The afternoon sun cast long shadows across Deadpool's apartment, illuminating the scattered takeout containers and weapon parts strewn across his coffee table. Wade Wilson, clad in his signature red and black suit with mask rolled up to his nose, lounged on his worn leather couch playing Mario Kart.

A golden letter materialized in front of him, hovering in the air. The envelope radiated an otherworldly glow that cast prismatic patterns across the peeling wallpaper.

"Ooh, fancy mail delivery! And here I thought the USPS was getting worse," Deadpool quipped, pausing his game. He snatched the letter from the air, tearing it open with childlike enthusiasm.

The letter unfolded itself, revealing text written in shimmering golden light:

Dear Wade Wilson*

We, the Gods of Light and Darkness, have a most entertaining proposition for you. There exists a being of great evil in another dimension - Salem, an immortal witch who commands the creatures of Grimm. Defeat her, and you shall be rewarded with unlimited chimichangas for all eternity.*

Sincerely*

The Gods*

"Unlimited chimichangas?" Deadpool's scarred face lit up. "You had me at 'dear,' but the chimichangas are definitely a bonus!" He jumped up, his red boots crunching empty energy drink cans. "Though this feels suspiciously like some gods are just bored and want to watch me fight people for their entertainment."

A swirling portal of gold and purple energy opened in his living room, scattering his collection of Golden Girls DVDs.

"Hey, careful with the Betty White!" Deadpool called out, grabbing his katanas and strapping them to his back. He adjusted the various pouches on his tactical belt and checked his dual pistols. "Well, readers, looks like we're going on an interdimensional field trip! Though I have to wonder if Salem takes health insurance - my HMO doesn't usually cover other dimensions."

With a theatrical bow to no one in particular, Deadpool leaped through the portal. "Time to make the chimichangas!"

The portal closed behind him with a sound like a cosmic burp, leaving behind only the echoing notes of the Mario Kart theme song still playing on his TV.


High above Remnant, in their celestial realm, the God of Light and God of Darkness sat on their thrones, materializing bowls of popcorn.

"Brother," the God of Light spoke, his dragon-like form radiating golden energy, "are you certain introducing the Merc with a Mouth to our creation was wise?"

The God of Darkness, wreathed in purple energy, shrugged his shoulders. "Wise? No. Entertaining? Absolutely."


The orange sunrise beat down on Vale's cobblestone streets as Deadpool emerged from a narrow alleyway between a Dust shop and a local bakery. The portal had unceremoniously dumped him between overflowing dumpsters and graffiti-covered walls. The bustling commercial district of Vale spread out before him, with its mix of classical architecture and modern technology. Holographic street signs flickered above shops while well-dressed citizens hurried past, giving the oddly-dressed mercenary a wide berth.

"Okay, let's address the Nevermore in the room," Deadpool announced to no one in particular, brushing off a banana peel from his shoulder. His red and black suit stood out garishly against Vale's more muted color palette. "I know what you're thinking - 'Oh, he's definitely going to infiltrate Beacon Academy as a student!' Well sorry to disappoint, but that tired old fanfiction trope has been done more times than I've broken the fourth wall."

He stepped onto the main street, causing a woman pushing a cart of Dust crystals to quickly change direction. "And before anyone asks - yes, I'm comic book Deadpool, not movie Deadpool. Sorry ladies, no Ryan Reynolds here!" He patted his katana hilts. "Though I do have the same impressive weapon collection and devastatingly witty personality."

A pair of Atlas security robots turned their heads to track his movement, their sensors likely confused by the heavily armed individual casually strolling down the street. The sounds of the city filled the air - the hum of airships overhead, the chatter of shoppers, and the distant sound of construction work.

"Now, if I were an immortal witch with a grudge against humanity and terrible fashion sense, where would I be hiding?" Deadpool mused, pulling out the golden letter and using it as an impromptu map. "The evil lair can't be in the city - that's way too obvious. It's probably somewhere grimm and spooky... Hey, did you see what I did there? Grimm with two 'm's? Because... oh never mind."

He stuffed the letter back into one of his many pouches and started heading toward the commercial district's center, his boots clicking against the cobblestones. "Time to gather some intel. And maybe find out if this dimension has Mexican food. A mercenary cannot live on fourth wall breaks alone!"

Deadpool continued his stroll down Vale's bustling street, his katanas glinting in the sunlight. A group of teenagers walked past him, barely giving his weapons a second glance. An elderly woman even smiled at him as she passed, her own elaborate spear strapped across her back.

"Wait a minute..." Deadpool stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, causing a man with a battle-axe to sidestep around him. "Nobody's screaming? No police? No 'Sir, you can't bring those weapons in here'?" He watched as a young girl skipped past, a massive transforming scythe collapsed at her hip. "Oh right! Huntsmen! This is that kind of world where everyone and their grandmother is packing heat. Or ice Dust. Or whatever."

The aroma of spices wafted through the air, catching his attention. Across the street stood a restaurant with a garish neon sign reading "Los Curry Banditos - Vale's Best Mexican-Mistralian Fusion!" The window display showed pictures of curry-covered burritos and sushi tacos. A cardboard cutout of a cartoon cactus wearing a conical Asian hat waved at passing customers.

"What in the unholy culinary abomination is this?" Deadpool pressed his masked face against the window, watching a waiter serve what appeared to be wasabi guacamole. "This is like if Taco Bell and a sushi place had a baby, and that baby was raised by a curry house." He pulled back, leaving a mask print on the glass. "Though I gotta admit, that curry chimichanga looks interesting in a 'might-regret-this-later' kind of way."

His stomach growled loudly enough to make a passing Faunus jump. Deadpool reached for his pouches, pulling them inside out one by one. Nothing but lint, shell casings, and a half-eaten Skittle fell out.

"Right. Interdimensional travel. Different currency." He stared longingly at the menu prices listed in Lien. "Don't suppose they take Canadian dollars? Or slightly used grenades? No?" He slumped against the window. "This is why interdimensional mercenary work needs a better union. We should at least get a per diem or something."

Through the window, he watched as a customer's curry chimichanga oozed orange sauce. "Maybe I should have asked those gods for an advance on those unlimited chimichangas. Though knowing divine beings, they probably would have given me an unlimited supply of vegetables instead. Cosmic entities are jerks like that."

Deadpool paced in front of the restaurant, his boots scuffing the sidewalk as passersby continued their shopping. The morning sun had started its up climb, casting long shadows between Vale's buildings. A holographic news screen above a nearby Dust shop flickered with the day's headlines.

"Okay, okay, let's think about this logically," Deadpool muttered, pulling out his katana and using it as an impromptu pointer. "What would every single RWBY fanfiction writer do in this situation?" He began drawing in the air, mapping out scenarios. "Step one: Hang around until Roman's dust robbery. Step two: Stop said robbery. Step three: Ozpin shows up doing his mysterious coffee-drinking mentor thing."

He sheathed his katana with a dramatic flourish. "Then boom - invitation to Beacon Academy, room and board, convenient plot device to meet all the main characters." He crossed his arms, leaning against a lamppost. "Which is exactly what I said I wouldn't do because it's more overdone than a well-done steak."

A police airship cruised overhead, its searchlights already activating in preparation for the evening patrol. Deadpool watched it pass, then looked at his reflection in a shop window.

"But..." he drew out the word, raising a finger. "What if I just did the robbery prevention part? Get Ozpin's attention, ask for a legitimate ID instead of enrollment, then peace out to do my own thing? That's like... following the recipe but only eating the appetizer!"

He started walking toward the industrial district, where he knew From Dust Till Dawn would be. "It's not selling out if you only sell a small portion of yourself, right? Like a narrative toe in the water. A plot point rental. A temporary trope lease."

The mercenary passed by another holographic screen, this one showing the evening news. He stopped mid-stride, his mask's white eyes widening at the report.

"Oh, you have got to be kidding me," Deadpool groaned, shoulders slumping. "That's just... well, that complicates things."

Through the electronics store window, multiple TV screens displayed Vale News Network's coverage of Beacon Academy's latest initiation ceremony. The camera panned across four young women standing proudly - a girl in a red cape, one in white, another in black, and a blonde throwing victory punches in the air.

"And with that spectacular display during initiation," Lisa Lavender's voice announced, "Team RWBY has been officially formed at Beacon Academy, led by Ruby Rose, the youngest student ever admitted..."

Deadpool's legs gave out dramatically as he slid down the window, leaving another mask streak on the glass. "No, no, no! I'm late! I'm later than Weiss Schnee's character development!" He sprawled on the sidewalk, arms spread eagle, causing a few shoppers to step over him. "The robbery already happened! Ruby's already at Beacon! The plot train has left the station and I didn't even get to buy a ticket!"

He sat up suddenly, grabbing the legs of a passing stranger. "Do you know what this means?" The startled man shook his head. "It means I have to figure out how to get an ID the hard way! No convenient Ozpin ex machina! No 'mysterious stranger saves the day and gets rewarded' scenario!"

Releasing the confused citizen, Deadpool flopped back onto the sidewalk. "This is worse than that time I showed up late to a Spider-Man team-up and had to fight the C-list villains he left behind!" He raised his fist to the sky. "Curse you, interdimensional plot convenience! You have failed me for the last time!"

A street cleaner robot beeped at him repeatedly, trying to sweep around his prone form. Deadpool waved it away. "Not now, discount Wall-E, I'm having a narrative crisis here!"

The robot continued beeping insistently until Deadpool finally rolled to his feet. "Fine, fine! I'm moving!" He dusted himself off, watching as Team RWBY's ceremony continued playing on the screens. "Looks like I need a Plan B. Or is this Plan C? I've lost track of where we are in the alphabet of plans."

Deadpool pushed himself off the ground, his masked face catching his reflection in the store window. He pulled his mask up slightly, examining the scarred skin beneath. "Right... this isn't exactly a face that screams 'trust me with official documentation.' More like 'I lost a fight with a cheese grater.'"

Two well-dressed businessmen walked past, their conversation catching his attention.

"Did you hear about Street 47?" The first man adjusted his tie nervously. "My Dust shipping company won't even deliver there anymore."

His companion nodded, clutching his briefcase tighter. "The police are overwhelmed. Even the regular security companies are backing out. Three robberies just this week, and those weren't even the White Fang!"

Deadpool's head snapped toward them like a puppy hearing a treat bag open. "Street 47, you say?" He sidled closer to the men, who quickened their pace.

"They say it's becoming worse than the industrial district," the first man continued, unaware of their masked eavesdropper. "The merchants there are desperate for protection. They're even willing to hire anyone with combat experience, no questions asked about background..."

"No questions asked?" Deadpool repeated to himself, pulling out an imaginary notepad and making writing motions. "Desperate merchants? Need for protection? This is more convenient than a plot device in a summer blockbuster!"

He spun around, nearly clotheslining a passing Faunus with rabbit ears. "Sorry, cottontail! Just had an eureka moment!" He helped her up, then pointed dramatically down the street. "To Street 47! Where a mercenary with a face for radio and a need for legitimate documentation can find his destiny! Or at least enough money for that curry chimichanga."

A police siren wailed in the distance, and Deadpool could see the orange glow of the setting sun reflecting off Vale's towers. He pulled out one of his katanas, using it to check his reflection and adjust his mask.

"Time to show this dimension what the Merc with a Mouth can do! And hopefully find someone who can make IDs and doesn't ask too many questions about why my face looks like pepperoni pizza had a baby with sandpaper.


Street 47 lived up to its reputation. The narrow road was lined with shops showing clear signs of recent break-ins - boarded windows, makeshift repairs, and hastily painted-over graffiti. The streetlights flickered uncertainly, creating shifting shadows in the growing dusk.

Hammer's shop sat at the corner, a modest Dust and general goods store with a weather-beaten sign that had seen better days. The owner, a stocky man in his fifties with graying hair and calloused hands, was struggling to fix a bent security grate over his window.

"Need a hand with that?" Deadpool called out, causing Hammer to nearly drop his tools. "Or better yet, need a hand keeping people from breaking it in the first place?"

Hammer turned, his weathered face showing initial shock at Deadpool's appearance before settling into desperate hope. He wore a simple brown work vest over a white shirt, both stained with various colors of Dust. "You're... offering protection services?"

"That's right!" Deadpool struck a pose. "The name's Wade Wilson, professional problem solver and part-time chimichangas enthusiast. Though currently more enthusiast than consumer due to certain financial limitations."

Hammer wiped his hands on his vest, leaving streaks of red Dust. "I'm Hammer. And I definitely need the help. These streets..." He gestured at the damaged shops. "It's getting worse every day. But I have to warn you, I can't afford much. Most of my profits go to repairs these days."

"About that..." Deadpool scratched his masked head. "Quick question - how much is a lot in Lien? Because where I'm from, we use a different currency. Like, completely different. As in 'from another dimension' different."

"Wait, what?" Hammer blinked.

"Let's just say I'm VERY new to Vale," Deadpool waved dismissively. "Like, 'still trying to figure out if Lien is paper or those fancy digital cards' new."

Hammer quoted a price that would be standard for protection services. Deadpool noticed the man's worn boots, the patches in his clothes, and the way his eyes kept darting to the damaged security grate.

"Tell you what," Deadpool said, leaning against the wall. "Let's knock that down to something more reasonable. Say... enough for daily meals and eventually some ID paperwork? Plus unlimited bathroom access - interdimensional travel does things to a man's digestive system."

"That's... surprisingly reasonable," Hammer said cautiously.

"I'm a surprisingly reasonable guy! Well, surprising at least. The reasonable part is debatable." Deadpool extended his hand. "Do we have a deal?"