"By the way, Deathstroke told me that when the time came, I'd naturally know it. But I learn so many things every day—how am I supposed to tell which time is the time?"
In the pitch-black night, Gotham was quiet as death today. There were no neon lights, only dim streetlamps automatically switching on at their appointed hour.
The girl in the pink-and-white bodysuit squatted carelessly beneath a streetlamp, sticking out her tongue to rapidly lick an ice cream cone while chatting with the audience beyond the Fourth Wall.
Perhaps some people didn't know this, but Gwenpool was actually quite skilled at making ice cream. Back in her home universe, she had worked at a fast-food restaurant for a while. Her special technique let her pack more ice cream into a cone, even filling the pointed tip at the very bottom.
Today, people were either trapped in nightmares or singing the praises of darkness, so she had brazenly walked into a fast-food restaurant to join the looters. After personally making herself fried chicken and fries, she ate her fill and packed an ice cream cone to take with her.
Originally, she had thought the so-called opportunity would arrive soon. Yet by the time night fell, she was tired from walking and had squatted by the roadside, eating ice cream to pass the time while admiring the utterly deserted streetscape.
Come to think of it, she had never seen Gotham like this before. It was far too quiet, as though the entire city were worshipping around the beam of the Bat-Signal. The atmosphere was far too solemn.
She didn't like solemnity. She still thought Marvel's relaxed style was better—at least it gave people room to breathe.
"..."
The audience seemed to say something, making the girl nod repeatedly.
"Is that so?