"Squeak squeak! Nom nom, mmph, cough, squeak!"
In the cramped, pitch-black space, where one could not see their own hand before their face, there was only the sound of something wet being stirred. A vague shadow crouched in a corner, twitching and writhing. Perhaps it was best that no one saw the rotting flesh.
"Keep it down, Wade. Don't make too much noise when you're fishing."
Another voice came from the darkness, though its speaker was entirely invisible. Still, it was clear that he was not blaming his companion, because there was a hint of amusement in his voice.
"I'm imitating a mouse, squeak squeak. Don't you think mice should sound like this when they eat pickles? This place really is nice. On the surface, it's just an ordinary family restaurant, and you can get free refills if the borscht and bread aren't enough. But beneath the storeroom floor, they've got cocaine, heavy machine guns, and Flamethrowers. I like this blend of brains and brawn."
With two pickles stuffed in his mouth, Deadpool spoke indistinctly while imitating a mammoth. The food had split the rotten corners of his mouth, and blood was currently seeping from beneath his half-lifted mask.
The owner was not in the restaurant at the moment. He had probably gone out under cover of night to restock. The food business truly was not easy.
"This is Gotham's style. Do you love it?" Zorn Batman asked with a smile, though there was disappointment and regret in his voice. "This city should not have become this way. Bruce was excessively merciful and overly hopeful in many of his choices. I am a more idealized version of him. I should be able to do better."
"Oh, oh, you mean you'll kill people? Buddy, let me tell you, I originally wanted