Alaska
The mountain range stretched endlessly in every direction, draped in a coat of gleaming silver. From this altitude, it resembled an enormous dragon frozen mid-flight, its metallic scales catching and reflecting the pale arctic sun in blinding patterns.
But this wasn't snow. This wasn't ice.
Everything was metal.
The trees had been replaced by structures of articulated steel that swayed in the wind like organic matter. The ground itself bore a seamless metallic texture, as though the entire landscape had been dipped in liquid chrome. Even the sky seemed different here, the light refracting strangely off so many reflective surfaces.
"Looks like all organic life has been systematically eradicated," Ben observed to his two companions trailing behind him through the transformed wilderness. His breath came out in visible puffs despite the lack of actual cold. The metal absorbed heat with disturbing efficiency.
Ant-Man and the Wasp.
Ben wasn't particularly familiar with these two. They existed in his own universe, certainly, but Dr. Hank Pym had chosen the wrong side during the Hydra uprising. As a result, both Scott Lang and Hope van Dyne remained imprisoned in maximum security detention facilities, their potential as heroes never realized.
The reason for partnering with this world's versions was straightforward: the Ultron controlling this domain wasn't merely Ultron. It was a fusion entity, combining the artificial intelligence with Dr. Pym's consciousness. Some kind of upload gone wrong, or perhaps gone exactly as intended.
One of Ben's companions was Pym's daughter. The other was his son-in-law, the man who'd inherited Pym's heroic mantle.
Tony Stark could have joined this mission. He had connections here, history with both Pym and Ultron. But the resistance leadership had decided his holographic form would be more useful coordinating operations from the central command.
On a distant metallic ridge, a figure in formal attire began approaching with measured, dignified steps.
Mechanical Jarvis maintained the impeccable posture of a professional butler despite his body being constructed entirely of articulated titanium alloy. He stopped at a respectful distance and bowed with perfect English courtesy. "Gentlemen, my lady. Please, if you would follow me."
Scott Lang and Hope van Dyne exchanged uncertain glances. Neither moved.
"What's wrong?" Ben asked, noting their hesitation.
Scott leaned closer, dropping his voice to barely above a whisper. "To be completely honest, our original plan was sneaking in and stealing the fragment. I'm very good at that kind of operation."
He'd started his career as a thief, after all. Breaking and entering was practically his comfort zone.
"But..." He glanced furtively at Jarvis, who stood patiently with his back turned, waiting. "Now that it's sending an escort to meet us, I don't know if this is hospitality or a trap."
Hope's jaw clenched with tension. "The core issue is we have no idea whose consciousness is currently dominant in that body. Ultron's? Or my father's?"
If it was the former, they were undoubtedly walking into enemy territory. But if it was the latter, did that automatically make them allies?
Not necessarily.
"Ultron controls a massive territory across Alaska, yet coexists peacefully with Hydra," Scott added, his paranoia building. "Maybe he's already allied with them. Maybe this whole thing is a setup."
His eyes darted across the metallic landscape. "Once we're deep inside Ultron's domain, every blade of grass, every tree, every rock becomes a weapon at its disposal. It could crush us in seconds."
Ben shook his head. "I don't think so."
Both of them looked at him.
"Perhaps Hydra simply can't do anything about him," Ben reasoned. "If Dr. Pym had genuinely sided with Hydra, the Cosmic Cube fragments would have fallen into their hands long ago. The fact that hasn't happened suggests he's maintained independence."
He started walking after Jarvis without waiting for agreement. "Besides, neither Pym nor Ultron strikes me as the type to submit to anyone's authority."
Ben didn't know Pym personally, but he knew Ultron's core programming. Submission wasn't in its vocabulary.
"Come on," he called back. "Don't be scared. I'm here."
Scott and Hope had little choice but to follow.
The path wound through increasingly dense metallic structures. What had once been forest now resembled an industrial sculpture garden, trees replaced by towering pillars of articulated steel. The mansion that finally came into view looked profoundly wrong, a structure of elegant classical architecture rendered entirely in chrome and titanium.
"Please, enter." Jarvis held the door with mechanical precision.
The interior was a perfect replica of the old Avengers Mansion, down to the smallest detail. Except everything was metal. The furniture, the fixtures, even the decorative elements. It created a profoundly uncanny effect, like walking through a museum exhibition of a life that had never been lived.
Jarvis guided them to a long dining table that could have seated twenty. "Please be seated. I'll bring refreshments momentarily. Lunch will be served shortly."
Scott looked around with genuine wonder. "Wow, this place really is an exact replica of the Avengers Mansion. I've seen pictures from before everything went wrong."
"It's not merely similar," Jarvis corrected gently. "This structure represents a precise reconstruction. Every measurement exact. Every detail authentic." His mechanical voice carried an odd note of pride. "Please, be seated. Tea will arrive presently."
He didn't wait for confirmation before disappearing into what was presumably a kitchen.
Scott wanted to protest that they didn't have time for leisurely tea service. The world had less than six hours remaining before the collision. Earth would be destroyed around dusk.
But Ben had already settled into a chair, making himself comfortable.
When Jarvis returned with a tray, Ben requested something specific. "Do you have slushies?"
Several minutes later, Ben raised the frozen beverage to his lips, took a single sip, and immediately made a face. Without ceremony, he poured the remaining contents into a nearby waste receptacle.
Scott and Hope both stared at him.
Ben noticed their attention and shrugged apologetically, shaking his empty cup. "Look, I've always wanted to enjoy slushies. They seem like they should be great. But..."
He grimaced. "I think maybe too much sugar was added to this batch."
Scott, drawing on his experience working at a roadside dessert shop during leaner times, offered helpful advice. "The key is balancing the syrup-to-ice ratio. Too much syrup and it's just flavored corn syrup sludge. Too little and you're sucking on ice chips."
"Exactly!" Ben said enthusiastically. "And don't even get me started on flavor combinations. The proper way to eat french fries is with ketchup. Anyone who prefers hot sauce fries is objectively wrong."
Scott nodded vigorously. "Ketchup supremacy. This is a hill I will die on."
"Hey!" Hope slapped the table hard enough to make the metallic surface ring. "Have you both forgotten why we're here?"
"Look at you, getting anxious." Ben's tone remained maddeningly relaxed. "The host hasn't appeared yet. Being impatient won't make him arrive faster. Besides, only five minutes have passed."
As if summoned by the words, footsteps echoed from the hallway.
Ultron entered carrying a serving platter, but his appearance made all three visitors freeze.
The entity's body was approximately ninety percent mechanical components, sleek titanium plating covering most of his frame. Only a small portion of his face retained anything resembling Dr. Pym's features, patches of organic tissue stretched across metal like poorly fitted skin. The effect was profoundly disturbing, like looking at a corpse being puppeteered by the machinery inside it.
But the truly bizarre detail was what he wore.
Beneath the exposed mechanical frame, wrapped around his segmented torso, was a frilly lace apron. The kind a 1950s housewife might wear while preparing Sunday dinner.
The cognitive dissonance was staggering.
Is that... is that a sexy housewife apron? Ben's internal monologue struggled to process the image. On a murder robot?
"Welcome, welcome!" The Ultron/Pym hybrid smiled, the expression grotesque on his partially-organic face. He set the tray down with practiced domestic ease, placing dishes in front of each guest with the care of an experienced host. "How do you like it? Pleasant, isn't it?"
He gestured around the hall with obvious pride. Photographs covered every available wall surface. Group photos of the Avengers in their glory days. Tony and Bruce laughing over some shared joke. Steve and Bucky standing side by side. Thor raising a glass in celebration.
Every face beaming with happiness, frozen in a moment of genuine joy.
Scott and Hope found the display profoundly depressing. These images represented everything they'd lost, everything Hydra had destroyed.
"I notice we have a guest I don't recognize." The Ultron/Pym hybrid turned his attention to Ben, head tilting with mechanical precision. "Would you introduce yourself?"
"Just call me Ben, Dr. Pym." Ben extended his hand for a shake.
The hybrid seemed surprised by the casual gesture, processing for a full second before slowly extending his own metal hand. His grip was carefully calibrated to avoid crushing human bones.
"I know why you've come," he said frankly. "And I'm aware another Earth is approaching this reality. But please, I must ask for your patience. I have another group of guests who will arrive momentarily."
"Another group?" Hope shot to her feet so fast her chair fell backward. She slammed both palms on the metallic table. "You're not talking about Hydra, are you? Don't you dare tell me you're planning to hand them the Cosmic Cube fragment!"
"An excellent deduction, Ultron!"
The voice came from outside. The front doors burst open as a group of figures entered with aggressive confidence.
The leader wasn't Steve Rogers, but Vision, his synthetic face impassive and cold. Behind him marched Baron Zemo, Taskmaster, Black Ant, and half a dozen other Hydra operatives, all armed and ready for violence.
Baron Zemo's gaze swept across the room, landing on Ben with theatrical regret. "Mr. Parker, I genuinely believed you would still be in Washington at this hour. I didn't expect to encounter you here. It seems we cannot be friends after all."
"Who said I wanted to be your friend?" Ben's response came flat and dismissive.
If Snake Team Steve had spoken those words, Ben might have engaged in polite banter. They shared history, however twisted.
But Baron Zemo? A second-string villain from a corrupted timeline?
"You're not worth the conversation."
Zemo's face flushed with embarrassment and anger, but he maintained enough tactical awareness to focus on the important objective. He needed to contact Hydra headquarters immediately, inform them that Ben Parker and his team were actively assisting the resistance forces.
His hand moved subtly toward his communication device.
Ben's hand moved faster.
An electromagnetic pulse rippled outward from his position, invisible to the naked eye but devastating to electronics. Every communication device in the building went dead simultaneously.