Does Deadpool Feel Pain

The project I had poured my heart and soul into earned the company over a hundred million in profit, yet the credit was handed to the vice president's nephew. I stood in a corner, the stack of source code documents trembling in my hands, nearly crushed by my grip. That nephew—who couldn't even get Hello World to compile—was now on stage, smiling brightly as he accepted the award. The vice president came over and draped an arm around my shoulder like we were old friends. "You're just an outsourced worker," he said casually. "These honors wouldn't mean anything to you anyway. Jason is new. He's got limitless potential. From now on, you'll be responsible for mentoring him properly." Only then did I realize that decades of struggle had been nothing more than laying out a red carpet for someone else's glory. That very night, while reviewing the project's code repository, I discovered a massive flaw—one serious enough to bring the entire system crashing down within three days.

I did three years in prison for my wife, Lilian Parson. The day I got out, she handed me an envelope for her company's grand opening. Inside was a single dollar bill. For a second, I thought it was a mistake. Then I saw her colleague, Nathan Ramsey, holding his envelope—his also contained a single dollar. Relieved, I pushed my doubts aside. I smiled, stood by Lilian's side through the entire ceremony, the picture of a proud, supportive husband. That night, scrolling through Instagram, I saw Nathan's latest post. A photo of a check. [Congratulations to Lilian Parson on the grand opening! So generous—100 million as a gift!] The comments section exploded with envy and blessings, congratulating him and "the boss" on finally becoming a couple. Lilian offered no explanation. Instead, she hurried to draw a line between us. "You just got out of prison," she said coolly. "It's not a good look to go public right now. Let's keep our marriage a secret. In front of others, just call me your boss." Then she turned around and liked Nathan's post. I wiped the tears from my eyes, picked up my phone, and dialed the number of her greatest rival. "From now on, I work for you," I said.

At the year-end company meeting, I was announcing the bonuses when a new employee suddenly raised her hand. "Over at the other company, they handed out two boxes of imported cherries at their annual party," she said, shaking her phone. "And we only get performance bonuses?" The video, maliciously edited, went viral online and hit the trending list the very next day. I had the finance department cancel all the year-end bonus transfers. "If cherries are what really count as a gesture of goodwill," I said, "then this year's year-end benefit will be cherries—fifty boxes per person." When they saw the mountain of cherries piling up before them, the employees who had once joined in mocking me panicked instantly. One by one, they cried and apologized, begging me to reconsider.

I accidentally come across a post made by my mom's smurf account on the Internet. "Is it too cheap for me to prepare just a set of gold bars as a coming-of-age gift for my daughter?" My heart skips a beat. My parents are known for being extremely stingy. To think that they are willing to spend this much on me! I'm worried that my parents might overwork themselves just to prepare such a lucrative gift, so I take a screenshot and save the link to a three-year vacation tour that's priced at 999 dollars. Then, I decide to respond to the post as an anonymous user. "Your daughter will feel very happy as long as she receives her parents' love. No materialistic gift can ever outshine that." Five minutes later, Mom responds to me, "Thank you for your suggestion, but I've already taken my darling on a graduation trip in Enora last week. She had so much fun there."

The owner of a small company gives me an expensive bag as a gift because I want to invest in his company, yet his wife mistakes me for a homewrecker. She and her entourage crash my engagement party and trash the place. "All homewreckers need to go to hell!" "Shameless women will always be shameless. Strip her so everyone online can see what she looks like!" "Share the livestream and like it, everyone! We'll disfigure her once we hit 500 thousand likes!" Not only does my fiancé refuse to help, but he even announces that the engagement is off. "A homewrecker doesn't deserve to marry me!" I repeatedly warn them not to act rashly, but they ignore me. So, I give them each a swift punch to the gut before stepping on the perpetrator's face. Then, I call my secretary. "Tell Mr. Lane that I'm pulling out of the investment. Also, call the police and my lawyer. I've been robbed and insulted in public—I want the culprits to go to jail for this!" My fiancé regrets everything and asks me for a reconciliation, but I kick him aside. "Get lost! I'm not dumpster!"

When I was five years old, I was kidnapped by the human traffickers. Later on, I was abandoned at Dreadvault Isle's prison meant for serious offenders located in the infamous no-man's land of Cloudguard Continent. In order to avoid dying from starvation, I clung to Edgar Blythe, who was a serial killer with the highest bounty known on the Internet, and called him "Grandpa Eddie". Then, I moved to grip Franklin Graves, a former boxing champion, by his diamond-crusted belt just to beg for scraps. Finally, I entangled myself around a top-tier assassin's leg while yelling at the top of my lungs, "As long as you don't let me starve to death, I'll make sure to take care of you once you grow old!" All the international mercenaries, arms dealers, and professional assassins were stunned by my declaration. In the end, they gave me some leftovers from their own plates. That was how I was raised in prison. Since my grandpas have enemies all over the globe, the first thing I do after returning to the country is act like a cowardly impoverished student. When I'm a college sophomore, Leonard Hargrove, a rich scion from a conglomerate, has accused me of stealing his laptop. He even beats me up relentlessly on the campus field and breaks three of my ribs by stomping on my chest. To make things worse, he forces me to swallow blood-drenched soil. I'm in so much pain that I've practically gone nuts and bitten off half of Leonard's ear as a result. Jordan Chappel, the dean of the college, kicks me to the floor when I meet him later on in his office. "Do you really think you're in the right for stealing from someone else, you broke bastard? All he did was hit you a few times! It's not like you'll die from those attacks! "You'd better tell your guardians to come here as soon as possible! I want to see them groveling to me and apologize on your behalf!" After spitting out a mixture of blood and saliva, I turn to stare Jordan dead in the eye. "Are you sure you really want my guardians to show up?"

Stanley Meyer and I were the main leads of a sappy school romance novel. We were childhood sweethearts with a bond stronger than iron and steel. Everyone thought that I'd be Mrs. Meyer in the future despite the fact that I was the daughter of the Meyers' housekeeper. That was, until I personally witnessed Stanley making out with Tina West, Gerard West's illegitimate daughter who has just returned from abroad. He even put the emerald pendant, which was supposed to be a keepsake from my grandma, on her neck carefully. I was overwhelmed trying to figure out this unexpected variable outside the plot. But Stanley decided to imprison me in a mental asylum instead. "It's better for you to wake up from that daydream of yours. I'm sick of hearing you prattle about the male and female leads for so many years. Only when Tina is by my side do I feel a sense of freedom." The torture I was forced to undergo in the mental asylum was too much for me to handle. My only salvation was the spare time I got to scribble down the original plotline of this novel. When Stanley found out, however, he torched my drafts instantly. He even went as far as to poison the glass I drink from. Before I died, I heard his icy voice. "Tina will continue to live her life in fear as long as someone in this world remembers the original plot. That's why you must die for her sake." When I woke up again, I'd returned to the day I witnessed Stanley and Tina making out with each other. Everyone around me wore various expressions, though they collectively decided to stay quiet. I was the one who shattered the silence by raising my glass with a smile. "I wish you a lifetime of happiness."

I am about to book a room at a hotel owned by Luca Conti, a consigliere under my command, when a sharp voice suddenly cuts in from behind me. "Aspetta. That's not your price." I turn around. A woman wearing a manager's badge stands there with her arms crossed, scrutinizing me as if I am an unsightly stain she can't wait to wipe away. "We don't allow prostitution here," she says coolly. "If you're receiving clients, there will be a fine." As she speaks, she hands me a penalty notice. The charges are clearly listed on the paper. "Illegal guest reception fee: 350 thousand dollars. "Special soundproofing fee: 150 thousand dollars. "Special cleaning fee: 100 thousand dollars. "Total fee: 600 thousand dollars." Receiving clients? I have simply come straight from a Mafia cocktail party without changing clothes—that's all. What exactly does she take me for?" I lift my gaze and answer evenly, "You're mistaken. I am not that kind of person. You can contact the hotel owner, Luca Conti, and ask him who I am." A sneer flickers through Sofia Rossi's eyes. She spits to the side, full of contempt. "Still claiming you are not a puttana? Women like you come here every week. Every single one of them swears she knows him. "Our boss is the consigliere to the Russo family, the most powerful Mafia family in Seneriffe. Do you really think he needs someone cheap like you? "I suggest you pay up now, subito, before your client loses patience and drags you into the street and rapes you." I do not waste another word on her. I take out my phone and send a message directly to my secretary, Marco Bianchi. "Notify Luca. Either this manager, Sofia Rossi, disappears from this city, or he does."

My name is Emma Brannigan. Just as my relationship progress hits 99%, Jake Sterling convinces me to sleep with him. The next instant, the system's sharp warning rings out. "Emma, Jake's affection level for you has fallen from 99% to 60%! He's clearly unhappy with your performance." I spiral into self-doubt and try every possible thing to improve myself. One day, I overhear Jake bragging to his friends. "Emma still doesn't realize that I can control her progress however I want. "It's exactly like training a dog. When she does well, I raise her score as a reward, and when she slips up, I lower it to push her to improve. "The first time she slept with me, I wasn't satisfied, so I dropped her progress to 60%. "I bet she's already thinking about how to do even better for me next time!"

I broke up with love. Swore I’d never fall again. Then my boss, Xander Blackwell, walked in with his sharp suits, colder eyes, and the kind of mouth that ruins all rules. We agreed: no feelings, just touch. Just heat. Just bodies. But somewhere between late-night calls and stolen glances, the line we drew started to blur. He says I’m just his assistant. But when he whispers "mine" it doesn’t feel like a lie. This wasn’t supposed to mean anything. So why does it feel like everything?