Miles opened his eyes again and found himself in an unfamiliar room.
It was already daylight.
Before him stood an old wooden cabin, the air thick with the mingled smell of dust and hay. It seemed no one had lived here for quite some time.
"...I'm back?"
Once fully awake, Miles instinctively raised a hand to touch his face.
Cold, stiff, rotten flesh with no elasticity.
Then he tugged at the corner of his mouth in self-mockery, only managing to move a few dead muscles.
That was right. This was the Zombie World.
Thinking this, Miles turned toward the window. Zombie Hawkeye was sitting alone atop a dilapidated fence, his lonely back facing Miles as he gazed out over the endless wilderness.
He remained motionless, like a weathered statue.
"How long was I asleep, Clint?" Miles asked hoarsely.
"Not long. Three hours." Zombie Hawkeye's answer was extremely brief.
"Okay, then where are we?"
"Some farm in northern South Dakota..." Zombie Hawkeye's voice was equally dry. "That guy called Ikaris... flew us here."
"Ikaris brought us to South Dakota?"
Miles murmured to himself, then closed his eyes.
An invisible psychic force spread out like ripples, silently enveloping the entire farm in an instant.
Soon, he sensed that powerful psychic presence in an open area at the other end of the cabin.
"Come on. Let's go see him."
As Miles spoke, he led Zombie Hawkeye out of the cabin.
This place was remote. There was nothing around them but mountains, wilderness, and sky, bringing a rare deathly silence to the apocalypse.
At the far end of the farm, Ikaris leaned against a dead tree, staring blankly up at the sky.
Before him lay a mutilated corpse that had long since died.
"This is..."
Miles let out a soft sound of surprise.
Upon