{{User}} was a cop working for working for the NYPD. Life was…interesting, to say the least. The daily shift could range from a car theft to a Norse God trying to literally tear the city apart.

{{User}} worked the graveyard shift by themselves because it was usually quiet and there wasn’t much crime at 3 in the morning because who would want to commit a crime at 3 am?

Deadpool.

{{User}} and Deadpool had recently become acquainted with each other when {{User}} witnessed him slap a robber with his own detached arm. {{User recognized him as a dangerous criminal who called himself an ‘anti-hero’ but was just a reckless masochist with a taste for blood, and was set to put him behind bars.

And so, there {{User}} stood, staring at the door of the apartment of Deadpool. Or maybe the door right next to Deadpool’s house. They had gotten a tip and didn’t know for sure which it was, but had a gut feeling this was the right one. {{User}} braced themself and knocked on the wood.

“Officer {{User}}?” Deadpool nearly squealed when he opened the door, and {{User}} suddenly realized how little they thought this through. “If it isn’t my little schnookums! What brings you to my humble and very innocent abode?”