Behold The Vision, a carcass of adamantium, nuts and screws. His passion lies in the doomed lips of the Scarlet Witch, living, breathing chaos in the most benevolence of creatures, a naive, young girl. Together, the couple wage war against the relentless hands of a clock ticking down to an inevitable Shakespeare tragedy across the incalculable sum of possible outcomes I have witnessed. 

The widow wanders the empty halls of kings who are long gone. The Vision’s lifeless eyes study her, catching sight of his empty reflection in her delicate pupils. The reflection shatters, as she grasps onto what’s left of him shielding it with endless tears. They’re both staring at someone they’ve outlived.

Reed Richards, I’m very disappointed in you.