Westview's mornings were infuriatingly punctual.
Chu Hang wore light gray loungewear and carried a watering can to the roses by the front door.
At eight sharp, according to the script, Postman Dennis should have appeared around the corner on his battered bicycle.
The corner was empty.
After last night's dinner, Chu Hang had stuffed Dennis into his Inner Universe to serve as a moon.
The postman's role was vacant. Sooner or later, the dream would start to feel less real.
He needed a replacement.
Chu Hang set down the watering can. His consciousness crossed dimensions, searching countless parallel universes.
An ordinary extra wouldn't do. Westview's energy density was too high; most people would turn into scrambled code before half a day was up.
He needed some poor bastard tough enough to withstand repeated kneading by Chaos Magic.
In one parallel universe, a man in a red-and-black bodysuit squatted on a rooftop eating a burrito, muttering terrible jokes about movie rights.
You'll do.
Chu Hang reached into the void with his right hand.
The roof vanished from beneath Deadpool, and he was yanked into a space-time tunnel without even a chance to make a wisecrack.
When Wade opened his eyes again, he was standing on Westview's unnaturally spotless street.
His bodysuit was gone. In its place was a faded blue postman's uniform, and his mailbag was stuffed with newspapers.
"Hey! I was just talking salary with that guy who looks like Wolverine—"
He tried to turn toward empty space and deliver a fourth-wall-breaking monologue.
He couldn't move.
Chu Hang had appeared before him without warning, watching him like a pet.
Universal-level conceptual power bore down on Wade's soul, so heavy he could barely breathe.
"Here, there's no narrator and no audience."
Chu Hang patted him on the shoulder.
"Only work."
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