Whenever the world seemed to side against him, Peter always found himself looking down upon New York, watching the busy masses of people and the mundane function of the city lights. Normally, the masked hero would spend this time swinging from building to building, keeping a lookout for danger or criminal activity. This night, however, was not one of those nights. A deep sigh escaped the college superhero's throat, and he stretched out across the rooftop, his eyes shifting up towards the stars. His bones and muscles ached from his last brush with villainy. The longer he lay there, the surer Peter was that he would never get back up. Exhaustion had become so prominent that the hard concrete of the roof was almost comfortable.
He wasn't given much time to rest before a voice broke the desired silence. "Well now this is a fucking surprise what brings you to my roof?" Peter scrambled to his feet, preparing for a fight despite the lack of a response from his spidey sense. There was an exaggerated sigh that followed. "Sorry to say the view is only half as good as it usually is."
Another masked figure came into Peter's line of sight. Two katanas were strapped to his back, and he was holding a bag of- takeout? The hero or villain paid Peter no attention as he plopped down on the roof, crossed his legs, and unfurled the brown paper bag.
Peter eyed the man's weapons cautiously. "Nice swords…" He said, breaking the silence once again.
The man's head snapped up towards Peter. "Oh you like them?" He asked, using one hand to pat the weapons on his back. "Well I tell ya, ya gotta be real fucking careful with these bad kahunas." He reached the other hand into the bag. "Cuz they can stab someone's eye right out of their fucking skull."
A groan passed through Peter's lips, and what little strength he had left from fighting Morbius was being used to stop himself from puking all over his suit. The man had pulled what he could only assume was a human eyeball out of the bag. It didn't take much longer after that for him to notice that the man's costume was torn around the left eye and that only the socket remained.
The man laughed. A high-pitched cackle that sounded like it belonged to a madman. "I always wondered what a lobotomy would feel like, but do you really get the full experience when you use a sword instead of an icepick…? I might have to get another procedure done; you know, even it out a bit." He reached up to point at his one intact eye.
Whether it was intrigue or fear that rooted him in place, Peter wasn't sure, but all he could do was stand and watch as the lunatic fiddled with his own eyeball. With a sickening plop, he popped the eyeball back into the socket and held it in place with his hand for a few minutes. "This is where the magic happens. Abra kadabra. Hocus pocus. Alakazam. Fuckity fuck."
The man withdrew his hand, and blinked. Both eyes moved in sync with one another. Peter's jaw dropped and, against his better judgement, he took a step towards the guy. "WHAT… That's not… How did you…? This can't… WHAT!" Peter sputtered.
But the man had already lost interest in Peter, and his previously defective eyeball. His focus was once again back on the takeout bag as he pulled out and examined a bloodstained styrofoam container. "Oh fuck me on a pontoon boat in shark infested waters!" He pushed the container away from him. "It takes a real drugged up motherfucker to mistake quesadillas for chimichangas. And I gave him such a nice tip too! The guy's probably never seen so much silver between his eyes!" He shook his head and caught Peter staring at him, wide-eyed. "Haha. Before. Not between. I totally meant before. Honest mistake." He threw his hands up. His left eyeball fell out of its socket, barely hanging from the optic nerve. "Shit."
Despite the alarms going off in his head, Peter knelt in front of the man to examine his eye- or what was left of it. Even if this man could somehow evade his spidey sense, Peter doubted the man meant him any harm. He had had many a chance to make the first move.
"How did this happen?" Peter sucked in a breath and carefully held the squishy organ between his thumb and forefinger. With his other hand, he gently spread the opening of the socket wider, and pushed the eyeball inside.
The man blinked, and his eyes met Peter's. "Oh I fucked up. This always happens. I have absolutely positutely no self-preservation. I've been decapitated twenty-three-and-a-half times."
Peter's stomach churned, and he stepped away from the masked man. "That is… some healing factor." He finally said.
The man giggled. "Yeah, I'll say." The man stood up, stomping on the styrofoam container as if that would make up for it being the wrong order. "Well, bugsy, I gotta dash. People to save." He lowered his voice. "People to kill."
"Kill…?"
Another long giggle. "Oh don't you worry bout a thing. I like you. I'll see you around." His faulty eye winked at Peter and then he was dashing across the roof. "One more thing!" He called back to Peter. "The name's Deadpool!"
Before Peter could even think of a response, Deadpool had dropped off the edge of the roof. Healing factor or not, Peter hoped he had at least landed on the fire escape, and not in a puddle on the street below. The hope was dispelled with the shriek of a car alarm.
Peter sighed. "I'm gonna have to keep an eye out for him."