbit doll was squeezed so tightly in her grip that stuffing began leaking from torn seams.
How pitiful. She must have suffered tremendously...
"Don't be afraid," Pietro said softly. "We're not bad people. We're here to rescue you. To take you somewhere safe."
"I'm... so... hungry..." a hoarse voice rasped from beneath the clumps of red hair.
Pietro didn't hear clearly and instinctively leaned closer, tilting his head to better catch her words.
At precisely that moment, something like electricity jolted through Peter Parker's cerebral cortex—his spider-sense screaming urgent warning: "WATCH OUT!"
But the alert came too late.
Without any additional warning, the little girl's head snapped upward toward Pietro with inhuman speed, her tangled hair flying back to reveal her face—or what remained of it.
Half her face had vanished entirely—perhaps eaten away, perhaps rotted to nothing. One eyeball dangled from its socket, connected by exposed optical nerves like a grotesque spring-loaded toy.
The remaining flesh was gray-green and decomposing, maggots visibly writhing in the exposed muscle tissue.
"SHIT!" Pietro screamed in genuine terror.
He was ordinarily the fastest person on any team—capable of dodging bullets, outrunning explosions. But at this moment, his feet somehow betrayed him. They tangled together as though possessing independent malicious intent, tripping him up and sending him stumbling directly toward the lunging creature.
The zombie girl attacked with shocking ferocity.
THWIP!
A white strand of webbing shot out like a bullet, adhering directly to the creature's mouth—sealing those snapping jaws before they could tear into Pietro's flesh.
With her mouth sealed by the ultra-strong spider silk, the zombie looked genuinely enraged. Her eyes became bloodshot, bulging from their sockets. Her teeth—impossibly strong—actually snapped through webbing that could support a building's weight!
Peter had no time to process that disturbing revelation. Another web strand stuck to Pietro's head, and he yanked the reckless speedster backward to relative safety.
"Please tell me you didn't wet yourself," Harry called out, attempting levity.
But nobody actually laughed. The humor died before it could fully form.
Because the scene unfolding before them was simply too shocking. Tony Stark—who considered himself worldly and experienced, who'd known both extreme wealth and desperate poverty, who'd lost a hand in Sakaar and been publicly humiliated as the "Second Youngest Son"—had never witnessed anything quite like this.
"Oh my god, it's Resident Evil!" Peter's voice cracked with barely controlled panic. "We're in a zombie apocalypse universe!"
"Everyone, avoid being bitten or scratched at all costs! Activate your suit's air filtration systems—the T-virus can transmit through airborne vectors!" His mind raced through remembered plot points from old movies. "Our top priority should be locating Alice! She's probably immune and might have supplies—"
"That's great advice, kid," Tony interrupted, looking upward with profound despair. "Just one question: where exactly do we look for this Alice person?"
Half a block away, a massive dark horde of figures was shambling toward their position—hundreds of bodies moving with unnatural coordination.
"Please tell me those aren't all zombies," Harry said, his fists clenching involuntarily.
If these people were enemies—genuine threats rather than victims—should he eliminate them? Could he bring himself to destroy what had once been human beings?
"I'm... so... HUNGRY!"
The approaching creatures muttered that phrase like an incantation, their eyes fixed on the team as though viewing the freshest, most delicious meat they'd ever encountered.
"They retain some degree of consciousness," Wanda observed, her mystical senses detecting something deeply wrong with the corruption. "This isn't standard necromantic animation."
That represented the most disturbing difference between these monsters and conventional zombies from fiction.
They were still aware. Still thinking. Still fundamentally human despite their monstrous hunger.
And that made everything infinitely worse.
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