"Smack!"
After the loud bang came a softer thud. The Little Deadpools that had just been stuffed into the cannon barrel landed on the ground about five meters away, charred black all over and no longer remotely human-shaped. He looked like he had only one breath left.
Clearly, the launch had failed. After all that buildup, the guy had completely flopped.
The silence was terrifying. Even the red glow in the sky seemed to pause, like faulty string lights losing power for an instant.
Diana, vigorously rubbing her temples: "..."
Barry, wanting to make an excuse for them but opening his mouth without knowing what to say: "..."
Batwoman, hiding somewhere in the darkness: "..."
Still, it was fine. In movies, whenever an unbearably awkward situation like this came up, all it took was for the Black actor to casually say something, and the mood would become harmonious again.
Having a natural sense of humor could be considered a racial talent, perhaps. At least, Black Wally now seemed to feel Destiny calling to him.
The Black boy looked a little malnourished. He had grown taller but not more muscular, making him look like a bamboo pole, yet his expression was especially resolute. After wiping a smear of ice cream from beside his mouth, he said:
"I mean, is it possible that for a muzzle-loading cannon like this, you're supposed to load the gunpowder first, then put in the shell as the projectile?"
"So that's how it is! It's been so long that I forgot, you useless bastard! Did you hear what he said? You worthless piece of crap who can't accomplish anything but ruin it!"
Wade slammed his fist into his palm as if struck by sudden realization. He strode over to the Little Deadpools who had crashed, kicked him