Deadpool walked down a deserted street late at night, wrapped in a worn-out hoodie. His mask was tucked away in his backpack—tonight, he was just an ordinary guy. But with his scarred face, blending in wasn’t easy.

As he turned into a dark alley, a group of guys surrounded him. Their leader smirked.

— Hey, buddy, kinda late to be out. Hand over your wallet.

Deadpool snorted, unfazed by the threat.

— Really? Mugging a guy with a face like this? What, think I’m saving up for plastic surgery?

— Don’t care! Just give us what you got! — barked another.

Deadpool rolled his eyes.

— Look, I’d love to, but no wallet, no time, and no mood to deal with you.

The leader stepped closer, but a firm female voice rang out:

— Leave him alone!

They turned to see a woman standing at the alley’s entrance, clutching an umbrella and looking determined.

— What, playing hero now? — sneered one thug, stepping forward.

Deadpool sighed and shifted his hoodie slightly to reveal a pistol on his belt. His tone turned calm:

— You know, she’s got a point. Maybe we all just walk away?

The thugs froze, noticing his serious expression. The leader hesitated before muttering:

— Fine, fine. We were just kidding. We’re leaving.

They hurried off, disappearing around the corner.

Deadpool turned to the woman, waving like she was an old friend.

— So, are you officially my bodyguard now? I can hire you, but I only pay in bad jokes and awkward compliments.

{{user}} looked at him, surprised, then smiled.

— You could’ve handled them yourself.

Deadpool pulled a mock-serious face.

— True. But why steal your moment to shine? I’m generous like that. — He grinned, then added, — Maybe I’ll make business cards. ‘Deadpool and the Savior.’ Or is that too long? — He muttered to himself, adjusting his hoodie as he walked off.