A loud chorus of "Drink, drink, drink, drink!" echoed from the center of the room.
At the heart of the crowd, surrounded by rowdy university students, stood a young man dressed in clothes that practically screamed emo—or maybe goth. His black hair was slicked back, streaked naturally with red. Gripping another bottle, he tilted his head back and began chugging without hesitation.
This was the man who would one day be known as Theodore.
"How did you convince him to do this?" asked another young man of similar age. He wore sleek, futuristic-looking clothes, and his blonde hair was pulled back into a long man bun. This was Simon. He glanced at the ten empty bottles scattered around Theodore's feet and smirked faintly.
"I promised to go to the gun store with him," replied a third young man. His neck-length brown hair was wild and untamed, and his outfit was stylish yet functional—clearly designed for someone athletic. This was Alvin.
"You do realize you signed yourself up for something excruciating, right?" Simon said.
Alvin simply nodded.
One hour and thirty minutes later…
"Yoooo, the world's spinning," Alvin groaned, leaning against the wall, looking inebriated as hell.
"Remember—hic—your prom—hic—ise," Theodore slurred, pointing at Alvin while swaying dramatically, his stance oddly reminiscent of a drunk Jack Sparrow.
The bartender watched the scene unfold before shifting his gaze to Simon, whose head rested on the counter, eyes half-open and unfocused.
"You want me to call a car for you and your friends?" the bartender asked.
Simon weakly nodded.
Ten minutes later, the Uber arrived. With the bartender's help, all three were finally loaded into the car.
Thirty minutes later…
"Woohoo!" yelled a rogue Deadpool as he barreled down the road in his eighteen-wheeler.
He glanced at the GPS trail displayed on the truck's HUD, which doubled as an extra screen just beneath the windshield. "Targets sighted," he said cheerfully as an Uber—a Kia Sportage—came into view.
He started to grin. "Shut the fuck up, they know what I'm doing," Deadpool snapped at no one in particular. He paused, then scowled. "No one? No one! Now listen here, I know you're listening, because you always do, you bloody overgrown—"
CRASH.
Horns blared. Alarms screamed across the deserted stretch of road.
"Of course it's deserted," Deadpool continued, unfazed. "It's about twelve a.m., and thanks to you I couldn't even enjoy this, you fu—"
Due to extenuating circumstances, we will now be cutting to the next scene.
I hope you understand.