"Buddy, you came to make it in New York and you don't even know who I am?" Wade pointed at his mask, then tugged at the upper half of his uniform to show off its colors. "Take a good look at what I'm wearing. Come on, say that name on the tip of your tongue. Tell me loudly—who am I? There's a prize if you get it right!"
Midnight streetlights flashed across the driver's face. Focused on driving, he glanced at the red-and-some-other-color uniform and suddenly understood.
"Spider-Man! You're Spider-Man, right? Hehe, a Superhero, the kind who goes swoosh swoosh through the air!"
Deadpool's head tilted to one side, and the outline of his smile vanished beneath his mask. Did his uniform really look that much like Spider-Man's?
They were good friends and all, but he had debuted earlier, was more handsome, and had far more presence. What did that little virgin Peter have that could compare to him?
He adjusted his seat belt and leaned against the door so that his upper body faced the driver.
"Friend, what's your name?"
"Dupinder, Mr. Spider-Man." The driver smiled as he shifted gears. They had already shaken off the Terminator behind them, so he could slow down a little. Otherwise, getting caught on a speeding camera would mean a fine.
This was the city, after all. One hundred and twenty miles per hour was enough. Well, as long as you were fast enough, the cameras couldn't get a clear picture of you.
"Dupinder, not a bad name, but you clearly haven't studied New York much. Didn't do your immigration homework." Wade pointed at his face, his little white eyes opened wide and round. "I'm Deadpool, not Batwoman, and not Spider-Man. I'm a Mercenary—a Super Anti-Hero."
"Oh, Mr. DP, I'll remember that. Does