(Preshow) Preshow Facility

[Deadpool]

”Another year, another action figure,” the mercenary muttered.

Beams of light shot from the telepad’s surface, enveloping him in a rave of multi-color which spun around the pad’s circumference, illuminating the tent walls with a rainbow palette.

Jimmy and Summer stood on the opposite side of the registration desk, both leaning forward as the colors washed over their faces. Summer watched Deadpool’s departure, too in awe of the process to close her lips; Jimmy’s eyes found Summer’s bosoms to be a better sight, and his head never turned from them.

In an instant, the mercenary vanished; a few moments later, he was spat from the mouth a portal. He staggered into the familiar Syntech lobby, gently smacking three or four faceless and nameless persons in the grill with the tail of his trenchcoat as it flailed behind him. Thankfully (or perhaps not?) his momentum stopped when he collided with a burly blond, who rocked a handlebar mustache. Deadpool slammed into the man’s bare  chest, nose perfectly fitting into the shallow cavity between his pectoral muscles.

Mr. Handlebar looked down at the mercenary with a mixture of amusement and annoyance. “Watch out where you’re going, little man.” He said--his voice was surprisingly squeaky. Then he grabbed Deadpool by the skull and yanked him back. “You’re lucky you didn’t hurt yourself; not many bugs survive smacking into windshields, and not many people survive crashing their cars into buildings.”

”I’ve hit harder and more solid surfaces before,” the Deadpool replied, looking the man up and down, examining his physique. ”In fact, your muscles are probably about sixty to seventy percent sodium. Creatine junky, maybe?”

“Enough creatine to flatten you like dough.”

A smirk creased the front of Deadpool’s mask, and his brow ridge sharpened. ”You’re not worth your weight in words.”

Mr. Handlebar reared a fist, but before it could be launched, three white men dressed more like janitors than security guards grabbed hold of him--one wrapped both arms around Mr. Handlebar’s cocked fist as if it were a stripper’s pole, while the other two collectively bearhugged his torso.

Deadpool chuckled. ”Told ya! Not even triple digits.”

Preshow Entrance