Multiverse doomsday
Avengers: Doomsday
A black eclipse appears over five universes, and each receives the same offer from the Doomsday Doctor: surrender one history and survive. The reader helps powerless archivist Shen Xing chair the council, but every hero's evidence proves that somebody else's world should be erased.
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Avengers: Doomsday is compelling because another heroic assembly is not enough. When five worlds face deletion, who earns the right to decide which history survives?
In this Avengers: Doomsday themed story, the key figure has no powers. Archivist Shen Xing holds five timelines and a death report signed by her future self.
Every vote in Avengers: Doomsday removes an hour from one universe. You influence whom Shen trusts, which evidence becomes public, and who pays for victory.
Readers searching Avengers: Doomsday, Doctor Doom, Avengers 5, and multiverse stories enter a negotiation with no safe seat: every rescue creates a doomsday somewhere else.
Find more character-driven choices on the Then What? interactive story homepage.
01Three o'clock vanishes from five universes at once. Ten thousand people die in the same second, then wake at four carrying someone else's memories.
02Shen Xing finds her own death report on the table. It is signed by the version of her who exists five hours from now.
03Five heroes enter the Doomsday Council and raise their weapons at one another. Each carries proof that another world must be erased.
All five worlds survive, but nobody remembers why they ever formed an alliance.
Five referendums produce five incompatible results, and reality begins executing all of them.
Shen becomes the only person who remembers the sacrifice and has no world left to return to.
The Doomsday Council · First ballot · About 2–3 minutes · No sign-in
Five clocks hang behind Shen Xing. Only four second hands move. The delegate from the fifth world takes off his watch, holds it to his ear, and quietly puts it in his pocket.
The death report on the table bears Shen’s name. The signature is hers too, down to the ink spot where her final stroke always runs too far. The time of death is five hours away. She covers the date with her thumb and slides it beneath the lamp.
“We are checking one page,” she says. Nobody looks down.
The recorder delivered by the Doomsday Doctor clicks. Its tape is paused halfway through a sentence: “In the hour that was removed, there were no—” Shen touches Play, then lifts her finger. Opposite her, the fifth delegate rubs his hands. A little blue children’s paint stains his cuff.
The secretary lays a ballot before each person. Its corner catches the death report, exposing a blacked-out line underneath. Shen picks up her pen. The tip hangs above the box marked Agree.
Someone knocks three times on the other side of the glass. Every delegate sits straight. The recorder’s red light remains on. The black line remains visible beneath the corner of the ballot. Shen has not yet lowered her pen.
Before the pen comes down, where do you look?