Adrian nodded, expressed his gratitude, and gestured for Wong and Wanda to follow. As the soldiers cautioned them, the group quickly approached the Quinjet.
The ramp of the Quinjet lowered slowly with a rumble as the cabin door opened.
Just as Adrian and the others were about to board the Quinjet, a sudden shout froze everyone in place. "Wait!"
A figure swung through the air on strands of spider silk. His blue and red suit, with a faint spider emblem on the chest, showed signs of wear and tear.
Landing on the ground, he quickly pulled off his mask, revealing his true face to prove he wasn't a zombie. The young man with brown hair and an earnest face was Spider-Man—New York's friendly neighborhood hero.
"This is a Quinjet, right? I know you're headed for the spaceship. Please, take Aunt May and Mary Jane with you!" Spider-Man's words were full of pleading, his face showing genuine worry. His suit bore marks of battle, with several scratches and burn marks testifying to the fierce encounters he had endured.
Adrian noticed a small wound on Spider-Man's shoulder that didn't look like a bullet graze or a scratch from debris.
The soldiers, unmoved by Spider-Man's plea, pointed their guns at him coldly and shouted a warning. "Stand back now, or we will open fire!" one of them barked.
Ignoring the guns aimed at him, Spider-Man continued, his voice growing more anxious. "Listen to me! There are plenty of empty seats. We just need to bring two more people!"
The tension in the air was thick, but Adrian stepped forward calmly and asked, "Where are Aunt May and Mary Jane?"
Seeing Adrian's willingness to listen, the soldiers exchanged glances and lowered their weapons slightly.
Spider-Man's eyes filled with relief and hope. "Thank you! They're at my apartment, not far from here. Give me fifteen minutes—I can have them here in ten!"
Before anyone could respond, he swung away, shooting his web into the distance.
Adrian watched the fading figure of Spider-Man with a mix of reluctance and pity. "Alright, let's get on board," he said to the others.
Wong frowned, unable to keep silent. "But what about Spider-Man and his family? We can't just abandon them."
Wong had worked with Peter on several missions before and had even exchanged phone numbers. To raise Peter's hopes only to leave him now felt cruel.
After a moment of silence, Adrian finally responded, "Spider-Man is likely already infected. As for his family... they'll need a miracle if they hope to survive before he returns."
Wong fell silent upon hearing Adrian's response.
Once aboard the Quinjet, the roar of the engines filled their ears, and the fighter jet vibrated slightly. Adrian and his companions fastened their seatbelts, preparing for takeoff.
As the Quinjet lifted off the ground, they could see the city below shrinking, reduced to ruins and flames as far as the eye could see.
Adrian lowered his gaze, trying not to dwell on the choices they had made.
He didn't need a crystal ball to predict Peter's fate. The wound on his shoulder was likely the work of a zombie—a tragic twist similar to the original storyline. In a matter of minutes or even seconds, Peter, New York's beloved hero, would lose all sense of self, consumed by an insatiable hunger.
With the city devoured by zombies, there was no hope of saving Peter's family now or in the future.
Wong, hearing Adrian's words, said nothing more.
Inside the Quinjet, Adrian sat quietly, unwilling to think further about how Peter would react upon realizing his fate. If he held himself together, he might decide to end things swiftly. But if he couldn't bear it… things would only spiral into horror.
Adrian sighed deeply. It was a fate Peter hadn't deserved. If there was blame to be assigned, it lay with the world that had crumbled into chaos around them.
"Ah, Peter… come on, buddy, hold on. You're almost home," Adrian murmured, his voice laced with sorrow.
Despite the unbearable pain from his wound, Peter pushed on. The thought of Aunt May and Mary Jane—his love for them—gave him the strength to fight through the agony.
Throwing his webs between high buildings, he moved with purpose, each swing bringing him closer to his family and fueling his last flicker of hope.
He was nearly home.
As he drew closer to his apartment, his worry intensified. He broke through the window, landing clumsily inside the room.
The sound of shattering glass startled Aunt May and Mary Jane. They turned, fear flashing in their eyes, but it melted into relief upon seeing Peter.
"Oh my goodness, Peter! Are you alright? Look at your shoulder!" Aunt May said, walking toward him with concern. Mary Jane joined her, her eyes filled with worry.
Peter gave them a weak smile, grateful for their care. Despite his battered suit, the three embraced tightly, finding comfort in each other.
Peter's voice was steady, filled with determination. "I'm fine, Aunt May. Mary Jane, let's hurry. We need to get out of here."
Aunt May gently touched the wound on his shoulder and said, "Let me get some hydrogen peroxide to treat this!" She rushed into the room.
Mary Jane stayed close to Peter, her face full of worry. She asked softly, "What happened, Peter? How did you get hurt?"
Peter frowned and sighed. "I'm not sure, Mary Jane. I got close to the Colonel, hoping to figure out what was happening, but suddenly he attacked me," he replied.
"I fought my way out and ran back as fast as I could. Honestly, I don't know much more than you do."
"Alright, go help Aunt May. Ugh—"
Suddenly, Peter felt a sharp, unbearable hunger. The sandwich he'd eaten earlier now seemed revolting, and his skin started to feel as if it were on fire. His body twisted painfully, as if something was tearing him apart from the inside, the hunger spreading rapidly.
After a brief, desperate struggle, Peter let out a piercing scream: "I'm starving!"
"Peter? What's wrong?"
Mary Jane had just turned to call Aunt May when, in an instant, Peter's eyes filled with bloodlust, and he lunged forward, sinking his teeth into her neck. Blood sprayed into the air.
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