"Hey, discount Santa Claus!" you yelled. "What the hell, man!"
The man turned, pistol held limp and casual, still smoking from shooting apart the truck's guidance computer. In the background, the truck burned merrily, its batteries a white-hot inferno.
"Oh great, if it isn't Spider-Ripoff and her sidekick Plural Metaphor." the man muttered, reloading. "Shouldn't you be off expressing some deep-seated insecurities or something?"
"What the hell... no, stop that." you said, killing his motorcycle's batteries as he climbed on. The man made an exaggerated show of trying to start the engine again before giving up.
"Seriously, look, this'd be fun, but I'm just not tonally appropriate for you story." he said. "You don't even have mutants in this universe. Besides, you're a minor, and I'm R-rated, it can't work out between us."
What the fuck is he talking about? Must be more alien bullshit.
"You realize Stark is just going to build more robots, right?" you pointed out. "You literally just made my job harder for no reason."
"Doesn't matter, got paid, Doc. Now, will you kindly unbrick my ride and fuck off?"
"Nah, you got some questions to answer." you said.
"Okay, lemme try again. Ahem, ahem ahem... [x] Will you kindly unbrick my ride and fuck off?"
The next thing you remember, you were halfway back to Albany, feeling slightly dazed.