The next morning, Peter Parker woke up to the sound of something chewing.
He opened one eye.
Deadpool was sitting cross-legged on his ceiling, eating what appeared to be a burrito wrapped in a slice of pizza.
"Morning, roomie!" Wade said through a mouthful of melted cheese and poor decisions. "I installed three locks, rewired your microwave into a particle destabilizer, and scheduled a brunch with Nick Fury at 11:30."
Peter sat up, blinked. "I'm sorry. Did you just say brunch?"
"Yep." Wade flipped down from the ceiling. "Fury texted. Well, a Fury. Might be a clone. Or a LMD. Honestly, he used too many emojis. It's suspicious."
"You gave my number to Nick Fury?"
"Nope. I gave him your Wi-Fi. I may have created a dating profile in your name. Long story short, your soulmate is an NSA algorithm now."
Peter groaned and buried his face in his hands. "This is hell."
"Nah, hell has more goats."
Peter froze.
Wade caught it instantly.
"Ah. Goat trauma. Got it. You're not the first."
Ten minutes and one brisk rooftop sprint later, Peter and Wade were en route to a decommissioned SHIELD site under the Brooklyn Bridge. Peter wanted to go alone. Wade insisted on coming. Wade also insisted on bringing a box labeled "Emergency Chimichangas" and a duffel bag that suspiciously glowed.
Peter had given up asking questions at this point. He was reserving brainpower for actual problems. Like:
The Plot Device™ glitching reality.
A surge in minor villains showing up with zero backstory.
The fact that a cape-wearing goat had now appeared twice on news footage in the background of separate incidents.
Something was happening.
Something absurd.
And very possibly dangerous.
The safehouse wasn't on any maps.
To the public, it looked like a maintenance shack.
To Spider-Man, it looked like the kind of place where you'd walk in and accidentally trigger a quantum flashbang.
They went in through the floor.
Fury was already there.
One eye, tactical coat, the usual scowl.
But this Fury looked... tired. Like he'd been up all night re-writing a classified report with finger paint.
"Spider-Man," he said without looking up, "and... whatever the hell that is."
"I'm his emotional support mercenary," Wade said, waving.
Peter stepped forward. "You called us?"
Fury nodded and threw a file onto the metal table.
"Last week, there were eleven localized incidents involving... anomalies. Not just tech or magic. Narrative anomalies."
Peter opened the file. Same kind of photos Wade had brought. People appearing out of nowhere. Battle damage with no cause. Dialogue transcripts that didn't make sense. In one image, someone had literally fallen through a plot hole.
As in — a black circle labeled ACT TWO GAP.
Peter looked up. "This is happening all over?"
Fury nodded. "New York's the epicenter. But the waves are spreading. LA, Wakanda, even Kamar-Taj's getting weird. Wong got trapped in a flashback loop."
Wade gasped. "He deserves a bottle episode!"
Peter ignored him. "You said anomalies. You think it's the Plot Device?"
Fury tapped a control panel.
A hologram appeared: a cube of shifting light. Glitching, rotating, like a Rubik's Cube on bad acid.
"This was found embedded in the shoulder of a crashed Stark drone two days ago. Tech's not ours. Not alien. Not magical. But it's rewriting causality in real time."
Deadpool leaned in. "So it's bad fanfic… but sentient?"
Peter nodded slowly. "And it's choosing me."
Fury turned. "Because you're a fixed point."
Peter blinked. "I'm what?"
"Since the last multiverse breach, you've become an anchor. Clean slate. No ties, no records. The universe doesn't remember you — so now it's using you as a canvas."
Wade whistled. "Congratulations, Peter. You're canonically vulnerable."
Peter ran a hand through his hair. "Okay, so how do we stop it?"
Fury folded his arms. "We don't. Not yet. We track the signal and find the source. You're bait."
Peter stared. "That's your plan?"
Wade patted him on the back. "Look on the bright side — at least you're the main bait."
They left the safehouse with a signal tracker, two burner phones, and a warning: if the next anomaly breached past Brooklyn, SHIELD was going to hit the reset button with something called a "Continuity Containment Bomb."
Peter really didn't want to know what that did.
They didn't have to wait long.
At 5:14 p.m., just as Peter was trying to figure out why the signal tracker kept playing old sitcom theme songs, the alert hit.
Red ping.
East Village.
Code: NARRATIVE CORRUPTION.
Wade screamed "FIELD TRIP!" and jumped out the window.
Peter followed.
Because of course he did.
The scene was chaos.
A bookstore had become a tavern. Like medieval fantasy cosplay levels of tavern. There were bards. And mead. And a man in the corner whispering something about destiny and prophecy.
Peter landed on the sidewalk. The moment his feet hit the ground, a glowing QUEST ACCEPTED graphic appeared over his head.
"Don't say it," he warned.
Wade appeared in a puff of glitter. "You've unlocked the sidequest!"
Peter turned to the nearest NPC-looking pedestrian. "What is this?"
The man — possibly an accountant moments earlier — now wore chainmail and responded with a British accent: "You must slay the beast of formatting!"
Peter blinked. "I want off this ride."
Wade leaned over. "I love this ride."
Then the goat walked in.
Same one.
Still wearing a cape.
Only this time, it was glowing. Literally.
It reared on its hind legs, bleated like a war horn, and its eyes flashed a golden hue.
Peter ducked. "That is not a normal goat!"
"I dunno," Wade said, drawing dual swords. "Seems pretty meta to me."
The goat launched forward — not at Peter — but at the quest-giver. Headbutted him so hard, he pixelated out of existence.
Peter stared in horror. "It just deleted him."
"Plot goat strikes again."
The scenery shimmered.
The tavern glitched — became a hospital — then a courtroom — then a baseball field.
Peter's stomach lurched. The narrative was unraveling.
The Plot Device™ wasn't just messing with him anymore.
It was warping reality.
He and Wade backed away from the goat, which now hovered three inches off the ground and rotated slowly like it was buffering.
Peter's tracker pinged.
SIGNAL STABILIZED. ANOMALY SOURCE LOCATED.
Coordinates flashed.
Peter squinted at the numbers. They pointed toward… Midtown.
Specifically, toward Oscorp Tower.
Except… Oscorp wasn't supposed to exist anymore.
Not in this universe.
He looked at Wade.
"We need to move. Now."
"Race you," Wade said, jumping onto a flying hot dog cart that had no business existing.
Peter launched a webline and followed.
The city glitched behind them.
As they swung toward Midtown, the sky shimmered like a screen with a cracked LCD.
Street signs changed languages. Music played backward. A massive floating caption drifted overhead:
CHAPTER FOUR – ENDING SOON.
Peter narrowed his eyes.
"Not if I have anything to say about it."