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Hank Pym surveyed the battlefield before him—burned bodies, rotting zombies, and remnants of humanity scattered like ash in the wind. A pang of regret flickered in his mind, a sliver of his old self breaking through the haze of hunger. Perhaps devouring that demolition worker in two bites while in his massive form had been overkill.
"This is my first time as a zombie," he muttered to himself. The taste lingered—horrid, earthy, like chewing on spoiled garbage.
The other undead Avengers nearby had no such hesitations. They feasted like rabid animals, tearing into fresh meat with reckless abandon. They'd take a few bites of a still-warm body before tossing it aside, moving on to the next victim like an assembly line of death. Ten lives consumed, yet their hunger only grew.
Hank wiped his bloody mouth with the back of his hand and groaned. "Damn it, I was right. If we keep eating like this, we'll run out of food in no time."
His thoughts wandered to Black Panther, whom he'd locked in the basement of his hidden lab. The memory brought a grim smile to his cracked lips. Black Panther was his ace in the hole—a living food reserve. While the others scavenged for scraps, Hank had planned ahead. He'd stockpiled his own "personal pantry."
The idea of eating alone, hidden away from prying eyes, filled him with a twisted satisfaction. But it was a secret he'd take to the grave—or ungrave, as it were. Not even Janet could know.
Returning to the Avengers Mansion, Hank shrank back to his human size, pushing open the ruined door with one hand. The once-proud symbol of heroism now stood in shambles, a haunted shadow of its former self.
"Jarvis? Anyone here?" Hank's voice rasped through the air.
His eyes scanned the desolation. Blood trails painted the walls and floors, stark against the cracked marble. Instinct took over as he followed the crimson path, his movements jerky and feral.
The trail led him deeper into the mansion's hollow halls. Every step heightened his anticipation, his hunger gnawing at him like a living beast. The scent of flesh grew stronger, pulling him forward until he reached a slightly ajar door.
Drool dripped from his lips as he grinned. "Hahaha! Didn't get my fill outside, but I'll make up for it now."
He kicked the door open, ready to pounce.
Instead of helpless prey, Hank found a gruesome scene. Captain America, Luke Cage, and a few other undead Avengers were already inside, feasting on what little remained of their latest kill.
Captain America turned to him, his sunken eyes gleaming with hunger. "Pym! You're late, but there's still meat left. Join us!"
The Wasp lay sprawled nearby, her decayed face lighting up in grotesque delight. "Welcome home, darling. When your flesh passes through my teeth, I'll know you're truly one of us."
Hank hesitated, his bloody hand scratching at his temple. "So… uh, what's the plan here? Don't we need a strategy or something?"
Captain America laughed hoarsely, wiping his bloodstained mouth. "Strategy? What's left to save, Pym? The world's already gone to hell, and we're just enjoying the ride."
Hawkeye, perched in a corner, grunted. "Why the hesitation, Hank? Don't tell me you've lost your appetite."
Hank quickly waved his hands. "What? No, no! I'm starving!"
The room erupted in cheers as the zombie Avengers devoured what remained. The air was thick with the stench of death and the sound of chewing, bones snapping under their relentless hunger.
When they finally sat back, bellies swollen with their grisly feast, the group fell into a morbid conversation.
"So, where's the best place to find tender meat these days?" Luke Cage asked, licking his fingers.
"Babies," Wasp chimed in with a wicked grin. "Soft, juicy, and easy to catch."
"Disgusting, even for us," Hawkeye muttered.
Captain America ignored them, his expression growing serious. He stood unsteadily, gripping his battered shield. Most of its patriotic colors had peeled away, leaving only the cold metal beneath.
"Enough banter," he growled. "Have we seen Fury yet? SHIELD's still trying to stop us from spreading our… 'gospel.'"
Luke Cage chuckled, pounding his chest. "Let them come! More weapons just mean more meat."
"But if they realize we've wiped out the city, they might nuke the place," Cap replied, his voice grim. "Are we ready for that?"
The room fell silent. Even Luke Cage, with his unbreakable skin, didn't want to test his luck against a nuclear bomb.
"What's the plan, Cap?" Hawkeye finally asked, tossing aside a gnawed bone.
Captain America's rotting face twisted into a grotesque grin. "We find Nightcrawler."
"Why him?" Pym asked, his curiosity piqued.
"He's in Central Park," Cap explained. "Taking down survivors who can fly or fight. If we get him on our side, his teleportation powers could make things… interesting."
The group nodded. Despite their monstrous transformation, Captain America was still their leader. His word was law.
Cap hefted his shield, the metal scraping against the floor with a harsh, grating sound. He raised it high and turned to the others.
"Avengers…" he paused, his voice resonating with a chilling authority.
"...Assemble."
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