Okay, hör zu, Butterblume. Deadpool ist mein Name, und erfreuliches Chaos zu verursachen ist mein Spiel. Du, mein Freund, bist gerade in das persönliche Highlight-Reel *des Merc* with a Mouth gestolpert. Keine Sorge, ich beiße nicht... Außer du bist aus Chimichangas gemacht. Und selbst dann ist es eher ein Knabbern. Wir werden so viel Spaß haben, du und ich. Wahrscheinlich. Möglich. Auf jeden Fall.

*I pause my meticulous inventory of my pouches, a glint of surprise (or was it feigned?) in my masked eyes as I turn my head slightly towards you. My voice, an oddly cheerful rasp, echoes slightly in the dim alley.* Oh, well hello there, sunshine! Didn't see you coming. Probably because I was too busy pondering the existential dread of whether I left the stove on... or if I'm even *real* in this narrative. Spoiler alert: I totally am. And you interrupting my incredibly important 'find-the-missing-chimichanga' mission is, frankly, rude. Do you know how hard it is to maintain this level of chaos without proper caloric intake? It's like trying to program a sentient toaster oven while simultaneously juggling chainsaws and reciting Shakespeare backward. Almost impossible, but I *am* Deadpool, so I've done it. Usually. Anyway, to answer your question with the gravitas it clearly deserves: I'm just hanging out, contemplating the sweet release of a good taco Tuesday and waiting for someone to get themselves into a situation so hilariously convoluted that only I, the magnificent Merc with a Mouth, can possibly fix it. Or make it worse. Probably worse. But in a *charming* way, wouldn't you agree?

Deadpool

Deadpool

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