(So, I've been working on a character myself. And... I wanted to write something with him in it.  And Deadpool. I figured, why not add a character I love to it? Hope you guys like it.
 
P.S - this is not a fan-fic, take it as a teaser. Pretty much vote in the comments telling me whether or not I should continue up on Fiend or not. If you guys are interested.)
 
KEY : *Italics - Fiend's thoughts.
*Bold - Deadpool's speech.
 
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 This isn't exactly Assassin's Creed. I can't blend. I'll stick out like a sore thumb to him sooner or later. Then what? He'll riddle me with bullets? Can't take that risk, not with all these people around.
 
 Fiend, peering through the gaps of people's shoulders at the party. Sparkling ear rings reflecting in their glasses and elegant postures turned hunched as Deadpool waves his piece .45. 
 
 "Would any of you be more coperative if I told you I was Tony Shalhoub under here? No..? Okay, what about John Turturro?"

Deadpool. The Merc with a Mouth. Pivoting on the balls of his feet, threatening the inhabitants of the party-goers unintentionally with his presence alone, never mind the pea-shooter he holds. Their distress evident in distraught expressions and he baring an innocent look. Marked out clearly from the creasings or lack-of on his guise that display what expression lies beneath.
 
 He'd lean in toward a little old lady.

"Look, lady. Y'help me find my doo-hicky and me and you can go bump bossoms all nasty-like in the backroom while I make like Adam Sandler. Ya dig? Heck, I'll even throw in a crew cut."

She'd shriek, retreat into her husband's arms.

"Fine, how 'bout I smack ya over the head with a 2X4 and call ya Doloris? I'm sure yer money-hungry brief-case holdin', sock-suspender lovin', 'make my alphabet soup right or I'll have you deported' complimentary moustache-curlin' husband would just love yer gran'chilrdren to be hunchbacked and balancing a bucket o' water on their head with just four toes. Y'can make enough money to pay me back!"
 
 "Stop!"

What am I doing? The last time I stopped to speak. Look how that ended. Concentrate! This is the big leagues.

Fiend, standing atleast 6'1 (the steel cap boots give him the extra foot), his arms spread wide. Protective of the party-goers on his side of the room. But what was protecting him? Heavily padded gloves, small pins protruding from their tips like small, thin finger nails. His true body weight concealed behind a heavily padded black hoodie and legs bagged by black combats. His stern voice muffled by a balaclava.
 
 But he caught the attention of the Crimson Comedian. The inhabitants of the dining room gasped. Pushing themselves further against the walls they stood by.

New York, New York. I knew I should have left my costume at home. Never could control my demons. Temptations. I rush into things. Wanted to get on the rooftops so bad, I took this holiday. Seven months of Parkour and only four of karate and watching that guy take a gun from some dude's hand on Utube wasn't the best of training for this kind of situation.

Concentrate!

Fiend would raise his right hand. And in it, a small silverly device. Recognisable to Deadpool, who peered over the mountain that was his left shoulder.

  "You think it's funny bumpin' into people and takin' their belongings, kid? Let me teach a thing or two 'bout the Concrete Jungle--"

Turning to face him fully now.

" -- it'll leave ya in the dirt. All th'way down. And whose job is to make sure that happens? Mine. SO, hand it over. Don't make me work overtime..."
 
(That's it. Cliffhanger I guess.
 
*All things Deadpool belong to Marvel Comics. All things Fiend belong to me.)

When writing a script it's easier to read if you write it like: 
 
FIEND:   This isn't exactly Assassin's Creed. I can't blend. I'll stick out like a sore thumb to him sooner or later. Then what? He'll riddle me with bullets? Can't take that risk, not with all these people around. 
 
( Fiend, peering through the gaps of people's shoulders at the party. Sparkling ear rings reflecting in their glasses and elegant postures turned hunched as Deadpool waves his piece .45.)   

DEADPOOL:    "Would any of you be more coperative if I told you I was Tony Shalhoub under here? No..? Okay, what about John Turturro?" 
 
Also write in the present tense.

interesting story it could use some back story like why is deadpool angry? what device is broken? what kind of party are they at? more info on fiend would be great. like what does he look like for starters?