The dry, irradiated wind of Earth-21923 howled across the barren plains of the American Midwest.
The sprawling, rusted shantytown previously known as Hammer Falls had officially been rebranded. The settlement, built directly over the scorched, buried ruins of the original Las Vegas, was now formally designated as "New Vegas." It had been Peter's suggestion. The locals thought it was a symbol of a new era. Peter just really liked the post-apocalyptic video game of the same name and refused to pass up the opportunity.
Near the town's heavily fortified perimeter, Clint Barton stood completely rigid. The elderly, white-haired Hawkeye gripped his compound bow so tightly the composite wood creaked. He was staring unblinkingly at the man who had just stepped out of the dimensional portal.
Magneto.
In Clint's native Wasteland timeline, Magneto had been a dementia-riddled tyrant who had slaughtered Clint's friends and ultimately murdered his daughter. Now, standing ten feet away, was a vastly younger, alternate-universe version of the Master of Magnetism.
Clint leaned sideways, not taking his eyes off the mutant. "Spider-Man," he whispered, his voice like grinding sandpaper. "Is this Magneto... a good guy?"
Peter shifted his weight, crossing his arms. He looked at Erik Lehnsherr, noting the heavy slump of the man's shoulders and the hollow, haunted look in his eyes.
"I think he's trying to be," Peter replied softly. "After everything he's just been through, he's basically running entirely on a need for absolute atonement."
Peter let out a quiet sigh. Honestly, Peter thought, his fourth-wall awareness kicking in, I don't know if the cosmic writers just have a massive grudge against the guy, but Magneto is always the multiverse's ultimate scapegoat. In the zombie universe, he accidentally triggered the apocalypse. In this Wasteland universe, if he hadn't killed Wanda, Thor might have actually turned the tide against the villains. The guy just cannot catch a break.
Magneto ignored the hostile stares of the Wasteland Avengers. He stepped forward, dragging a massive, heavy tarp made of salvaged steel cables. He dropped it at Clint's feet.
The tarp fell open with a deafening, metallic clatter.
Clint's good eye widened. Spilling out into the red dust was a mountain of pristine, alternate-universe superhero tech. There was a fully Iron Man chest plate, the dented but functional golden helmet of Richard Rider's Nova, and resting at the very top, the unmistakable vibranium gleam of Captain America's shield.
"I brought these from the battlefield before the portal collapsed," Magneto said, his voice quiet but steady. "I assumed your resistance forces might find them useful."
Clint didn't say a word. He slowly dropped to one knee, brushing the dust off Steve Rogers' shield. His pragmatic, tactical mind instantly began churning. They had been desperately trying to figure out how to crack the Red Skull's heavily fortified eastern territories. This equipment changed the entire board.
Furthermore, Magneto's physical presence offered an insane tactical advantage. It had only been a few months since the spider-god Anansi had executed the local, elderly Magneto. Most of the Wasteland territories still didn't know the mutant king was dead. If this Magneto simply put on the helmet and marched into enemy territory, the psychological deterrent alone would cripple the restless warlords.
Clint barked a sudden, gravelly laugh, the tension leaving his shoulders. "Hahaha! Thank you for the hardware, Erik," he said, using the man's first name to bridge the gap. "Don't you worry about the politics right now. Just treat this patch of dirt as your new home."
It truly was the perfect refuge. If these survivors had fled to any active, thriving universe, encountering their living counterparts would have caused a localized temporal headache. Here? Almost everyone had been dead for forty years. There was zero risk of running into a duplicate.
A few yards away, Wanda Maximoff and Dazzler stood side-by-side, taking in the bleak, sun-bleached horizon. The Wasteland was incredibly harsh and entirely devoid of green life, but the air wasn't filled with the stench of rotting flesh. It was safe.
Magneto opened his mouth, looking at Wanda as if wanting to confess the full, horrifying truth of what he had done to their native world. He stopped himself, closing his jaw tightly. Not today, his silence said. Maybe someday, but not today.
Ash Williams stumbled out of the portal next. He kicked a loose rock with his boot, looking around the dusty camp. Nobody paid him any attention. He was just waiting for the portal to stabilize so he could roll the cosmic dice and jump to a reality that actually had indoor plumbing.
But Doom didn't step out to recalibrate the machine. Doctor Strange did.
The Sorcerer Supreme casually adjusted his Cloak of Levitation, looking extremely pleased with himself. He had already tucked the flesh-bound Necronomicon securely into a pocket dimension.
Finally, a heavy steel boot stepped through the rift.
Only one Doctor Doom emerged.
The 616 monarch let the blue portal snap shut behind him. He looked at the gathered heroes, his iron mask completely unreadable.
"The other Doom chose to remain behind," he announced, his voice carrying over the wind. "Worried for the absolute safety of his people from any pursuing undead, he opted to stay in his dying universe and manually detonate the multiverse shuttle. He sacrificed himself. Spider-Man, you do not need to return to destroy the machinery."
Peter's lenses snapped wide. He stared at Doom in pure disbelief. What? Peter's spider-sense didn't flare with immediate physical danger, but every single instinct in his gut screamed that he was listening to a monumental lie. He took a step toward the Latverian king.
Before Peter could open his mouth, Reed Richards materialized beside him. Reed clamped a heavy hand down on Peter's shoulder, his fingers digging sharply into the collarbone.
"What's done is done, Spider-Man," Reed said loudly, giving Peter a very pointed, warning look. "There is no point in debating it now."
Peter swallowed his accusation, stepping back.
"Alright," Reed continued, clapping his hands together and looking at the barren town. "Since the original shuttle is destroyed, we will simply have to construct a new multiverse array here. According to Stephen, utilizing a localized build will cause far less friction against the universal barrier."
"If you entirely ceased punching holes through the multiverse, the friction would be zero," Strange muttered, rolling his eyes.
Reed ignored the wizard. "Who knows exactly how long it will take to fabricate? But the localized temporal mechanics are perfect. We can adjust the return-trajectory time dilation. We could easily spend half a month in this universe helping to rebuild, and only four or five hours will have passed back on our earth."
"This is an excellent opportunity to correct this reality," Reed smiled.
There was no doubt about that. The sudden infusion of Magneto, the Scarlet Witch, Dazzler, Black Panther, and the Fantastic Four completely tipped the scales of power in the Wasteland. The aging Red Skull and the local, megalomaniacal Doctor Doom were living on borrowed time.
As the group began to organize, Peter suddenly snapped his fingers. He had completely forgotten about Ash, who had just quietly bypassed the security perimeter and thrown himself into the lingering dimensional rift to parts unknown.
"Dr. Richards," Peter said, jogging up to the scientist. "Do you still have the frequency to contact the Watcher? I have a really specific question I need to ask Uatu."
"What is the matter, Peter?"
"The universe where that Zombie Sentry originated," Peter said, his tone turning serious. "The Watcher said it was a localized loop. I want to know if anyone survived it."
Earth-Z. The Dead Universe.
The sky was a bruised, sickly purple. The ruins of New York City were completely silent. There were no screams. There was no gunfire. There weren't even the shuffling footsteps of the undead.
Because there was nothing left.
Flint Marko, the Sandman, stood in the center of a crater. His body wasn't made of silica anymore. Every single grain of sand had been permanently replaced by highly aggressive, carrion-eating nanobots. Beside him stood James Rhodes, his War Machine armor battered, scorched, and running on backup power.
With the help of a reality-hopping Spider-Man, Rhodey and the modified Sandman had successfully executed a total planetary scrub. They had wiped out every single zombie hero. The world was at peace.
But as they looked around the empty, silent streets, the victory tasted entirely like ash.
They won. But what did it matter? The world was dead. Humanity was extinct. There wasn't a single living organism left on the planet.
While the two men stood in deafening silence, the air pressure in front of them spiked. A swirling blue portal tore open above the cracked asphalt.
Peter Parker stepped out. He looked around, immediately spotting a crumbling pile of bones wearing the shredded, rotting remains of a red and blue mask.
"Okay," Peter muttered, checking a wrist-mounted coordinate tracker. "Hopefully the Watcher gave me the right zip code. Hey, is that a pile of my own bones? Neat."
Rhodey raised his arm cannons, his targeting reticle locking onto the newcomer. "Are you... are you really Spider-Man?"
"Yes, sir. But not the one from your universe," Peter said, holding his hands up casually. "Considering you guys have already dealt with an alternate-reality web-head today, I'll skip the long introduction."
Peter pointed a thumb back at the glowing portal. "I just helped evacuate a group of survivors from a completely different zombie universe. The Watcher told me about your situation. He said you two are literally the last living guys on this Earth."
Rhodey slowly lowered his weapons. Flint's nanite body shifted restlessly.
"So," Peter pitched, leaning against a chunk of rubble. "How do you guys feel about moving? I know a world where the supervillains teamed up, killed all the heroes, and turned the planet into a giant, oppressive desert wasteland. They could really use some heavy hitters to help clean house."
"Sounds like they desperately need the cavalry," Rhodey sighed, his faceplate retracting. He looked over at Sandman. "What do you say, Flint?"
"Anywhere is better than this graveyard," Sandman rumbled, his voice grinding like crushed glass.
"Awesome. Follow me," Peter smiled.
With the Watcher's localized coordinates locked in, Peter, War Machine, and Sandman stepped through the portal, leaving the dead universe behind forever.
They expected to step out into the blinding, irradiated desert of the Wasteland. They expected dust, rust, and desperate refugees.
Instead, Rhodey and Flint stepped onto a pristine, polished chrome platform.
The air was cool and heavily filtered. Towering, gleaming skyscrapers made of smart-glass and Wakandan-grade steel stretched into the sky. Flying cars zipped along organized, holographic traffic lanes. Advanced, automated construction drones were busy rapidly assembling a massive, state-of-the-art hospital complex in the distance.
Peter pulled his mask up, his jaw dropping as he stared at the futuristic utopia that had entirely replaced the shantytown of New Vegas.
"Uh," Peter blinked, turning to look at Reed Richards, who was casually sipping coffee from a Stark Industries mug nearby. "Did you do this, Doc?"
PS: Flint Marco and Rhodey is from Earth-Z (Earth-91126) and the end of Marvel Zombies Return miniseries (specifically issue #5), which serves as the finale to the original Marvel Zombies comic saga.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Writing takes time, coffee, and a lot of love.If you'd like to support my work, join me at [email protected]/GoldenGaruda
You'll get early access to over 50 chapters, selection on new series, and the satisfaction of knowing your support directly fuels more stories.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~