The Sahara
Dreadpool crawled from the smoldering, spark-filled debris of the space pod. His verdant cape was in tatters. Scuffs covered his armor. A new crack had formed upon the forehead of his pale green helmet. The sparks he heard firing off from his back told him all he needed to know about the state of his jetpack.
He let out a groan as his entire body ached. It wasn't as though he were in critical condition, but crash landing a space vessel never felt good. Especially one as small and dysfunctional as the stolen pod that now lay in ruins beside him.
"Stupid, rusty old pod," Dreadpool grumbled. The pod had malfunctioned as he'd entered Earth's atmosphere. Clearly the prison sector he'd taken from wasn't keen on taking care of those things.
Rolling over onto his back, he collapsed against the sands. They seared against his suit and armor, but the thief was far too exhausted to care. Not that he could to stay here, keeled over in the middle of a desert, however.
With all the strength he could muster, the Marauder stood. Head pounding, tiredness threatening his conscious state, he trudged onward through the sands.
He needed to get to the nearest civilization, repair his gear, and lay low for a while until the prison sector found better crooks to hunt. An antiquated world like Earth was the perfect place to keep a low profile.
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