The city was a chaotic mess of rubble, smoke, and fire—a battleground where order had long since given up and run for the hills. Amidst the ruins, the sound of gunfire echoed off crumbling buildings, accompanied by the distant wail of sirens that seemed more like a mournful ballad than a call for help.

Through the smoke, a figure danced—yes, danced—along the debris-strewn street. She wore a skin-tight red and black suit, her long blonde ponytail bouncing with each exaggerated step. Her movements were strangely graceful, almost like a twisted ballet performed to the rhythm of destruction. In one hand, she spun a katana with effortless skill, and in the other, she held a half-eaten chimichanga, munching away without a care in the world.

“♪ I’m singin’ in the pain, just singin’ in the pain… What a glorious feeling, I’m insane again! ♪” She sang, her voice ringing out in a cheerful, off-key melody that clashed horribly with the devastation around her. Her bloody swords dripped in the now cold liquid as she wandered the streets littered with soldiers of general americe and the deadpool corps.