"But Mouse, what kind of mental illness do you think my cousin actually has? Why do I feel like none of the symptoms fit him perfectly?"
Deadpool sidled up to Black Mouse and asked in a gossipy manner, like one of those old ladies at the village entrance.
"Do you really need to ask me?" Mouse put away his Lightsaber, folded his arms, and answered calmly. "You masked people all have Multiple Personality Disorder. You're one person with the mask on and another with it off. That goes beyond merely playing a role."
Back in the era when Black Mouse had dominated the scene, masked people simply did not exist. They were not fashionable, all right? The stars back then were all animals.
Mice, cats, dogs, birds—anything was fine, except people. Human hearts were too complicated. Only animals could bring the purest joy.
"Stop talking nonsense with Deadpool. I'm not sick." Su Ming objected as he leisurely continued smoking. "Ask God and Lucifer if you don't believe me. Have I ever shown symptoms of any mental illness?"
"How would I know?" Elaine was still playing Fruit Ninja, continuing to intercept the black creatures falling from beneath Crown's shadow. "Don't forget, I'd been staying in my own Heaven. I had no interest in looking around everywhere."
God's attitude was clear: he would not participate in this discussion. Whether Deathstroke was mentally ill was actually irrelevant. As long as he could get things done, that was enough.
"I have heard something, though." Lucifer, sweating as he continued arm-wrestling CAAT, unexpectedly chimed in. "I heard Slade often likes to shapeshift, impersonate other people, and use it to prank them for fun. Could that be antisocial personality disorder?"
Basically, all Chameleons were antisocial. They impersonated others, destroyed their relationships, or did even more excessive