The morning sun filtered through familiar curtains, casting golden patterns across rumpled sheets. Jay's internal clock told him it was nearly noon, but his body felt reluctant to leave the warmth of the bed where Domino lay curled against his chest, her coal-black hair spilled across his shoulder like spun midnight.

  He'd unconsciously teleported them here in the throes of passion the night before, muscle memory bringing them to the apartment he'd abandoned months ago after Doom's broadcast had made him a target. The familiar walls and furniture felt like ghosts of a simpler time, when his biggest worry had been keeping his identity secret rather than being targeted for healing entire nations on live television.

  A sharp knock on the door made them both freeze.

  "WHOEVER'S IN THERE!" came a heavily accented voice from the hallway, thick with Brooklyn attitude. "Keep it the hell down! Some of us got jobs to get to, and we don't need to hear your goddamn marathon session through the walls!"

  Jay's face went crimson as the reality of their situation hit him. His senses had been so focused on Neena that he'd completely tuned out everything else. Including, apparently, how loud they'd been.

  "Jesus Christ," the voice continued, building momentum like a freight train. "Young people these days got no consideration for others! I got Mrs. Patterson next door complaining her knickknacks fell off the shelf, and now she thinks we got an earthquake!"

  Domino bit her lip, fighting a losing battle against laughter as Jay looked like he wanted to melt into the mattress. This was his previous landlord, Mr. Kowalski, the seventy-year-old Polish immigrant who'd rented him this place when he'd first started his operation in New York.

  "And another thing!" Mr. Kowalski was just getting warmed up. "I don't know what kind of Olympic gymnastics you were doing up there, but my ceiling light is hanging sideways, and something definitely got thrown around!"

  Jay started to shimmer with teleportation energy, ready to flee from the embarrassment, but Domino's hand on his chest stopped him.

  "Don't you dare," she whispered, her mismatched eyes sparkling with mischief. "Face the music, hero."

  Her phone buzzed insistently. The caller ID showed "Gorilla Man" with fifteen missed calls and twice as many unread messages.

  Domino's expression shifted from playful to guilty. "Shit. I completely forgot about the team."

  Even in the afterglow of their reunion, responsibility was calling.

  "They've been trying to reach me since I disappeared from the party," she said, quickly typing responses. "They're probably worried I got kidnapped or finally snapped and went on a murder spree."

  Jay propped himself up on one elbow, studying her profile as she texted. "How long were we..." He gestured at the bed and then the room.

  "The entire first day of the new year," Domino said with a slight blush. "We literally spent January first locked in this room."

  A grin spread across Jay's face. "You know, some people believe that whatever you do on New Year's Day sets the tone for the whole year."

  Domino's eyes narrowed dangerously as she caught his teasing tone. Quick as lightning, she pinched his arm hard enough to make him yelp.

  "I need to meet my team. You should probably stay here," Domino said, glancing toward the window where the busy street below promised recognition and complications. "After Latveria, you'll be spotted in seconds. That's attention neither of us needs."

  Jay smiled, that mischievous look she'd come to know well. "I've got it covered, babe."

  Light and shadow began to dance around him in subtle patterns, bending and refracting until his features shifted completely. His light brown skin became pale and forgettable, his distinctive bone structure morphing into the kind of face that disappeared in crowds.

  "Damn, since when?" she breathed, reaching out to touch his face and watching her fingers pass through the mirage. "This would be incredibly useful in my line of work."

  "Better you don't know all the applications," Jay said, returning to his normal appearance. "Some surprises are worth keeping."

  Domino wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him down for a kiss that tasted like new beginnings. "Come with me then. I want my team to meet the man who's been keeping me busy."

  They dressed quickly, Jay reactivating his disguise as they headed for the door. The morning had burned away into afternoon while they'd been wrapped up in each other.

  On the street, Jay noticed how differently people moved around his disguised form.

  "This is surreal," he muttered as they caught a cab to Queens.

  "What is?"

  "Being normal and Invisible." He watched pedestrians through the window. "I'd forgotten what that felt like."

  Domino squeezed his hand. "Stick with me. I'm an expert at flying under the radar."

  The cab dropped them outside a bar that looked like it had been designed by someone with trust issues and a grudge against natural lighting. The nameless establishment in Queens fit perfectly with the kind of place where mercenaries would conduct business: all dark corners and scarred wooden tables that had seen too many questionable deals.

  What greeted Jay and Domino as they stepped through the door made him question every life choice that had led to this moment.

  Hit-Monkey sat perched on the bar like a tiny, drunk overlord, a bottle of beer in each paw, chittering complaints about American alcohol quality. His perfect black suit was disheveled, his usually immaculate fur sticking up like he'd been electrocuted.

  At a corner table, Gorilla Man and Machine Man had cornered a group of women who looked progressively more annoyed by the second.

  "But seriously, ladies," Kenneth Hale was saying in his refined British accent, gesturing with arms that could bench press a car, "how many men can honestly say they've fought a gorilla and lived to tell about it? I'm quite literally an animal in bed, which makes me quite the catch if you want to experience some literal BBC action."

  "And I'm technically superior to human males in every measurable way," Aaron Stack added with metallic enthusiasm that somehow managed to sound perverted. "My stamina is unlimited, and I come with built-in customizable attachments for optimal pleasure delivery."

  The women exchanged looks that clearly said 'get us out of here' and practically sprinted for the exit.

  Across the room, Masacre had gathered a crowd of rough-looking bar patrons, gesticulating wildly as he preached.

  "?Hermanos!" he called out, his priest collar gleaming under the bar lights like a beacon of divine madness. "The word of Dios is clear! We must love our enemies, turn the other cheek, and then BLOW THEIR FUCKING HEADS OFF in the name of righteous justice! Sometimes Jesus needs backup with the smiting, sí?"

  The crowd looked torn between religious reverence and complete confusion.

  But the real spectacle was happening near the pool table. Deadpool and Slapstick had set up what appeared to be a carnival game designed in hell's basement.

  A hand-painted sign read: "$20 TO PLAY - TRY AND HURT SLAPSTICK, WIN $1000! (Warning: May cause existential crisis regarding laws of physics and urge to chase roadrunners!!)"

  A long line of eager participants stretched across the bar, each armed with increasingly creative weapons. Baseball bats, mallets, frying pans, and one particularly optimistic individual with a medieval flail.

  A burly construction worker brought a sledgehammer down on Slapstick's head with enough force to crater concrete. Slapstick's eyes bulged out cartoonishly, complete with little birds tweeting around his flattened skull, before he accordion-folded back to normal with a perfect "BOING!" that seemed to come from thin air.

  "NEXT!" Deadpool called out cheerfully, pocketing another twenty like he was running the world's most dangerous lemonade stand. "Step right up and test your might against cartoon physics!"

  "Holy shit," Jay muttered, taking in the three-ring circus. "This is your team? I finally remember their antics at the party!"

  Domino's eye twitched. "Oh, they are so fucking dead."

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  What followed was swift, merciless, and beautiful in its efficiency.

  Within thirty seconds, all six members of the Mercs for Money were kneeling in a perfect line, hands behind their backs, sporting matching lumps on their heads that defied physics in Machine Man's and Slapstick's cases.

  Domino stood before them like an angry mother discovering her kids had thrown a house party, smoke literally rising from her clenched fists.

  "I am tired of your shit!" she began, her voice carrying the kind of authority that made grown killers whimper. "I leave you alone for ONE DAY, and I come back to find Hit-Monkey drunk off his ass, Kenneth and Aaron sexually harassing civilians, Masacre inciting a religious sermon, and Wade running an illegal gambling operation!"

  Jay bit his lip to keep from laughing. Domino in full protective mode was both terrifying and endearing.

  "Can't you behave like adults instead of making me babysit you like overgrown children?"

  "In our defense," Gorilla Man said carefully, like he was defusing a bomb with his voice, "you did disappear without warning. We were... processing our anxiety inappropriately."

  "And I was conducting legitimate research into my invulnerability," Slapstick added helpfully, managing to look innocent despite the chaos around him. "The data could revolutionize cartoon physics!"

  Domino's glare could have melted steel. "Sit. Stay. And Shut the fuck up."

  All six mercenaries nodded like bobbleheads in an earthquake.

  Jay cleared his throat and let his mirage drop, returning to his normal appearance. The effect was immediate.

  Deadpool and Slapstick launched themselves at him like overexcited fans spotting their favorite celebrity.

  "OH MY GOD!" Slapstick bounced like a hyperactive rubber ball, his eyes literally popping out on springs before snapping back with cartoon sound effects. "You're him! The guy who made Doom look like a complete amateur! Can I get your autograph? Please?"

  Deadpool was already unsheathing one of his katanas with theatrical flair. "Holy shit on a cracker! Please sign this beautiful death-dealer! After seeing you work that blade against Doom like you were conducting a symphony of violence, I got so inspired I've been practicing my sword work!" He paused. "Well, okay, for like twenty minutes. But that's basically three hours in Deadpool time."

  "And your revenge!" Slapstick continued, his jaw literally dropping to the floor with a THUD before he yanked it back up. "Pure psychological warfare! And calling Doom C-U-C-K on live television was just chef's kiss! Absolute fucking artistry!"

  Before their fanboy enthusiasm could spiral further, Machine Man and Gorilla Man stepped forward.

  "Perhaps we should be more respectful," Aaron Stack said diplomatically, his voice managing to convey 'please don't get us killed'. "We wouldn't want to offend the Power Broker."

  Jay held up a hand, studying Deadpool and Slapstick with growing curiosity. Something about their behavior was pinging his enhanced senses.

  "Tell me something," he said, tone casual but eyes sharp. "Do either of you ever feel like you're being watched? Like there's some kind of... audience observing your lives?"

  Both mercenaries froze. Deadpool's mask somehow conveyed absolute terror while Slapstick turned paler than possible, given his already white face.

  "We don't know what you're talking about!" Deadpool squeaked, his voice jumping three octaves. "Nobody's watching us! There's definitely no one reading about our adventures while procrastinating at work!"

  "Right!" Slapstick jumped in. "And there's certainly no one who might get tired of our meta-humour and decide to write us out faster than Netflix cancels good shows!"

  "What story? What fourth wall?" Deadpool laughed frantically, literally sweating bullets that clinked on the floor. "We're just living normal mercenary lives!"

  They both looked around nervously, expecting cosmic retribution.

  Before Jay could dig deeper, Domino's fist connected with both their heads in a perfect double knockout that would make boxers weep with envy.

  "Ignore them," she said, stepping over their unconscious forms. "They get weird ideas. Occupational hazard."

  Jay decided some mysteries weren't worth pursuing.

  "So," Domino said, shifting back to business mode, "what did Reed say about Slapstick's condition?"

  The team's mood became serious.

  "Reed confirmed what the Brussels scientists told us," Aaron Stack replied clinically. "Steven's body is entirely composed of unstable molecules in constant flux. Indestructible, but fundamentally altered on a molecular level."

  "Reed was fascinated," Gorilla Man added, his British accent lending dignity. "Ran tests like a kid in a candy store. Even offered Steven a position at the Baxter Building. Full salary, benefits, all the training he could want."

  Jay looked at Slapstick, noting the genuine excitement in his cartoon features. "If you want, I could help. Give you a mental switch to appear human when needed, turn back to Slapstick when necessary."

  Slapstick's expression became uncharacteristically serious. "No. This is me now. I'm finally unique. Finally special. I have real powers."

  Gorilla Man leaned forward with concern. "Are you sure, Steven? This is permanent. Think about dating, job interviews, grocery shopping."

  "You know how I felt watching you guys fight Taskmaster while I handled logistics?" Slapstick's voice carried pain beneath the cartoon cheer. "When he captured me, I was helpless. Just a normal kid in over his head, nearly getting everyone killed because I couldn't defend myself."

  Jay studied the young man's face, seeing conviction mixed with barely healed trauma.

  "I'm not taking away your uniqueness, kid. I'm offering choice and control."

  "And I'm choosing this," Slapstick replied firmly, his cartoon features conveying absolute determination. "This is who I want to be. Who I need to be."

  The team nodded approvingly. Jay respected the decision.

  "What about Reed's offer?" Masacre asked, his priest collar somehow making the question sound like a blessing.

  Slapstick's grin returned full force. "Are you kidding? Of course I'm taking it! Working with the Fantastic Four? Learning stretchy cartoon physics from Mr. Fantastic? It's like graduate school for toon force!"

  The team patted his back warmly, like family celebrating success.

  "They grow up so fast," Deadpool fake-sobbed, pulling out a handkerchief from under his pants.

  Gorilla Man stepped forward hesitantly. "Can you help with my situation?"

  Jay studied him, remembering his origin from comics. "I'm sorry, but I can't help permanently." He tried power suppression, placing a hand on Gorilla Man's arm, but nothing happened. The transformation was deeper than biological.

  "The curse from killing the previous Gorilla Man in Africa while searching for immortality - that's woven into your soul."

  "How did you know?" Kenneth asked, surprised by Jay's detailed understanding of his guarded secret.

  "Secrets are my bread and buttter." Jay's expression grew serious. "Stand still. Let me try something else."

  He attempted to disrupt the curse's energy pattern using Sung-il's ability. For a brief moment, Kenneth flickered to human form: middle-aged, kind eyes, greying temples, the bearing of someone who'd seen too much.

  But the instant Jay removed his hand, the transformation snapped back. Kenneth stood as Gorilla Man again, looking more defeated after glimpsing his true self.

  "I'm sorry. Curses like this are beyond my current abilities." Jay scribbled an address on a napkin. "Try 177A Bleecker Street. They're the experts on mystical problems. Tell them I sent you - they'll at least listen before slamming the door."

  Kenneth took the paper like it was made of hope. "Thank you. Just knowing someone might help... that's more than I've had in years."

  Before the mood could turn too somber, Aaron Stack cleared his throat with a sound like a computer rebooting.

  "Actually, I have news. Stark was so interested in my mechanical body that he offered me a position as a technical assistant. The pay's too good to refuse, plus I am already excited thinking of the upgrades he promised."

  "Why didn't you tell us right after the party?" Slapstick asked, looking hurt.

  "I didn't want to steal your thunder, Steven. Plus, I wanted to make sure Stark's offer was real and not just champagne-fueled ego."

  That left three team members: Hit-Monkey, Masacre, and Deadpool. They looked at each other uncertainly.

  "What's with the long faces?" Domino asked, reading the mood shift. "We still have the Taskmaster assignment. Don't tell me you're slacking just because the team's changing."

  Jay had been considering this since the party.

  "Actually, Wade, I have a proposal. Why don't you catch Taskmaster for me instead of your original customer? I'll make it worth your while."

  Deadpool tilted his head like a confused puppy. "Look, I may be morally bankrupt human garbage, but I don't screw over customers. That's bad for business, and my reputation's already hanging by a thread."

  Jay's smile turned knowing. "What if I could give you a real incentive? What if you could go back to Vanessa?"

  The change in Deadpool was immediate and dramatic. His usual manic energy drained away. When he spoke, his voice was quiet and serious in a way that shocked his team.

  "What the hell are you implying?"

  "Go to District X. Look for Callisto, the one with an eye patch and a serious 'don't mess with me' attitude. I'll get you on the priority list."

  Deadpool's head snapped up. "Priority list for what?"

  "To get your face fixed. There's someone named Masque there. His power is flesh manipulation that makes plastic surgeons look like kids with Play-Doh."

  The silence was deafening. Domino's hand flew to her mouth, remembering Jay's war with the Hellfire Club to rescue Masque.

  "Wait," she breathed. "You still have him?"

  "He's working off his debt helping Morlocks integrate into normal life. Consider it a signing bonus." Jay said while texting on his phone.

  Deadpool's hands shook as he touched his mask. "You're serious. You could actually fix this? Make me look human instead of a walking PSA against illegal experiments?"

  "I just messaged Callisto about your arrival. She'll prioritize your case."

  For a moment, Wade Wilson just stood there. Jay could feel hope and fear warring behind his mask. The possibility of maybe having a real chance with Vanessa instead of being the monster in her life's shadows.

  "You got it, boss," Deadpool said finally, voice rough with emotion he was trying to hide. "Maximum effort. Come on, you beautiful disasters," he called to Masacre and Hit-Monkey, "the chimichanga trio's going to make Taskmaster regret every life choice!"

  He paused with characteristic inappropriate timing. "And by 'claim his ass,' I mean capture him and definitely not whatever your dirty minds just imagined. Though if someone wants to write that fanfiction, I won't judge. Much."

  The team mobilized with professional efficiency, but Deadpool turned back to Domino with an obvious grin.

  "What about you, Domino?" he asked in an exaggerated tone.

  Before she could answer, Jay's arm slipped around her waist, pulling her against his chest.

  "She's on a very private assignment. Sorry, Wade."

  The remaining team members burst into teasing grins and suggestive comments. Hit-Monkey chattered what was clearly approval mixed with innuendo. Masacre made the sign of the cross and muttered "Children of the Lord, remember... fornication before marriage leads to the fiery pit, but damn if the journey doesn't look fantastic."

  Domino's face went bright red as she formed a threatening fist. "Looks like I didn't discipline you assholes enough earlier."

  The teasing stopped immediately, all three snapping to attention.

  Jay laughed heartily at the dynamic. This dysfunctional family of killers somehow worked despite their clashing personalities and traumatic backgrounds. At the center was Domino, keeping them in line through maternal care and credible threats of violence.

  "Try not to blow anything up," Domino called as they headed for the door.

  "No promises!" Deadpool called back cheerfully. "But we'll try to keep collateral damage minimal! Probably! We'll definitely avoid hospitals and orphanages!"

  Then it was just Jay and Domino, standing in the suddenly quiet bar, hands intertwined and futures stretching ahead like uncharted territory full of possibilities.

  After all, they'd already survived the hardest part: finding their way back to each other through all the chaos and world-ending threats that seemed to follow them everywhere.