The street hummed with the energy of the 1940s—jazz spilling from a nearby club, footsteps clicking against the pavement, and the distant rattle of streetcars. Despite the bizarre shift in time, the group moved through the bustling city, trying their best to blend in.
Deadpool walked slightly ahead, twirling a cane he'd acquired from a distracted passerby. "Alright, people, let's talk about the elephant in the room—or rather, the timeline. We're in a different era, and not one of you has thought to dress the part. Hughie's still rocking the 'confused millennial' look, Frenchie looks like he just stepped off a movie set about the French Resistance, and Butcher... well, Butcher's always angry, so he fits right in."
"Will you shut it?" Butcher snapped, glancing around. "We've got enough on our plate without you spoutin' shite every two seconds."
"Oh, come on," Deadpool said, grinning. "Don't act like you don't love my running commentary. Keeps things lively."
Hughie, trailing behind, sighed. "I think we've got different definitions of 'lively.'"
"True," Deadpool said, tapping the side of his head. "But if you all embraced the chaos a little more, maybe you'd have as much fun as me."
Preparation Amid Tension
Frenchie pulled Hughie aside as they walked. "You notice how everyone is actin' like this is normal?"
Hughie nodded, his brow furrowed. "Yeah. It's like they don't even realize the sky's... different."
Above them, the golden and pale suns hung in the sky, faintly visible even in this time period. The strange anomaly didn't seem to faze the people around them.
Mother's Milk glanced at Butcher. "Should we be worried about blending in? We stick out like sore thumbs."
"Don't matter," Butcher replied. "We're not stayin' long. Just keep your heads on a swivel. If somethin' weird shows up, I don't want anyone caught with their pants down."
"Unless it's funny," Deadpool quipped. "Then we film it for posterity."
Breaking News
The group stopped as they passed a small electronics shop. In the window, several television screens displayed a grainy black-and-white broadcast.
A reporter stood in front of a large, imposing structure, speaking with calm urgency. "This is Robert Hanley reporting live from an undisclosed location. Just moments ago, what appeared to be a nuclear explosion erupted in the upper atmosphere. Authorities have confirmed that no known nation has launched a weapon. Experts are baffled as to the source of—"
The reporter paused, his eyes flicking upward. A faint rumbling sound filled the air, growing louder by the second.
"What the hell is that?" Frenchie muttered, squinting at the screen.
On the broadcast, the camera tilted skyward, capturing a massive metallic object hurtling toward the ground. It gleamed in the sunlight, spinning violently.
"Oh no," Hughie whispered, his stomach sinking.
Before the reporter could react, the chunk of metal smashed into the ground directly behind him, sending debris flying. The force of the impact sent the man sprawling forward.
"Is he okay?" Alex asked, stepping closer to the screen.
The reporter scrambled to his feet, his microphone shaking in his hand. "We... we seem to be experiencing some sort of debris field—"
His words were cut off as another chunk of metal tore through the air, slamming into the ground inches from him. The screen flickered, static crackling as the camera shook.
Then, with horrifying suddenness, a massive shard of steel fell from above, striking the reporter squarely. The screen filled with static, the faint sounds of chaos and screams filtering through before the footage cut off entirely.
Panic Sets In
The street around them erupted into chaos. People screamed and ran in every direction, the broadcast having shattered whatever sense of normalcy they'd been clinging to.
"Bloody hell," Butcher muttered, his grip tightening on his crowbar.
"Was that... real?" Alex asked, his voice trembling.
Deadpool clapped a hand on his shoulder. "Yup. Welcome to the front row seat of reality unraveling. That poor guy? Probably didn't even finish his coffee this morning."
"Deadpool!" Hughie snapped. "This isn't a joke!"
"Oh, relax, vanilla pudding," Deadpool replied, waving a hand. "You're not gonna save the day by hyperventilating. Take a deep breath, strap on your hero pants, and let's figure out where that metal's coming from."
Mother's Milk pulled the group aside, his voice low but urgent. "We need to move. If debris is falling, we don't want to be standing out in the open."
"Smart man," Deadpool said, giving him a thumbs-up. "See? He gets it."
Fleeing the Scene
The group moved quickly through the panicked crowd, dodging fleeing pedestrians and the occasional falling object. The air was thick with tension, the faint rumble of the debris field continuing overhead.
Alex's system pinged faintly, but he didn't dare stop to check it.
"Where are we even going?" Hughie asked, his voice strained.
"Anywhere but here," Butcher growled.
Deadpool pointed ahead. "Ooh, how about that diner? I could go for a milkshake. Or a root beer float. Or—"
"No," Butcher snapped. "We're findin' cover and figurin' out what the f*** is goin' on."
As the group ducked into a nearby alley, the faint hum of energy filled the air. Alex glanced upward, his stomach twisting. The golden and pale suns above seemed to pulse faintly, their glow growing stronger.
"Whatever's happening," Alex said quietly, "it's only getting worse."
Deadpool grinned. "And worse is where we thrive, kid. Welcome to the big leagues."
The scene faded to black as the distant rumble of debris filled the air, hinting at the chaos yet to come.