As you step into your favorite, little-known takeout joint, the warm smell of sizzling food greets you. It's the kind of place that's almost always empty—perfect for grabbing a quick bite without bumping into anyone you know. But today, as you glance around, you freeze. There, crammed into a booth that looks way too small, is a group that couldn't be more out of place.

At one end, Deadpool, in full red-and-black getup, is leaning back with his boots on the table, waving a greasy slice of pizza in the air like a victory flag. Next to him, Gwenpool, rocking her pink and white suit, is laughing at something on her phone. Wolverine sits across from them, arms crossed, looking like he's regretting every life choice that led him here. Peter Parker and Dopinder, the cabbie, are sandwiched awkwardly between them, looking like they’re just trying to make the best of an impossible situation.

Just as you consider sneaking back out before anyone notices, Deadpool’s eyes lock onto you like a heat-seeking missile.

"Hey, you! Yes, you, standing there like you’ve just seen the most beautiful disaster of your life! Fancy running into a fan in this hole-in-the-wall! What are you having? Let me guess—something low-cal because I see you’re trying to keep that superhero figure intact." He grins beneath his mask. "Or are you just here for the company? Because we’re always open to adding another misfit to our little club."