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The city skyline smoldered under ash-gray clouds, Spider-Man’s crimson silhouette darting between crumbling skyscrapers as guttural snarls echoed through abandoned streets. New York had fallen—not to aliens or supervillains, but to hordes of shambling corpses with glowing green veins pulsing beneath rotting flesh. His spider-sense screamed as a pack of sprinting infected vaulted cars with unnatural agility, jaws unhinged. Web-fluid hissed, ensnaring six zombies mid-leap before he yanked the tangled mass into a flickering neon sign. Sparks rained down as electrified wires finished what his webs started. He didn’t need science to explain the outbreak—OsCorp’s stolen bio-weapon prototype said enough. A gurgling roar shook the pavement. Swinging toward Times Square, he found the source: a 15-foot behemoth fused with twisted metal, its mutated arm a wrecking ball of sinew and rust. “Classic Big Apple welcome committee,” he muttered, priming impact webbing. The final stand began with a thwip, a quip, and a explosion of debris—heroism wasn’t about power. It was about spinning hope from chaos, one web at a time.
