MARVEL : Zombie universe

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A handsome old man with long, flowing hair walked slowly toward the town. He carried a bag and wore simple clothes, yet exuded a unique and commanding presence. His hair danced in the wind, lending him an air of wildness and freedom. The compound bow on his back revealed him as a skilled archer, with a quiver full of sharp, gleaming arrows completing the picture.

As he strolled through the bustling streets, townsfolk instinctively made way for him. Their movements were not out of fear but rather respect—clearly, this man was no stranger to them. Eyes filled with awe followed him as he walked past.

The old man continued his journey through the market and crowded streets until he arrived at the door of a car repair shop. He paused, his sharp gaze scanning the signs and surroundings, clearly searching for someone.

At that moment, Ultron 8 stepped out of the shop and called out in his distinct mechanical voice, "Hawkeye! You're here. Those people have been waiting for you for two days. They seem determined to meet you."

Hawkeye raised an eyebrow at this, his weathered face showing mild curiosity. "That group? I thought you mentioned just one guy in your call."

Ultron rolled his eyes—or at least, mimicked the gesture with his electronic features. "Ashley's been in a foul mood these past two days. She thinks you've brought more trouble to her doorstep again," he warned.

Hawkeye smirked. "That just means my daughter's sharp as ever."

He glanced at a crack in a nearby door where an old Avengers-era poster of himself was visible. With a grin, he pushed the door open. "Wow," he began, "you still have my poster on the wall?"

The grin froze on his face as he stepped inside. The poster of him wasn't proudly displayed—it was riddled with darts, each one embedded squarely in his face. His shoulders slumped as he surveyed the rebellious decor of the room. Band posters, scattered magazines, and sketchbooks littered the space, while a dark-haired girl sat on the bed, her piercing gaze fixed on him.

"Are you here to clean up the mess your visitors caused?" she asked coldly, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

Clint Barton sighed deeply. Finding the right words felt harder than fighting Thanos himself. Finally, he managed a quiet, "Yes."

Without another word, he turned on his heel, closing the door behind him. Outside, Ultron 8 gave him a knowing look, his metallic frame shaking slightly as if to suppress laughter. Ignoring the robot's smug expression, Hawkeye strode across the street to the hotel where his visitors were staying.

He pushed open the creaky hotel door, stepping into the dimly lit lobby. Approaching the reception desk, he asked casually, "I hear someone's been looking for me these past two days?"

The receptionist, an older woman engrossed in her newspaper, replied lazily, "Room three on the second floor. And don't forget the money you owe me. If you don't pay up soon, I'll go straight to your ex-wife."

"God, your memory's amazing," Clint muttered with an eye-roll. He dug out a few crumpled bills, slapped them on the counter, and headed upstairs.

As he ascended, he instinctively slipped a short blade into his hand. Ultron 8 had assured him these people likely weren't hostile—but in this world, no one could ever be trusted completely.

Finding the room in question, Clint knocked. The door creaked open slightly, revealing a dimly lit interior. Standing in the doorway was a man with jet-black hair that glimmered faintly in the shadows.

"Are you the one looking for me?" Hawkeye asked, his voice gruff, his eyes narrowing suspiciously.

The man hesitated before nodding. "Yes. There's something important I need to discuss with you."

Motioning for him to continue, Clint stepped inside. As soon as the door closed behind him, the seasoned archer's instincts kicked in. In a flash, he raised his blade and lunged for the man's throat.

But the stranger was faster—and stronger. Before Clint's blade could make contact, the man seized his wrist with iron grip. Pain shot through Clint's arm as the knife slipped from his hand, clattering to the floor.

"Who sent you? Red Skull?" Clint hissed, his breathing ragged as he fought to free himself. Whoever this man was, he wasn't an ordinary scavenger. His speed and strength were beyond anything Clint had encountered in the wasteland.

Before Clint could shout for help or make another move, the man released him and stepped back. "Relax. I'm not your enemy," he said with a faint smile.

Clint's confusion deepened as the stranger gestured behind him. Slowly, Clint turned—and froze.

Standing there were two figures he never expected to see again: Quicksilver and Scarlet Witch.

His knees buckled as memories flooded his mind—memories of Wanda's death at the hands of Magneto, her chest pierced by a metal spike, and the agony of losing her. Tears welled up in his eyes as he dropped to the floor.

"This… this can't be real," he whispered hoarsely. "I saw you die."

Wanda stepped forward, her expression softening. Gently, she placed a hand on his shoulder. "No, Clint. We're not a hallucination," she said quietly. "But we're not exactly the people you remember, either."

Clint stared at her, his tear-streaked face filled with both hope and disbelief. "Then… who are you?"

Before Wanda could answer, Adrian stepped forward, picking up Clint's discarded knife. "Let's just say," he began with a grin, "we're here to offer you a chance to do something big. Something that could change everything."

Clint's breath hitched as he met Adrian's steady gaze.

"Are you in, Hawkeye?" Adrian asked, his voice steady, a faint smile tugging at his lips.

For a long moment, the room was silent. Then Clint, his eyes still glistening, nodded.

"Let's do this."

🛡️Ronin 🛡️

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