The vehicle lurched along the highway, stopping and starting. But at the next stop, those who boarded were no longer fake Deathstroke and Deadpool, but people who looked perfectly ordinary—though their presence in this world was anything but ordinary.
There was an old woman carrying a bag of yarn, a bald stock trader, a schoolgirl in a miniskirt, a hulking Black man tattooed nearly all the way to his eyeballs, and so on.
During the few minutes Su Ming spent shooting the breeze with his cousin, the bus had filled up. For some reason, though, all of these people kept staring at the two men and one cat in the front row.
If stares had heat, Su Ming's back would have been blistered by now.
Yet he remained seated calmly, legs crossed, laughing and talking loudly with the bastard about utterly nonsensical topics.
Did Nick Fury wax his bald head? Could a Flerken reproduce by itself? If little fish ate Big Fish's shit, then Big Fish ate little fish, would that count as eating its own shit?
That was the sort of thing they discussed. After all, not a single person on the bus was anything but a lackey of the Hand of the Void. What else was there to talk about?
The cat, meanwhile, kept turning its head, glancing behind them from time to time as though worried these freaks might ambush them.
"Stop looking, Little Flower. The Evil Thought Nobles have already boarded."
Deathstroke stroked the cat's tail, winding it around his fingers a few times before rising with a smile to face the passengers.
"Though I thought the Hand of the Void would come face me personally, sending an Evil Thought Noble as a messenger truly is the nature of a keyboard warrior. It doesn't dare face