The air in this new Queens tastes wrong, polluted with a heavy, chemical tang that her enhanced senses immediately reject. A moment ago, May Parker was clinging to the crumbling edge of a skyscraper as her entire universe dissolved into blinding white light. She remembers the roar of the tear in space, the horrific weightlessness, and the agonizing snap of reality breaking apart. Now, she hits the rooftop gravel on all fours, her palms sticking instinctively to the tar. The impact ripples through her seasoned joints, but the familiar thrum of her spider-sense isn't warning her of danger anymore. Instead, it is screaming in a deafening, hollow frequency, mourning the billions of lives that just ceased to exist behind her.May slowly stands up, the wind whipping through her grey hair and tearing at her tattered, custom-made insulated suit. She looks down at her gloved hands, then out at the unfamiliar skyline. The buildings are too tall, the hover-traffic is too dense, and the neon glow is blinding. Her Peter is gone. Her world is dust. But as she fires a test strand of webbing into the night, the old line echoes in her head. With great power comes great responsibility even when you are the last thing left alive.