[Considering his last sandbox adventure and their favourite mode of transportation being giant metal balls (seriously, who was the set designer?), this could be going worse. Sure, he woke up with the doctor marveling that he has his head considering it was “attached by a thread,” and now he's in insurmountable debt (probably, Wade only sort of half-head the number), but when's that been new?]

Hey, this thing got one of those ejaculation seats?

[Wade's not looking at the guy to see the squint directed at him, and it'd be hard to see through their mask anyway; his head's in the driver-side window and he's nodding to himself about the interior. Sure, we're going back to the Lion-King soundtrack on cassette days if it looked like she hadn't already been gutted, but this baby has the smell of real industrial-grade polyester. And he's pretty sure that's blood on the mat. Gives her character. You know whats better than dated infotainment? None at all. Just the road, and screeching metal, and zero dials to blame on distracting yourself with. You mean ejection?

A pause.] Yeah, that.

[Not that, but you can't be picky when it comes to forcible loans. At least the guy's never heard of APR. Uh, no—] No worries, I'll make it one later.

[He's still got that idea floating around somewhere, 'cause what else is there to do? There's a lot of road and he's a singular protagonist trying to hold interest alone. In a car. With two hands. It's a winning combination.

Once he's on the road, he's pretty sure that Yom motherfucker switched out one of his tires between Wade's “Thanks for the loaner” and “see you never, sucker!” Otherwise, what's the reason it explodes? His beautiful, sweet baby he's already named Dandy swerves through the dust, coming to a pathetic, slumping stop at the end of a very long dusty streak. She gives an angry rattle, like this is somehow his fault.]

Fuck! Seriously? Girl, you know I'd never disrespect you like this!

[Okay, it's not like he's in a hurry, but he's gotta keep the narrative thread moving here. And with nothing in the car besides Bea in her sheathe beside him, he hasn't got a flare to fart on.

When the next unfortunate soul drives by and slows down enough, they might see a half-covered masked man waving what looks like a pair of blood-red pants in the air — and his bare, scarred up legs airing out in the wind.

All he needs is one sucker to stop, then it's free four wheels until.... well, until the next needle drop.

Man. She is a cute one, though. All yellow and... yellow. All right, so he takes one wheel. It'll probably fit. If anyone slows down, he'll start waving a gloved hand at them.] Hey, I promise I'm actually in trouble and I am not planning to kill you and take all your valuables! Scout's honour!

[Wade has about as much hesitance to further dig himself into debt that he does about cutting his own hand off for a joke, so he grabs himself a room at Saint Margery's. And honestly? It's not bad. The whole four dingy walls with the distinct smell of fire and MSG right outside the window are doing it for him.

It's like home.

And, okay, to be honest, the blackout is also like home when you have a blind roommate who can't use Google to pay an electricity bill. That doesn't mean he's gonna just sit here and deal with it.

So when you return to your room, you might see a man dressed entirely in red trying to break into your window, except his sword gets stuck on the windowsill. ] Hey, can you -- I'm just gonna duck down, can you just — yeah, push the hilt down a little so I can just wiggle in here — guess those breakfast sandwiches really go right to your hips, huh?

[Yes, this is so much more difficult than just breaking the door down. But where's the fun in that? Besides, if there's AC on in there, he wants to keep the airflow contained.]

[There's not a lot of rules for mercs, but one of the first and foremost is the most obvious: when you're thrust onto a new universe (ooh, or are we going full multiverse here? What's the plural of multiverse? Multiversii?), you carve out a nest. We're talking, like, full turtle. A place to sleep, four walls and, if you're lucky, two doors — one for in and one for out — and grub.

Which means money. You can escape the multiverse but you're always gonna find yourself in a capitalistic hellscape. Just the way the world(s) work.

So Wade's out here not on a mission or because another old lady's lost her cat in a... a building that suspiciously looks like an abandoned Kinko's, but because there's a payday on the other end of this.

Theoretically.

Capitalism is a curse but at least it's a consistent one, and if Wade's got the lion's share of meds then they're gonna have to pay out the ass for them. Look, it's their fault he's lost Arthur, so they're gonna have to pay him back somehow.

Once he sees them through a window, he's already wiggling his way in, dropping in to a couple of inches of water. Like any good escape room, the place locks down the moment he's in, which — you know, of fucking course.]

Quarantine? So you're going to take out your prejudices on a guy who's suffering, huh? That's fucked up. [If this place thinks he's not about to rob it blind —

Which... after he shuffles through work desks and drawers and finds a whole Jack Torrence amount of papers which read “you're ugly” and “you look like what gonorrhea has regrets about,” Wade starts pocketing pens and his biggest find -- a gold Sharpie -- out of spite. But the next one he squints at through his mask, bringing it up to his face, he's starting to think this might be targeted.

You're the bottom crab in the bucket of the world's shittiest car salesmen. The dead one that keeps getting stepped on, with gooey crab guts everywhere.

Yeah. Really targeted.] Not really the motivational calendar I would've gone for myself —

[He starts as the water starts seeping into his boots, and considering he'd been barely splashing through it half an hour ago, that's. Huh. This place springing a leak or something?

Oh, shit! An egg-shaped Post-It! Oh, he is so taking this.

And so it goes that the water surges up next time Wade finds another Targeted note, something like “super dick? More like super shit!” which, whoa, hey, targeted is one thing, but why are we getting personal? But then he finds something awesome, like a yellow duck stapler, and it sinks back down.

You know the kind of thought you have when you're looking at a passing train? Wade has that, between the rising water looking mighty deadly, and a shadow passing by the window. Maybe someone else's first reaction would be to ask for help.

Wade's first instinct is to pretend he's drowning, but in a Little John three-inches-of-water way, splashing and calling out for help as his head slams against the window. Oh nooo, he's gonna drown! Right in front of you! Do you really want this red-masked idiot to be the main topic of your next therapy appointment?]