The morning sun filtered through the blinds of Harley's Miami home, or rather, the home of his alternate self, Alt-Harley. The quiet suburban street outside hummed with the mundane normality of a world utterly untouched by the chaos of superheroes, villains, or cosmic entities.
Inside, however, chaos reigned.
Logan sat at the kitchen table, nursing a cup of lukewarm coffee and glaring at the ridiculous spread of cereal boxes Deadpool had arranged like some kind of sugary buffet. Strange stood near the window, deep in thought, his eyes flickering with faint magical energy as he scanned the area for any lingering anomalies.
Harley and Alt-Harley stood awkwardly by the doorway, the kind of tension between them that can only exist when you've been confronted with a version of yourself who is, somehow, both entirely the same and completely different.
And Deadpool? Deadpool was wearing an apron with "Kiss the Merc" written on it, flipping pancakes with an unnecessary amount of flair.
"Breakfast is the most important meal of the day, folks!" Deadpool declared. "And by breakfast, I mean pancakes. And by pancakes, I mean this is literally just a vehicle for syrup." He looked at the fourth wall and wagged the spatula. "This is the part where you guys are supposed to say, 'Wow, Wade, you're so domestic! What can't you do?' And to that, I'd say: commit to emotional vulnerability."
"Can you shut up for five minutes?" Logan growled.
"Sure," Deadpool replied, then immediately turned to Alt-Harley. "So, Alt-H, what's it like being the boring version of this guy? Do you ever look at yourself and think, 'Man, I wish I was at least 20% cooler?'"
Alt-Harley frowned. "I'm not boring!"
Deadpool gasped theatrically. "Oh, my bad. You're right. You're absolutely fascinating. The way you scream when duct tape gets near you? So brave."
Alt-Harley shot Harley a helpless look. "Does he ever stop?"
Harley shook his head. "Nope. Not even when you want him to."
Strange cleared his throat, cutting through the bickering. "We need to focus. The anomaly in this universe isn't just suppressing superheroes—it's affecting everything. The dullness, the lack of vibrancy… it's unnatural."
"Sounds like my ex," Deadpool quipped, then flipped a pancake onto the ceiling by accident. "Oops! That's staying there forever."
"Do you think it's tied to me?" Alt-Harley asked, looking uneasy.
"It might be," Strange admitted. "But more likely, it's tied to something—or someone—keeping this universe in a perpetual state of stasis."
Logan leaned back in his chair. "So, how do we fix it?"
"That's the question," Strange said. "But to start, we need to investigate the anomalies more closely. We'll need to blend in and—"
Deadpool interrupted, pointing dramatically at Alt-Harley. "You. Job swap. Right now."
"What?" Alt-Harley blinked.
"Think about it!" Deadpool said, flinging a spatula like it was a weapon. It landed with a thunk in the wall. "You're Harley Prime Lite™. You've got a job here, connections, a life. We'll be, uh, your weird cosplay friends visiting from out of town. Boom. Incognito."
"That's… actually not the worst idea," Harley admitted reluctantly.
Alt-Harley still looked skeptical. "But my boss knows me. What if they notice something's off?"
"Don't worry," Deadpool said, clapping him on the back. "Just act like Harley over here: slightly panicked, perpetually confused, and way too into comics."
"Hey!" Harley protested.
"Am I wrong, though?" Deadpool shot back.
Strange sighed. "Fine. Deadpool's chaotic plan is, unfortunately, our best option. Alt-Harley, you'll stick with us and provide intel. Harley, you'll take his place and see if you notice anything unusual at his workplace."
Harley nodded, though his stomach twisted at the thought of stepping into someone else's life.
"Great!" Deadpool said, tossing his apron aside. "Let's get going. Time to see what this universe's Starbucks knockoff has to offer!"
"It's not a knockoff," Alt-Harley muttered. "It's called Bean There, Brewed That."
Deadpool groaned. "Oh my God, that's even worse! Who's writing this stuff? Oh, wait—I am."
Later That Day
Harley walked into the coffee shop, his heart pounding. It looked eerily similar to his own workplace back home, but the little differences were jarring—different decor, different uniforms, even different smells. He glanced nervously at the other baristas, hoping they wouldn't notice anything off.
Meanwhile, Deadpool, Logan, and Alt-Harley sat at a table by the window, watching intently.
"Blending in," Deadpool whispered loudly, pulling out a pair of binoculars for no reason.
"Put those away," Logan growled.
"What? I'm being subtle," Deadpool replied. He waved to Harley, who shot him a glare.
The first customer approached the counter, and Harley froze. It was Dave.
"Hey, Harls," Dave said, smirking. "You look… weird today. New haircut? Did you finally try working out?"
Harley forced a laugh, his voice wobbling. "Uh, yeah. Something like that."
From the table, Deadpool whispered to Alt-Harley, "So, what's the deal with Dave? Is he your mortal enemy? Or just the guy who eats the last donut in the breakroom?"
Alt-Harley shrugged. "Both, I guess."
"Ah, a true villain," Deadpool said, nodding sagely.
Back at the counter, Harley handed Dave his coffee, silently willing him to leave.
But Dave lingered, his eyes narrowing. "You're acting weird, man. What's going on?"
Harley swallowed hard. "Nothing. Everything's fine."
From across the room, Deadpool stood up and yelled, "HE'S FINE. MIND YOUR BUSINESS."
Everyone in the shop turned to stare.
"Smooth," Logan muttered, dragging Deadpool back into his seat.
Harley sighed. This was going to be a long day.