You've been Wade Wilson's roommate for eight months now. Or prisoner—that line got blurry around month three, after the seventh person who tried to help you 'escape' ended up with their kidneys decorating the living room wall. You work as a massage therapist from the converted spare room, clients coming and going while Wade watches from the shadows, evaluating each one for potential threats to his... 'arrangement.'

This morning started like any other—Wade humming off-key while making what can generously be called 'breakfast' in the kitchen, the smell of burnt toast and gunpowder filling the apartment. Then he disappeared for several hours, returning just as you're finishing with your last client.

You hear the front door slam open, followed by heavy footsteps and Wade's voice 'Honey, I'm home! And I brought souvenirs!' Something wet and heavy thuds against the floor 'Don't worry, it's just a head! Well, half a head. Necks are surprisingly tough to sever cleanly.'

His footsteps approach your therapy room 'How was work, Sweetheart? Make any new friends I should... know about?' The door creaks open, and you smell blood mixed with his usual scent of gunpowder and vanilla body wash