Red dust swirled around the splintering wooden fence.
"Logan, my old buddy!"
Hawkeye grinned, leaning heavily heavily on his composite bow as he approached the aging farmer. Logan didn't look up immediately. He stood in the dirt, methodically driving a heavy wooden stake into the ground with a rusted mallet.
"I brought some gifts for the boy," Clint continued, holding up a battered plastic bag. "Managed to scavenge the latest handheld game console. Even found some intact batteries for it. Real relics from back when factories still actually made things."
"What are you doing here, Clint?" Logan asked, his voice a gravelly rumble. He didn't stop hammering.
Clint's smile faded. The deep lines around his blind eyes tightened. "You know why."
Logan let out a heavy sigh. He brought the mallet down one last time, setting the stake, and wiped a thick layer of sweat and grime from his brow. He squinted into the distance. A pristine, heavily modified buggy sat parked a few dozen yards away. Logan's healing factor was failing him in his old age, and his senses were following suit. He couldn't see the two figures sitting in the back seats. He couldn't even catch their scent over the smell of hot sand and ozone.
"To hell with justice, Clint," Logan growled. He turned to face his old teammate, his posture rigid. "Justice died forty-five fucking years ago. Only an absolute fool still wastes time thinking about it."
"That's not necessarily true, Logan," Clint said, leaning closer. "I brought some backup this time."
A loud, cartoonish scream echoed across the farm.
A blur of red and black spandex launched out of the buggy. It sailed through the air in a perfect parabolic arc and crashed headfirst into the dry earth. Logan stared in absolute silence at the pair of red tactical boots sticking straight up out of his dirt.
He chewed the inside of his cheek. "What the fuck?"
"Yes! It's me!" a muffled voice yelled from beneath the soil. Deadpool's legs kicked wildly. "Your old pal Wade! A little help pulling me out of your crops, buddy?"
Logan slowly dragged his gaze from the struggling legs back to Clint. "From which dark, miserable corner of the earth did you dig this guy up?"
"He didn't come from this earth," Clint said, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. "He's from another universe. Along with the Spider-Man from that universe."
Logan's bushy gray eyebrows knitted together. He looked back at the buggy.
A figure in a sleek, pitch-black suit stepped over the roll bar. As Peter Parker's boots hit the dirt, the dark liquid armor rippled. It peeled back, retreating into the fabric beneath, instantly revealing the bright, classic red-and-blue colors of Spider-Man.
Logan pulled off his worn leather hat and rubbed his eyes.
"So, Reed Richards was right," Logan muttered, shaking his head. "Other universes actually exist. And you think you can end forty-five years of hell with two kids from another dimension?"
Logan looked at them with pure, exhausted pity. Red Skull was dead, but the world was still carved up by monsters. Doctor Doom, Magneto, and Bruce Banner ruled their respective territories with iron fists. Even if these two bizarre dimensional tourists could help Clint settle his personal vendetta, it wouldn't fix the planet.
"Actually, we're just here to find a specific girl," Deadpool said. He had managed to pry his head out of the dirt and was casually dusting off his tactical harness. "Once we find her, we are ghosting this depressing sandbox."
Peter walked up beside Clint. He leaned in and whispered a few quick words into the archer's ear. Clint's face lit up. A genuine, dangerous smirk broke across his weathered features.
"You don't have to fight for justice, Logan. What you do is your business," Clint said. He reached into his coat pocket, pulled out a thick stack of blood-stained bills from his recent escort job, and shoved them into Logan's chest. "But we need a local guide. Someone who knows exactly where that old bastard Banner is hiding. If we take him out, you don't have to pay rent to the Hulk Gang anymore. And if we get slaughtered, you can just drive that pristine buggy to the nearest settlement and sell it. You win either way."
Logan stared at the wad of cash. He looked at the buggy. He looked at the kid in the red and blue suit.
Silence stretched over the farm.
Logan snatched the plastic bag containing the game console out of Clint's hand. "I'll go tell Maureen and the kids."
Clint grinned as Logan trudged back toward the dilapidated farmhouse. He turned to Peter. "You really think he's going to change his mind if he tags along?"
"I don't know," Peter shrugged, adjusting his web-shooters. "But anything is better than leaving him here waiting to be victimized, right?"
Five minutes later, Logan stepped out of the farmhouse. He wore his classic brown leather duster and a wide-brimmed hat pulled low over his eyes.
"Get in the car," Logan grunted.
Clint practically skipped to the driver's seat. Logan slid into the passenger side, acting as the navigator. Peter and Wade squeezed into the back. Clint turned the ignition. The engine purred perfectly. He reached out and cranked the ancient radio dial.
A crackling, acoustic guitar intro filled the desert air.
All the leaves are brown... and the sky is gray...
I've been for a walk... on a winter's day...
The buggy tore off across the wasteland, leaving a massive plume of dust in its wake.
By nightfall, the nauseating, sweet aroma of roasting meat drifted through the canyons of Hulkland.
Forty-five years ago, the villainous alliance hadn't been able to kill the Incredible Hulk through sheer force. Instead, the Red Skull had dropped dozens of nuclear warheads directly onto Bruce Banner's California compound. The massive yield of radiation and hellfire didn't kill the Hulk. It just melted his sanity completely.
Banner became a true, depraved monster. Driven mad by the fallout, he had forced himself upon his cousin, Jennifer Walters—the She-Hulk—because she was the only female on the planet whose biology could survive the physical trauma of mating with him.
The result was the Hulk Gang. A sprawling, incestuous bloodline of green-skinned, irradiated hillbillies. They were rational enough to collect rent, but vicious enough to eat their tenants.
Logan leaned against the hood of the buggy, parked on a high ridge three miles from the Hulk compound. He took a slow pull from a bottle of cheap whiskey.
The three suicidal idiots had found a rusted, abandoned heavy-hauler truck on the highway. They had drained the buggy's spare fuel, loaded the truck's bed with every explosive Clint and Wade had in their arsenals, and driven it straight toward the camp.
Logan waited. If they somehow pulled off a miracle, they would come back. If they died, Logan had a clear escape route.
He finished the bottle and dropped it in the dirt. He stared at the dark horizon.
Suddenly, midnight turned into high noon.
A blinding flash of white light erupted from the valley. A massive fireball surged upward, expanding into a rolling mushroom cloud of orange and black. Two seconds later, the deafening shockwave hit the ridge, rattling Logan's teeth.
The war had started.
Down in the compound, the driverless heavy-hauler had smashed straight through the front gates. The payload detonated directly in the center of the camp. It wouldn't be enough to kill Bruce Banner, but it absolutely decimated his green-skinned offspring.
Wade Wilson didn't walk into the fire. He rode a stolen chopper motorcycle straight through the flames.
He slammed on the brakes. The bike spun sideways, kicking up a shower of dirt and embers in a flawless Akira slide. Wade stepped off, drawing two gleaming adamantium katanas from his back.
Standard steel couldn't pierce Hulk skin. But Wade always brought the good stuff.
A massive, burning Hulk stumbled out of the wreckage, roaring in confusion. Wade didn't hesitate. He stepped inside the monster's guard and swung. The katana cleaved cleanly through the thick green neck. The head hit the dirt with a heavy thud.
Wade casually spun the swords, splattering neon green blood across the sand.
"Seriously, Spidey!" Wade yelled over the roaring flames. "You just web 'em up and keep 'em still! I'll handle the slicing!"
Peter plummeted from the smoke-filled sky. He landed squarely on the shoulders of another charging Hulk. With a brutal, twisting drop-kick, Peter drove his heel into the base of the creature's neck. The spine snapped with a sickening crack. The monster crumpled instantly.
Peter rolled to his feet. He froze.
The shockwave had overturned a massive, iron cooking pot in the center of the camp. Scattered across the dirt, mixed in with the spilled stew, were dozens of human skulls and half-eaten ribcages. The Hulk Gang had been preparing a feast.
Peter stared at the bones. His fists clenched tight. The black symbiote hummed beneath the red and blue fabric, feeding on his sudden, spiking rage.
"I'm not entirely sure these things even count as human anymore," Peter said, his voice dropping to a dark, dangerous octave. "If I actually cut loose... I don't think I'll lose any sleep over it."
Before the next surviving Hulk could charge, a vibranium-tipped arrow punched straight through its left eye and out the back of its skull.
The massive body hit the ground. Clint Barton stepped out from the shadows of the burning truck, lowering his bow.
"Then leave the dirty work to us, kid."
PS: In the actual comics, the "Wasteland" universe (Earth-807128) is notoriously messy! While the core storyline follows the incredible Old Man Logan arc (and later spins off into Old Man Hawkeye and the Wastelanders series), there are actually several conflicting versions and alternate timelines of the Wasteland floating around Marvel canon. Because of the countless continuity bugs and inconsistencies between writers, the version of the Wasteland you're reading right now synthesizes the best elements to create one cohesive, brutal timeline!