To my darling Laurscream-
This was a great idea
Or maybe it wasn't
We'll see.
Dear reader, perhaps you clicked on this link thinking that the act of fiction that would be taking place would remain true to the source material. Perhaps you even thought that the writer has recently read the novels or comics that this fan-made story is supposed to relate to. Perhaps you had the idea that the writer would try their best to fit this story somewhere within the canon, in betwixt events that take place between the pages (physical or metaphorical, in this digital day and age) of the story lines of the characters they are using.
Dear reader, I as the writer would like to prepare you for much disappointment, as this fiction does none of those things. It also is not going to be telling a happy story, as you should know, considering that this was most likely tagged as A Series of Unfortunate Events and you knowingly and decisively clicked on it. Or perhaps you did not. If you are of the latter, I give you my deepest apologies for such accusations and will not be offended if you vacate this fiction post-haste.
The tale of the Baudelaire orphans three is not a joyous romp and it should never be expected for it to be as such, even in a non-canonical and silly fan-made crossover parody. The Baudelaire orphans have a very unfortunate life, and the events that set off this particular tale are no different and stick strictly to the norm that is their unfortunate circumstances.
That is to say, the events that precede, occur during, and follow this tale are all equally unfortunate, even if some of them technically never happened.
I must give a small aside to our dearest Lemony Snicket, rest his soul. He has done a fabulous job in obtaining information on the three Baudelaire orphans that I would never be capable of conjuring myself, especially considering that he has supposedly been dead for some time. I, however, have an imagination that is possibly too big and many deadlines to postpone in lieu of fabricating a tale in which three orphans, accustomed to losing their guardians to the hands of the dreadful Count Olaf (who then passes them to the clutches of death), find themselves under the care of a man who cannot die and should definitely never be left to guard over children.
And that, my dear reader, is where we begin.
Now would be a fantastic time to look away, if you so desire. I would encourage it, even.
If you are still reading this, you either have not heeded my warning or have decided to skim read through it. Either way, you will hopefully leave soon because the lives of the Baudelaire orphans is something even the most brave and daring would find too horrible for words.
Thankfully I am neither brave nor daring. I am just incredibly bored.
We shall begin at a time a little before our actual story begins, in the offices of Mortuary Money Management. A red-clad assassin had made short work of his charge and had decided to stroll around the place at his leisure. An assassin, like anyone who runs a business, takes the money of paying consumers in exchange for a good or service. In the case of an assassin, said good or service is taking the life or lives of others, depending on the client.
In this case, a poor chap in the department had somehow managed to make another chap very angry and dissatisfied. At least, those are the emotions I would attribute to someone that would go so far as to hire an assassin. I am not the sort to hire assassins, and even if I were, i would not know how to go about it, so I can only assume these were the emotions of the client that had hired this particular one.
In any case, the man who makes a living by making it so that others cannot entertained himself by flicking through the different files, one by one. He was rather messy and left several red prints from the tips of his gloved fingers. To look at him, one would not notice that he had sliced a man's jugular with a sword just moments ago for a healthy sum of cash. He was rather calm for someone who had just done such an act. He sat whimsically perched on a desk, kicking his boot-clad feet with every file he skimmed. An observer would also not notice any of the blood peppering his suit because it was red. This was intentional.
He had just gotten through the A's and had made it a little ways into the B's, since the files were in alphabetical order. Many factors contributed to him finding the file that he did. For one, it had been sent to be reviewed by the member of the staff that was now surely considered a cadaver. Another contributing factor was the well-worn sleeve, as though the file had been open, shut, thumbed, and changed so many times that the hardy manilla folder was on its last strands. The biggest contributing factor to him paying attention to this one file, and therefore dooming the orphans contained within the file to further misfortune, was the name.
"Baudelaire," he said out loud. He developed this habit at some point or another due to insanity or boredom. Either way, he often spoke his mind, even if the only ears to hear the words were literal dead ones. "Baudelaire?" this time it was a question asked to the room. He looked up from the file.
"Now, if that ain't the most pretentious, stuck up name I have ever heard in my life."
He commenced skimming, albeit this time more thoroughly than the other files he had skimmed. He caught a few names and immediately forgot them. He didn't care about names, or else he would have given himself a better one. Or a worse one. He is that sort of person. He noted the ages listed and the status only briefly and immediately forgot that as well. Perhaps if he had paid more attention to the file's occupants, he would have at least hesitated before doing the regrettable action that he would go through with moments later. If he had seen their listing as "orphaned," he may have even thought to leave well enough alone.
To leave something well enough alone is to not change something that cannot be made better by changing it. Unfortunately, this assassin was not the sort of person with the foresight to leave well enough alone. Some would even say that he was barely a person, though those people are rather rude and biased so I would not count on them to be a good judge of character. Those that say he lacks all foresight are actually very accurate and you may take their words to heart when analyzing the actions of our red-clad assassin.
Said assassin was now paused over the very large dollar amount that was written on the sheet. It was a rather substantial sum of money that he immediately wanted. Why he wanted it is anyone's guess. A scholar may say that according to Maslow's Hierarchy of Needs, the average person equates money with the lowest tier of needs, seeing as it fulfills all physiological needs when exchanged, and that most find this comforting. My humble opinion is that he just likes money and prefers large sums of it, in cash, for convenience's sake.
Whatever his reasons, he wanted that money very badly. This lead him to glance down the list until he found an open line. It lead him to completely disregard the pens bearing the name "Mortuary Money Management" conveniently and neatly sitting in the small desk organizer on the desk less than a foot from him and pull out a green crayon instead. It lead him to write in big letters, taking up two of the already dwindling lines on the file, "Wade Wilson," smearing more red on the file in the process. It lead him to check his handiwork, only for him to stare with utmost concentration at the file as he wrote ":)" after it, creating what is referred to as an "emoticon," which makes the receiver of the message interpret the colon and lines as a smiling face.
After observing his creation, he hopped off the desk, slapped the file on the desk, and looked down at the man who was now but a shell of a banker. He looked forward again and addressed the wall.
"Well, my work is done here. Deadpool, out."
And with that, he left. Not just in the literal sense did he leave, for he did indeed leave the room, albeit through the ventilation system instead of what is customary for leaving a room, which in this case would be the only door leading to or from the tiny office surrounded by files. He also figuratively left the Baudelaire orphans in a lot more trouble than they had been in yet, and a good deal more unfortunate than they had previously known they could be.