"Why hasn't he come yet? Could it be that Alien has no appreciation for this master's finest work?"
Deathstroke remained calm, still sitting on the windowsill with a cigarette in his mouth as he looked toward distant Earth. Deadpool, on the other hand, was like an actor whose new movie had just premiered, eagerly awaiting market feedback—or rather, keeping an eye on the box office.
What was circulating online now was only the cut version, basically a free preview short. The people who truly liked it should buy the Blu-ray discs released later, right? They would click the purchase link at the end of the short, right?
"Stop pacing around. You're making me dizzy."
Su Ming sighed. It was not that Wade was moving so fast that he made people dizzy; it was that his pacing disturbed the air, spreading the heavy fragrance clinging to him.
"As someone about to become a famous figure in show business, I'm under so much pressure, Cousin. Once I'm famous, should I buy a plane first? Or buy a Mexican first?"
He twisted his waist and whined at Deathstroke, venting his worries. His restless hands formed a heart in front of his chest, though the smile beneath his mask looked especially sleazy.
Deathstroke merely turned his head away and replied flatly, "What do you want me to say? That your face is completely ruined, and unless someone knows you especially well, no one can recognize you at all?"
"Ugh! That hurts!" Wade clutched his chest, staggered several steps back, and sat down at the other end of the windowsill. "So this was why you chose me as the male lead? Because my handsome face is gone and no one can remember me, so my popularity won't surpass yours? That's dark—too dark!"
"Quit acting up.