***GWEN***
Following the water might not have been the best idea. I'm forced to come to this conclusion after the umpteenth time we hit a corner and have to go around again in some 3D 360-degree circular path. That's followed by me touching the wrong wall and experiencing a ninety-degree gravity shift. I'm stuck with my cheek pressed into the asphalt. Then I look up and see the others looking down at me. Rolling my eyes, I scoot myself forward until I can touch my feet back to the other wall - the "floor" I just abandoned. When gravity shifts on me again, I thank God for my Spider-powers (for the first time, I think), because they help me stick the landing without wobbling.
It's Harry who breaks the silence first. "This isn't getting us anywhere," he says. "I swear, we've passed this same damn gargoyle three times already."
"You mean the one with the horns on his nose?" asks Deadpool. "Or the one with the horns on his chest? Or...or the one with the horns on his b-"
"Ugh," Kamala groans, covering her ears. "We get it. You so horny."
"Maybe, but not like the gargoyles," Deadpool says. "I'm not that disfigured."
Strange snaps his fingers. "Dammit, I should've seen this!" He stretches out his hand over the water, then casts a spell and changes the flow. "I thought so," he says. "Ricky doesn't realize it's us, so he's engaging in heavy-duty psychic defense."
"What's he trying to do?" I ask. "Trap us?" Strange's lack of verbal response and increased pacing are all the answer I need. "Really? Ricky, we're the good guys! I would've thought you'd wanted us in here!"
"Normally, you're right," says Deadpool. "We've all got an open invitation to this headspace - well, maybe not you, Gobby-"
Harry growls under his breath, and not just from that silly nickname either, I'm thinking. "So are you saying it's my fault we're lost? 'Cause I'm not welcome here?"
"No, no, no," Deadpool says, holding up his hands. "It's not you, it's Ricky. He's...paranoid, is all. Usually not against us, but I'm not surprised. Every artist snaps eventually."
"He's not paranoid," I say. "He's bizarre, but..." My voice trails off. Just how unstable is Ricky? I've long suspected he's got a certain level of insanity, but I've also recently heard someone say that maybe a little mental illness is a prerequisite for being a hero. But as a writer, Ricky's dangerous to others. Specifically, his characters. Who knows what he could do to us just for sneaking into his head? "Open invitation" notwithstanding.
And now I'm feeling paranoid. Another symptom of Deadpool Syndrome, maybe?
Ahead of us is another huge wall where the water flows in a channel straight up its face. Before we take this net gravity-altering path, Kamala grows to a colossal height and peeks over the top. "There's a lot less reality-warping on the other side," she says. "You guys want me to lift you over?"
I exchange glances with the guys. Then I shrug and lead the way onto Kamala's hand as she extends it down to our level. Once we're all in place, she lifts us up and deposits us on solid ground on the other side of this wall. Then she vaults herself over, flexing like Elastigirl. (If only she and the rest of her family were real. The Incredibles were my favorite superheroes as a kid.)
"It looked a lot less scary from the other side," Kamala says as she stares up at the soaring towers of this concrete jungle.
"You were bigger on the other side," I remind her.
"Cities scare me," she laughs. "Blame it on the sort of parents who always knew how to make me feel small."
"Really?" I ask. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Harry about to respond as well, but I shoot him a look until he shuts his mouth.
"Not intentionally, of course," Kamala adds quickly. "It's just...well, my parents are cool, but I never felt like they wanted me to fit in. Of course," she laughs, "they probably thought my definition of 'fitting in' was a lot more lax than theirs. I wasn't about to start getting drunk at parties - intentionally, that is - for acceptance."
"Good for you," I say. I've been in a similar situation myself, once before. I went to a party with the permanent residents of Midtown Science's cool kids' table all in attendance, and I was horribly disappointed that all my classmates just yielded to temptation and allowed themselves to embody all the worst stereotypes of partying teenagers. Drinking, smoking weed (probably the most buzzed I've ever been was from the contact high alone), swimsuit-orgying in the Jacuzzi, the works. Needless to say, I barely lasted fifteen minutes before I had to leave with Sally Avril in tow, and I've never been to another Flash Thompson party since.
"Yo, Gwen." Deadpool nudges me, then points up at the sky. "Something about that sun look a bit off to you?"
"You're looking at it directly?" I ask, horrified. "How are you not going blind?"
"The same way I've never gone blind by jerking off with a hand that's still growing back after getting shot off," Deadpool says, ignoring the disgusted groans that erupt all around him - including from me. "Thanks to my super-duper-mutate-y healing factor, I'm immune to all bacteria, viruses, and old wives' tales."
"So what's it like?" asks Harry. "Looking at the sun when all the damage just heals itself?"
"Like looking at the world's brightest strobe light," Deadpool says. "For a tiny fraction of a second, all is dark. Then for a tiny fraction of a second, all is light again. And so on, and so on, ad infinitum fucking nauseam."
"Maybe that's why it looks...'off?'" I ask.
"More than that," Deadpool says, "it looks like it's getting covered."
I look up at the sky, shielding my eyes. "You mean an eclipse?"
"More than that," Strange says, copying my gesture. "Look, half this sky is day and half is night."
"And the night half is getting bigger," says Kamala.
I gasp when I realize they're right - behind us, the sky is turning black, instead of the blue ahead of us. Soon, the sun is blocked completely, casting us in complete shadow. Complete, that is, until streetlights automatically illuminate to either side. Broad daylight persists on the next block, but the blackness is slowly covering it.
"Ricky?" I ask, hating how high my voice has become all of a sudden. "Is this some stupid subconscious psychic defense?"
Bit hypocritical of you to ask that after all the times you shut me out of your brain, says Ricky in peeved tones. It's not just me, though. It's Marvel's Folly - I'm keeping you guys safe from it.
Strange pales. "You're not serious."
They've done it without you, Double S, Ricky says. They've released Civil War in my world. Peter and Gwen are erased from the continuity now - and so are you, Harry. And so are all the other Sinisters. And Dr. Connors. And Electro. And Aunt May and Uncle Ben. And the Stacy family, and MJ Watson, and...and you know what? There are so many characters in the Amazing movies anyway, including those who never got their chance to shine. He swallows quite audibly. But the worst part is - it's not just Amazing Spider-Man characters affected by this. Anyone and everyone from the Deadpool Syndrome continuity no longer exists - unless you're in here, because my head is the only place where it's canon anymore.
Silence. Total silence as we all process this shocking, horrifying news.
Then I hear Peter's voice. Hey, guys? You still there? Come on, talk to me...