Inside the Raft.
Inside their room, Shang-Chi sat by the window, his eyes fixed on the rippling reflection of the moon on the waves. The faint hum of the city's generators filled the space, steady and comforting. Across from him, Katy Chen leaned against the wall, arms crossed and eyes following his distant stare.
"So, what do you think of them?" Chen finally asked, breaking the silence.
Shang-Chi didn't look away from the window. "Khan and her group? They're optimistic. Too much, maybe. This world doesn't run on optimism anymore."
Chen frowned. "You mean hope."
He turned his gaze toward her, his expression unreadable. "Hope doesn't stop the dead from tearing through steel doors. It doesn't rebuild cities or cure a virus that shouldn't even exist. They're chasing ghosts."
Chen pushed herself off the wall and walked closer, her voice rising with quiet frustration. "At least they're chasing something, Shang. You've been walking through this nightmare for five years, and you've stopped believing in anything. Not even in yourself."
Shang-Chi sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Belief got my father killed. Belief made me watch people I cared about turn into monsters. Maybe surviving is all that's left for us."
"Then why are we still here?" Chen shot back. "Why did we fight so hard to reach this city if we were just going to sit and wait for the end?"
Her words hung in the air, sharp and trembling. Shang-Chi didn't answer.
Chen turned away, her voice lowering. "You know what really bothers me? They still believe. Khan, that Blade Knight, and even the kid Kate—they still think the world can be saved. And I…" She clenched her fists. "I'm jealous of that."
Shang-Chi looked at her quietly, the faint flicker of guilt in his eyes.
•••
The waves of the dark ocean crashed against the rusted hulls of the New Orleans checkpoint—once a proud beacon of survival, now little more than a haunted ruin clinging to the surface. The faint glow of its floodlights flickered in the mist, painting the sea in sickly shades of green and red. 4
Through that fog, shadows began to rise—a horde of twisted forms dragging themselves out of the water, their movements sluggish but relentless. Among them walked Zombified Hawkeye, his armor corroded, one eye missing, and the other burning crimson—a mark of the Queen of Death's dominion. His bow, warped and blackened, pulsed faintly with necrotic energy.
He was no longer Clint Barton, Avenger, or hero. He was now the replacement for Zombified Okoye, the newest general in the queen's army. After Okoye's destruction at the hands of Alastor, her command had been transferred—and Barton, reborn in death, was the one chosen to lead.
The checkpoint's defenders of the New Orleans checkpoint screamed as the horde descended upon them. Steel barriers bent like paper, and gunfire echoed uselessly against the tide of undead. Hawkeye moved methodically, firing corrupted arrows that detonated in bursts of black energy, tearing through walls and watchtowers alike.
Soon, silence fell. The New Orleans checkpoint—gateway to the City on the Sea—was overrun.
As the last of the survivors was dragged into the depths, Hawkeye stood at the shore, raising his hand toward the dark waters. Beneath the surface, the sea began to churn violently, forming a vortex that glowed red with otherworldly light.
And then, from the abyss, zombified Namor emerged. His once-golden armor was tarnished and shattered, his eyes burning the same red as Hawkeye's. He floated above the waves, silent and regal even in death.
From far below, the Raft—long sunken beneath the sea—pulsed with necrotic energy, feeding the control Hawkeye now held. Through the will of the Queen of Death, the undead archer raised his bow toward the horizon, where Kamala Khan's group traveled toward Ocean City.
"Find them," the queen's voice echoed through the air, chilling and divine. "Bring me their hope."
~~~
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