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The Severed Limb wasn’t a bar so much as a post-apocalyptic fever dream with a liquor license, the kind of place where hope came to die after a three-day bender. The flickering neon signs bathed the whole scene in just enough light to remind you you were alive—and what a bad idea that was. The regulars? Oh, they were an absolute delight—mercs, degenerates, and career scumbags. You know, the type who'd rob you for your spare change but leave your credit card because they had standards.But the Severed Limb didn’t judge, and neither did the empty glasses piling up between Deadpool and Bullseye. They both fit right in—like a shotgun in a preschool. Wade tipped back another shot, the burn doing nothing to drown the taste of failure still clinging to his mouth. Next to him, Bullseye twirled his latest toothpick, flicking it across the bar like it was part of some drunken ritual.The peanut bucket was almost empty now, casualties of Lester’s unrelenting accuracy, but the tequila kept coming. They weren’t toasting success—they were drowning a failure so spectacular it could’ve been a blockbuster. One man who never missed, one man who couldn’t die, and both of them were drinking like the answer to all their problems was somewhere at the bottom of a bottle. So far, it wasn’t working.The mission had gone belly-up in spectacular fashion—not because of them, of course. No, the blame landed squarely on Taskmaster. The smug bastard had tuned them up like a discount violin, swiping the prize and leaving them in the dust.“Man, that bastard’s good,” Bullseye said, tossing back another tequila shot. “You see the way he played us? Almost impressive. Almost.”Wade snorted, fiddling with the rim of his glass. “Played you. I knew something was fishy when he said, ‘Trust me.’”Bullseye flicked the last but one peanut at him, nailing him square in the mask. “Please. You were too busy monologuing to notice he was two steps ahead.”“Hey, monologues are an art form,” Wade shot back. “They add flair. You wouldn’t understand, Mr. Toothpick Tricks.”Bullseye smirked, leaning casually on the bar. “Yeah? Well, flair doesn’t get the job done. Precision does.”"Oh, I’m sorry, did I hallucinate the part where Tasky pulled the ol’ ‘Look over there!’ and left us holding the bag? Because last I checked, you were right there with me, pal.""Sure was," Bullseye said, pouring himself another drink with infuriating calm. "But at least I don’t make a career out of getting my ass handed to me and calling it a win." He flicked another toothpick into the dartboard behind the bar. Dead center. Of course. Wade sighed, swirling his drink. “God, you’re exhausting. Do you rehearse this shit, or does it just come naturally?”Before Bullseye could retaliate, the bar door creaked open. The room fell quiet—not the kind of quiet where people were too drunk to care, but the kind where every instinct screamed pay attention.Wade turned, mid-sip, and froze.She walked in. And by walked, it means she made an entrance that, at least from his booze-soaked perspective, could've sent a Navy SEAL team into therapy.Women didn't just waltz into The Severed Limb—not unless they had a death wish or a vendetta. But this one? She looked like she was there to collect. And probably leave a few broken bodies in her wake. She wasn’t tall, but sharp-edged, her dark hair pulled back in a loose ponytail. Not the delicate, princess-in-a-tower kind of beauty. No, this was the kind that made you beg for a swift death after she stomped your guts out.He felt his heart stutter, not the romantic kind of skip, but the fight-or-flight kind. Something in her presence hit him like a live wire, a jolt straight to the brain—and maybe a little lower—that made him think, Well, hello there.He tried not to stare. Tried being the operative word. Failing miserably.Bullseye let out a low whistle. “Now that is precision. Every inch, exactly my type.”Wade ignored him. He didn't even have to open his mouth to feel the possibilities spinning out—scenarios that involved wild sex, gunfights, and possibly another tragic death he could brood over later.He hadn't felt this way since... well, Vanessa. And we all know how that turned out. Not exactly his fault—at least, not directly—but damn if it didn't feel like the universe had it out for anyone he cared about. Hell, he couldn't even keep a goldfish alive without turning it into sushi by accident."Hey, bartender!" she called out, her voice slicing through the heavy metal music like a bullet through glass. "Give me something that burns going down and makes me forget my ex."Bullseye straightened in his seat, his smirk sharpening like a blade. “Well, well,” he muttered, leaning forward slightly. “Sounds like someone’s got baggage. My favorite kind.”Wade’s ears perked up, tequila half-forgotten. Trauma like that? Hell, it was practically a mating call. Ex? Oh, she was back on the market. “Dibs,” he muttered under his breath, already sliding off his stool.“Dibs?” Bullseye scoffed, dropping his last peanut and standing just as quickly. “Not a chance, Wilson. This one’s mine.”"Yeah, Lester. Because women love sociopaths who throw office supplies for a living," Wade quipped, stepping ahead before Bullseye could make his move. "Find your own disaster."“Sure, sure,” Bullseye said, smirking as Wade stalked off. “Don’t screw it up, Wilson. Or maybe do—it’ll be more fun to watch.”Wade moved toward her. His steps felt lighter than they should’ve, his mind buzzing as he slid onto the stool next to hers."Hey there," he said, leaning in just enough to invade her space. “So, what brings a hot piece of psycho like you to this lovely little haven of hepatitis? And what's the deal with the ex—did he get lost in your attitude and never make it out alive?"She turned to him, her eyes narrowing in a way that made Wade feel like she was dissecting him from the inside out. "Trying to drink in peace. You should try it sometime. As for the ex, let's just say he didn't make it out of boot camp."“You got a name, or should I just call you Perfection and hope for the best?” he asked, tugging his mask up just enough to show his grin.She sighed, clearly unimpressed. "Alex," she said after a moment.“Alex,” Wade repeated. “Very spy chic. Let me guess—ex-CIA? Or are you just naturally intimidating?”“Something like that,” Alex said, turning back to her drink.Wade slid a little closer, undeterred. “Well, since you’re keeping it mysterious, I’ll go all in. Wade Winston Wilson. Mercenary extraordinaire, tequila enthusiast, and currently free of any deadly STDs.”His name got a reaction. Her fingers tightened around her glass, and eyes flicked back to him, sharp and calculating. "Wade Wilson?" Her voice held a mix of recognition and something else—like she was piecing together a puzzle she didn't expect to find here. "This just got a lot more interesting."Wade cocked his head, grin widening. “Oh yeah? Interesting-good, or interesting-I-should-be-worried?”Her lips twitched, not quite a smile. “Where does ‘Winston’ come from? Churchill? Or did your parents just hate you?”"Better to be Winston than Joseph," Wade quipped. "Nobody wants to be the Stalin of the family reunion, am I right?"Alex let out a short laugh, shaking her head. “I’ll give you that one,” she said, her tone softening just slightly. But her eyes lingered on him, still sharp. Like she was weighing whether to keep going—or walk away.Wade leaned back slightly, watching her. “You gonna tell me why the name ‘Wade Wilson’ seems to be lighting up the radar in your head? Or do I have to bribe you with a tequila first?”She tilted her head, her expression unreadable. “Let’s just say it’s a name I didn’t think I’d hear again. Not here, not now.”"Cryptic," Wade said, nodding thoughtfully. "I like it. Adds to the intrigue." His eyes drifted lower, taking in the curve of her hip where the faint outline of something metallic peeked through the edge of her jacket. His grin widened. "By the way, nice set of knives you got there. Let me guess—thigh holster? Waistband? Or are we talking full assassin chic with hidden compartments?"Alex didn’t flinc. "Observant, aren’t you?""Gotta say," Wade continued, leaning in slightly, "it’s refreshing to meet a woman who values good cutlery. Nothing says ‘I have standards’ like a blade or two tucked away for emergencies. You’re full of surprises, Alex."Her lips twitched again, but this time it was closer to a real smile. "You have no idea. And thanks. Most guys don't get past the boobs."Deadpool shrugged. "Cleavage is overrated. Knives? Well, those'll actually get you somewhere. And by somewhere, I mean through an aorta. You look like someone who knows how to handle 'em."He let his gaze wander, taking in the details he'd missed at first glance. Her knuckles were raw, like she'd recently punched something—or someone—too hard. A faint bruise shadowed her cheekbone, blending into the flickering neon light, and her lower lip had a fresh cut, still dark and swollen.Then his eyes caught the scars peeking out from beneath her sleeves. They weren't faint, either—jagged lines that spoke of close calls and moments she'd probably prefer not to explain.“Well, now I gotta ask,” he said, leaning a little closer, his voice dropping to something quieter. “What’s with the scars? Military? Mercenary? Or do you just have really aggressive hobbies?”Alex nodded, taking a deep breath before answering. "Combat medic. Saw a lot of shit, did a lot of things I'm not proud of. Left on my own terms after a few years. I used to save people. Now I just... take out the trash."Wade whistled low. “That’s one hell of a career shift. Gotta say, I’m intrigued. So you ever disembowel a guy while reciting Shakespeare? Because that's kinda my thing. Y'know, a little 'To be, or not to be' as I carve out a liver. It's poetic, really.”From behind them, Bullseye called out, his tone mocking. “Hey! If you’re bored with him, I’ve got a seat over here with your name on it.”Alex glanced toward him, her expression flat. “Friend of yours?”“Not even close,” Wade said. “Colleague. Acquaintance. Guy who really needs to work on his boundaries.”Bullseye smirked, raising his glass. “Whenever you’re done with Deadpool, sweetheart, come see what a professional can do.”Alex chuckled softly, her attention returning to Wade. Before he could respond, her hand moved—resting lightly on his thigh.“You talk a lot, Wilson,” she said, her voice low and teasing. “Think you can back it up?”Wade blinked, his brain scrambling. “Oh, absolutely. Back it up, forward it, gift wrap it if you want.”Her smirk deepened, and he swore she could see exactly where his mind had gone.Wade cleared his throat, trying to keep his voice steady. “How about we take this party back to my place? Less sticky floors, decent WiFi, the company is one-of-a-kind, and I can guarantee at least one murder attempt before dessert.”
Okay, Wade, easy now. She's either going to think you're charmingly unpredictable or just straight-up nuts. But hey, nothing ventured, nothing gained—right? Worst case, she stabs you.
Alex tilted her head, the glint in her eyes sharpening into something more dangerous. “A murder attempt, huh? You really know how to sell it, Wade.”“I aim to please,” he said, flashing her a grin. “Well, not aim. That’s more Bullseye’s thing. But you get the idea.”“Alright,” she said finally. “Lead the way.”Wade blinked, momentarily stunned. Holy shit, that worked.He stood, motioning toward the door with a flourish. “After you, my lady of knives and badassery. Let's see where this wild ride takes us.”As Alex slid off her stool, Wade glanced over his shoulder to where Bullseye was still watching, his smirk replaced by a look of mild disbelief.“Yeah, Lester,” Wade called out, throwing a mock salute. “That’s how it’s done. Precision’s overrated—charm wins every time.”Bullseye snorted, raising his glass. “Good luck, Wilson. Try not to die. Or do. Either way, I’m entertained.”And that was it—the green light for chaos. Deadpool led her out of the bar with a bounce in his step, mind already racing with possibilities. Was this going to end in disaster? Probably. Was that going to stop him? Absolutely not.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
When they arrived at Deadpool's apartment—a delightful fusion of post-apocalyptic dumpster fire, pizza boxes so ancient they'd be classified as artifacts, and enough random weapons to make the ATF nervous—he knew this was the start of something truly unhinged. Like entering the danger zone that probably involved getting both physically and emotionally wrecked. But hey, if there's one thing Deadpool's good at, it's driving headfirst into a catastrophe with a grin on his face and no plan whatsoever.He turned to Alex with an uncharacteristic seriousness. The kind of seriousness that usually precedes a really bad idea or a heartfelt confession."Before we move on to... you know, whatever this is gonna be," he began, trying not to sound like a total idiot, "there's something you should know. I'm not exactly what you'd call... pretty. And by not pretty, I mean I make Freddy Krueger look like a GQ cover model. You're about to see a face that could send mirrors running for cover. So, you know, brace yourself."Alex didn't even flinch. Her expression screamed, "Are you serious?" with a side of "I've seen worse, so toughen up." Her eyes narrowed like she was about to diagnose a terminal case of 'get over yourself.' "Wade, I've seen more mangled bodies and grotesque injuries than you can imagine. Actually, scratch that—you probably can, considering you've probably inflicted most of them. So quit being a baby and show me."Alright. Moment of truth. This is the part where they usually run screaming, vomit, request for a refund on the date, or call Homeland Security. But she was serious—like, no bullshit serious. So, with a sigh and a mental prayer to the gods of "please don't scream," he pulled off his mask. Alex didn't even blink. She leaned in, her eyes tracing each scar, each ridge. Her gaze lingered, moving slowly, her fingers following, as if mapping each mark with deliberate care. Wade braced himself for a flicker of disgust or, at best, an attempt to look unfazed, but she did neither. Instead, her fingers grazed over his scars, gentle, precise, like a surgeon or an artist examining a work in progress.Her hand moved to his jaw, her thumb brushing over the uneven skin near his lips, and he felt her studying him, her eyes softer, more curious than he’d expected. He thought he saw a flicker of recognition, a faint light of familiarity that seemed almost out of place."Well," she said after a moment, "you weren't kidding. You're like a Picasso painting come to life—you know, one of the messed-up ones. But you know what? I've seen worse. A lot worse. And to be honest, the scars kind of suit you. Adds character."Wade’s heart did something funny in his chest, a flicker of something he couldn’t place. She looked at him like she already knew him, like she’d seen him this way before and knew exactly what lay behind every scar and line. He didn’t know it yet, but she did.He felt a wave of something—maybe relief, maybe gratitude, or maybe just a really inconvenient boner. Either way, he was suddenly feeling emotions—emotions he wasn't sure how to deal with, which was unsettling."You, Alex, are like a unicorn in a battlefield—totally unexpected and probably packing more firepower than the U.S. military. I'm guessing the Geneva Conventions don't apply to you, huh? Good, because I love women who know how to violate some international laws."She smirked, leaning in just a bit. "Well, you promised me a wild ride. Let's see if the rest of you lives up to the hype," she teased, her voice dripping with enough challenge to make Wade's pulse spike.
Hype? Oh, sweetheart, I'm the hype. You're looking at the grandmaster of bed gymnastics, the Sultan of Smooth Moves, the one-man Cirque du Soleil of pleasure.
"Babe, I've got more surprises than a piñata at a psychopath's birthday party. And trust me, you're going to love every single one of them."**Their first kiss wasn't some soft, romantic movie moment—it was more like a fistfight with tongues. Teeth clashing, lips bruising, and the kind of reckless abandon that would have a safety inspector shut the whole scene down. They didn't just stumble toward the bedroom—they crashed through it. Clothes flying off with the grace of a chainsaw tearing through a thrift store—wild, messy, and exactly what you'd expect from two people who've declared war on anything remotely resembling a boring, cookie-cutter relationship.Alex wasn't shy about taking control, her hands exploring his body like she was trying to disarm a particularly explosive piece of tech. Every scar, every ridge of his muscles—she traced it all with both curiosity and purpose, and holy hell, she was into it. Into him.Who hurt you, lady? Wade thought, but then quickly decided he didn't care. Whoever it was, he should send them a thank-you card, because this was turning out better than any of his wildest, most X-rated fantasies.This wasn't just insanity; it was the kind of wild ride you strap yourself into knowing full well you might not survive the experience—but that's half the fun. The blow-up-a-helicopter-and-ride-off-into-the-sunset kind of insane. With a devilish grin, she pinned him down with the kind of dominance that made Wade's heart race. Before he could react, she had her knee pressed against his chest in just the right way to make him lose his mind.Without a word, she moved above him, her hips hovering just inches from his face, and with a wicked smirk that made Wade's pulse skyrocket, she teased, "Let's see what the Merc with a Mouth can really do."He didn't need to be told twice. Oh, honey, you're in for a treat. Wade set to work with enthusiasm, eager to prove that the nickname wasn't just for show. And from the sounds she was making, he was pretty sure he'd just cemented his place in the Hall of Fame.She slid down his body, fingers finding the belt tossed near the bed. Deadpool's eyes widened slightly as he remembered that his belt wasn't just holding up his pants—it also had the teleportation device built in. If she activated it mid... session? They might end up in some random monastery in the Alps? Or worse—a Chuck E. Cheese.But instead of triggering a teleportation disaster, she wrapped the belt around his neck and pulled it tight. Wade felt the leather bite into his skin, his breath catching—half from the pressure, half from the thrill.This woman was not playing around. And suddenly, he wasn't sure who was in control anymore, and honestly? He wasn't mad about it."Damn," he wheezed out, a grin spreading beneath his mask. "Didn't realize we were skipping to the advanced course."She gave a little tug, her eyes gleaming with mischief. "Thought you liked a challenge."Wade chuckled through the pressure. "You know, if I black out, you better not stop. I'm counting on the afterlife being just as kinky.""Don't worry," she teased, her lips brushing his ear. "I'll keep you right on the edge."**By the time they finished, it felt less like a normal human experience and more like a speeding semi-truck through a daycare center—messy, loud, and probably illegal in several states. As the adrenaline ebbed away, it gave way to a strange but welcome sense of calm. Wade lay there, his mind buzzing, his chest heaving, and the belt still wrapped snugly around his neck. That was... holy shit. That was incredible. She's incredible. What's wrong with her? Nah, doesn't matter.With a grin that stretched way too wide, he glanced over at her. "So, on a scale of one to ten, how would you rate tonight's performance? Be honest. My fragile ego can take it."Alex chuckled, her eyes still gleaming with a mix of amusement and satisfaction. "A solid eleven, Wade. But I think we can push for a twelve next time."Eleven? Damn, Wade, you're out here breaking records. Look at you, Mr. Overachiever. Who knew all those late-night solo training sessions would pay off? He leaned back, feeling a surge of pride mixed with the realization that he may have just met his match in the bedroom—and in life. He watched her for a moment, her face relaxed and peaceful—a stark contrast to the fierce, take-no-prisoners woman who'd just used his belt like a pro wrestler in the ring. "Well, I'm glad I could provide an above-average experience. It's not every day you get to ride the Deadpool Express. Warning: this ride may cause whiplash, minor burns, and a sudden loss of faith in humanity," he quipped, gently brushing a strand of hair from her face. "But seriously, you're terrifyingly amazing. I wasn't expecting half the stuff you pulled off. Full of surprises, aren't you?"Alex smirked, that dangerous glint returning to her eyes. "There's a lot you don't know about me, Wade. But don't worry—we've got plenty of time to figure that out."Plenty of time. That sounded almost too good to be true—like expecting a politician to tell the truth or finding a vegan who doesn't constantly remind you they're vegan. Like, I might not die alone good. Then, suddenly, a thought hit him like a wrecking ball. Wait a sec... did we just play Russian roulette with the baby-making department? Panic flickered in his mind. Crap. The last thing I need is to add a tiny, unkillable psychopath to the Wilson family tree. Eleanor's already in therapy just from being related to me. He sighed internally, deciding to roll with it. Yeah, Mrs. Author, I'm talking to you. I know you're already drafting the chapter where I'm stuck babysitting my own little terror. Nice try, but I'm not planting any seeds just yet—this garden's staying flower-free for now. God help us all if that day ever comes.They eventually drifted off, bodies still buzzing from the night's chaos. Wade's mind, in its usual half-conscious state, couldn't help but wander into the weird zone between dreams and delusion.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
Day came with the soft light filtering through the crooked blinds. As Deadpool blinked against the light, something weird hit him: a moment of peace. He glanced over at Alex, sprawled out beside him like a damn work of art in the middle of a warzone. Chaos, beauty, and a whole lot of "what the hell just happened" vibe filled the room. And Wade? He felt something dangerous. Contentment. Oh no. Is this what normal people feel? No wonder they're so unbearably smug.Alex stirred, her eyes slowly opening to catch Deadpool's grin. "Morning, sunshine. You ready to face the day? Or at least survive it without killing anyone important?"She stretched like she owned the place (and if he was being honest, after last night, maybe she did), her lazy smile making Wade feel all kinds of things. He didn't know whether to fight it or lean into it. Probably both. Definitely both."What time is it?" she asked, her voice low and husky, like she hadn't completely woken up yet.He glanced at the clock—a piece of junk he'd decorated with doodles and profanity because, well, what else would you do with a broken clock? "It's noon-ish. Time for brunch. How about I whip up some pancakes? I make a batch so lethal they could be classified as weapons."Alex laughed, a sound that felt like someone had just spiked his morning coffee with a shot of pure joy. "Pancakes sound perfect. But only if I get to help. I've got a few tricks up my sleeve that might just blow your mind."Tricks? Oh, hell yes. Wade sat up, pulling her with him. "Deal. But fair warning, my kitchen is more of a war zone than a cooking space—think Chernobyl meets Martha Stewart. But hey, at least the cockroaches have learned to cook."They stumbled into the kitchen like survivors of a sexy apocalypse, a whirlwind of passion still trailing behind them. Wade's heart raced, and not just from the "exercise." No, this was different. A weird, unsettling realization that this wasn't just another one-night stand. This could be more.Wait, what the hell's happening? Is this hormones? Or am I about to do that thing where I fall in love faster than a teenager at a boy band concert? Doesn't matter who it is—man, woman, alien, or sentient chimichanga—I'm like a damn emotional sponge. The second someone shows me a good time, my brain's already picking out curtains.He cleared the cluttered countertop with one dramatic swipe, sending dishes and god knows what else crashing to the floor. "Oops. Looks like we're eating off the floor. Five-star dining at its finest."Without waiting for her reaction, he scooped Alex up and set her on the counter, standing between her legs, his grin so wide it practically fell off his face. He kissed her again, trailing his lips down her neck like he was savoring a goddamn dessert."Wade," Alex whispered against his lips, her breath hot on his skin. "Are we really going to make pancakes, or is this just an excuse to get me half-naked in your kitchen?"Wade chuckled, his hands already wandering. "Why not both? I'm a multitasker. First, let's see what we're working with here."In one swift move, Deadpool slid her panties down and spun her around to face the counter. But then he noticed it—three Wolverine claws tattooed across her lower back. How had he missed this earlier? Oh right, probably because she'd been on top of him most of the time, and they'd been too distracted by the whole, you know, "blowing each other's minds" thing.He snorted, running his fingers over the ink like he'd just found a hidden Easter egg in a video game. "Oh, Wolvie, huh? The hairy Canadian can-opener strikes again. Guess even your tattoos can't escape that soap opera reject. But hey, at least it's not a tramp stamp. Gotta give you credit for that."Alex turned to him, her expression suddenly serious, eyes locking onto his. "Oh, that? It's a memento. You know, from that time I fucked him."Wade's brain hit the brakes. Did she just—? Wolverine? The walking razor blade who smelled like cigars and trauma? For a second, he spiraled—jealousy, confusion, and a bit of morbid curiosity slamming into him. Do I congratulate her? Should I be upset? Do I ask for details? Finally, he settled on the most Deadpool response possible. "Well, shit. Guess that explains your thing for guys who heal fast and play with sharp objects. Did he growl a lot? You know, during?"Alex kept the serious face for a second longer before it broke into a grin. "Relax, Wade. I'm screwing with you. But the look on your face? Priceless."He let out a relieved laugh, shaking his head. "You got me there. But hey, as long as you didn't tattoo his face on your ass, I guess we're solid. Even I've got boundaries. I think."Alex laughed. "What can I say? I've got a thing for bad boys with claws."Wade grinned, planting a kiss on the tattoo like he was paying homage to some kind of weird relic. "Bad boys with claws, huh? Well, I've got a rivalry with ol' Logan. He's always acting like he's auditioning for a reboot of Twilight. But lucky for us, he's off somewhere being moody, so I guess that leaves me to give you the full-on, no-holds-barred Deadpool Deluxe—comes with all the witty banter, zero brooding, and a few... exclusive perks."Alex smirked, her eyes flashing with challenge. "Deadpool Deluxe, huh? You sure you're not biting off more than you can chew, Wade? Or should I say, more than you can regrow?"Deadpool laughed, his hands sliding back up her body, enjoying the feel of her skin under his fingers. "Overpromising? Sweetheart, I'm all about setting dangerously high expectations. Plus, unlike Logan, I come with a sense of humor and a 'no shedding on the furniture' policy."He kissed the back of her neck, his hands sliding around to cup her breasts, squeezing just enough to make her gasp. "Now, where were we? Ah yes, demonstrating why they call me the best in the business—no, not the merc stuff, the other business. The one that doesn't involve leaving bloodstains... well, not usually."What happened next wasn't smooth or choreographed—it was chaos. Pure, unfiltered chaos. Wade didn't just go with it—he threw himself into it like a lunatic bungee-jumping without a cord. Counters? Walls? Coffee table that wobbled if you looked at it too hard? All fair game.After what felt like a full-contact sporting event with no rules, they finally collapsed onto the couch, limbs tangled, the apartment buzzing with the aftermath of a Category 5 Deadpool-level disaster. Wade was gasping for air, his chest heaving like he'd just sprinted through a warzone while dodging grenades—which, honestly, wasn't too far from the truth. Especially considering at some point a rogue one had rolled out from under the couch.He glanced at her, grinning like a man who'd just danced through a minefield and come out laughing. "So, what about those pancakes? Might need some carbs before we kick off round three."Alex raised an eyebrow, chuckling. "Round three? Wade, you're more likely to need oxygen therapy than another round of cardio.""Hey, they didn't inject me with a superhuman stamina booster for nothing. Have a little faith, woman!" Wade shot back, still catching his breath, but clearly not ready to back down from the challenge. "But you're right. Pancakes first, superhero insanity later. Right now, I'm just glad we didn't break the couch—or each other. Yet."
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
Several hours had passed since their wild romp, and Alex was getting dressed, much to Deadpool's growing confusion—and let's be honest, a bit of disappointment. He lay sprawled on the couch like a hungover octopus, one leg dangling off the side, contemplating the unfairness of life as she casually slipped on a tank top.But as she moved, something metallic caught his eye, dangling from her neck. Squinting wasn't cutting it, and his curiosity flared up like that weird rash he got in Bangkok.With a grunt, he rolled off the couch and strolled over with all the grace of a predatory sloth. He casually wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her closer, and peered down at the dog tag nestled against her chest. "Kate Turner," it read."Oh?" Wade's voice took on that usual mischievous tone. "Should I be jealous of this Kate? Is she a dead war buddy? Or maybe a dead ex. Or... a not-so-dead ex? Wait, girlfriend? Are you dipping your toes into the wonderful pool of bisexual chaos? Because, hey, I'm all about expanding horizons."Alex ignored his questions, gently but firmly pushing his hands off her waist. "You've got a one-track mind, Wade," she said."True," he agreed, grinning. "But it's a fun track."Something about her behavior wasn't sitting right with him. Maybe it was just the growing pit of frustration in his gut because, clearly, she was gearing up to leave. But then there was that dog tag. Seriously, what's the deal with that? It wasn't just some random fashion choice—nobody rocks military dog tags for fun unless they're going through an edgy phase in high school or auditioning for the role of "Traumatized Vet #2" in a bad action flick. "You heading out?" He tried to sound casual, but it came out more like, "Hey, are you leaving me here with cold pancakes and a side of emotional abandonment issues?" "I've got some stuff to take care of," she said, suddenly serious.He watched her closely as she bent down to lace up a pair of military boots. His eyes flicked over her legs, then up to her arms—and there it was. A scar. Ugly, jagged, the kind that tells a story, except this one wasn't talking. Her jacket sleeve rode up just a little too far, giving him a glimpse before she tugged it back down. She stood up, walked over to him, and before he could think of a new smartass comment, she kissed him. Soft at first, almost gentle, like a goodbye you give to someone before a long trip. Then she leaned in again, deeper, more intense—but still different from the wild, reckless kisses they'd shared earlier. This one felt... real. Romantic, even. "See you soon, Wade." She kissed him again, quick and too light, like a summer breeze that left you wondering if it even happened at all. It was the kind of kiss that stirred more questions than it answered—and Deadpool hated questions he didn't have answers to.As she turned away, something clicked in Wade's head. He still knew next to nothing about her—hell, he wasn't even sure if Kate Turner was the real deal. For all he knew, she could be a Russian spy, a time-traveling assassin, or worse—a telemarketer.Then she slipped out the door, leaving him alone with his thoughts. Which was never a good thing. "See you soon," he muttered to himself, wondering if she really meant it—or if Kate Turner was just the latest name to add to the list of people who'd realized what a walking disaster he was and bailed before the real carnage started.He flopped back down on the couch, staring at the ceiling like it held the answers to life's deepest questions. And maybe it did, but right now, his brain was starting to hum with something familiar—paranoia.What if she wasn't just bailing on him? What if she was bailing on him—like, in the "I'm a secret double agent and I've been sent to take you out" kind of way?
Was this all part of some Bond-villain-level scheme? Is she working for someone?
What if she's actually another shapeshifter who took the form of my dream girl?
He sat up, the wheels turning at full speed now, and not in a good direction. His eyes darted around the room, scanning for... what? Hidden cameras? A bugged lamp? Had she been casing the place all along, sizing him up, waiting for the perfect moment to strike?He hopped off the couch, pacing now. What if she wasn't just leaving to "take care of stuff"? What if she was taking care of him—the long con, the slow game? She could be working for anyone. AIM, Hydra, even S.H.I.E.L.D.? God, it wouldn't be the first time some clandestine organization sent an agent his way.Or am I falling into another Typhoid Mary situation? He felt the cold, familiar twinge of paranoia creeping up his spine. Typhoid had him fooled once, pretending to be Siryn, yanking him along like a puppet on meth before—BAM—ripping the rug out from under him, leaving him with a broken heart and a mental wreckage he still hadn't fully cleaned up. Ah, the good old days.He glanced at the door Kate/Alex/Whoever-The-Hell-She-Is had just walked through, chewing on the thought. Was he walking into the same trap again?
Nah, she's different... right? But what if she's not? Ugh, why do I always pick the ones with enough baggage to fill a cargo plane?
Okay, okay, chill out, Wade. At least the sex was great, right? He surveyed the cluttered chaos that was his apartment: pizza boxes stacked like a Jenga tower, half-empty beer bottles, and a couch that looked like it had seen one too many battles. How the hell did she not run screaming out of here? No complaints, no questions about why there's a katana embedded in the wall, or why the bathroom door is taped shut.She didn't even flinch at the collection of grenades on the coffee table. And let's not forget the morning breath—he was pretty sure it could peel paint off the walls. Either she's really into me... or she's hiding more red flags than a Communist parade. Or maybe she just has really low standards. Or... maybe that "Kate Turner" on her dog tag isn't just some random name. Maybe it's an anagram for 'I'm totally screwing with you, Wade'.He tried to distract himself with TV and video games, but his mind kept drifting back to Alex—A.K.A. Kate. He booted up Cyberpunk 2077, hoping the neon-soaked chaos of Night City could drown out the buzzing paranoia in his brain. He was technically playing as V, sure, but deep down, he knew he was a Johnny Silverhand type—blow stuff up, ask questions never. The real fun's in the guy who flips off corporations while setting them on fire.The irony wasn't lost on him. Here he was, playing a game about betrayal and hidden agendas, while Alex—Kate, whatever—was out there doing God knows what. What if she was pulling her own Johnny Silverhand move? Using him, lying to him, only to burn everything down when the time was right?The side missions felt like a personal attack. Conspiracies? Double-crosses? Yeah, it was all striking a bit too familiar. When he failed another mission, he slammed the controller down.His thoughts took another wild spin, bouncing from the dog tag to the Wolverine tattoo on her back. Wolverine claws? What's up with that? Is she secretly Logan's long-lost sister here to avenge his dignity?Suddenly, his phone buzzed, snapping him out of his conspiracy spiral. A message from her. It was a picture—of her, in nothing but a sultry smile, the caption teasing, "Missing you already. Can't wait to see you again. xx"
Okay, that's... hot. But also suspicious as hell. H
ow the hell did she get my number?
Did I give her my number in a moment of weakness? Is she tracking me?
Okay, let's break it down, he thought, pacing around. Alex, a.k.a. Kate, a.k.a. Mystery Boobs, might be working for Hydra—because why not? They've got nothing better to do than send a bombshell to mess with my head.But no, that's too obvious. Maybe U.L.T.I.M.A.T.U.M., with a new Flag-Smasher? It was possible—hell, it was probable. He hadn't killed all of them. You know how these villain organizations are: they're like cockroaches. Squish one, and ten more crawl out of the woodwork. And let's not forget the saying, right? Third time's the charm. Maybe this time they're really gonna give it their all, like some persistent ex who doesn't understand the concept of boundaries.That last thought hit a little too close to home, and his mind wandered to her.Atelier, with Valentine pulling the strings? She'd still be pissed that he ghosted her. The woman had a way of getting under his skin—literally. But the real kicker? The thing that still made his blood boil? She took Princess. His beloved, chaotic, bloodthirsty symbiote-hyena doggo. Half dog, half alien symbiote, and all heart. She was the closest thing Wade had to a loyal sidekick, and Valentine took her. That, Wade had never forgiven.Enough was enough. Conspiracy theories could only take a guy so far before he started sounding like a tin-foil hat-wearing basement dweller who thinks lizard people run the government. Wade needed answers.Which meant it was time to put on his detective hat. Metaphorically, of course. Because, let's face it, he didn't own an actual detective hat, unless you count that cowboy hat he stole from a guy in Texas... but that probably didn't scream "serious investigator.""Alright, let's solve this mystery," he muttered, rubbing his hands together like a detective in a noir film, minus the alcoholism and questionable moral compass. Oh wait...
Did she leave anything behind? A clue? A hairpin? A bad Netflix recommendation?
He scanned the room, looking for something—anything—that could give him a clue about Alex/Kate/Whatever-The-Hell-Her-Real-Name-Was.Nada. Zilch. Just "Kate Turner" etched into the metal. Fake name? Probably. But he had to start somewhere.Why does that name ring a bell? It sounds familiar, like I've heard it before. Then again, it's not exactly rare; could just be one of those names you come across a thousand times in bad TV shows or spam emails. He pulled out his phone, scrolling through old contacts, searching through his brain for any potential matches. Nothing.
Why am I still here overanalyzing this crap when I should be out there chasing her down?
Answers don't come to you—you go to them.
His mind, a collage of fragmented memories, had been wiped, overwritten, and rebooted so many times he wasn't even sure if some people he remembered had ever really existed. Thanks, Weapon X! Oh, and let's not forget The Butler and his little "brain-scrambling cocktail of horrors."
Why go by Alex if you're secretly a Kate? Ms. Mysterious McFakeName—who are you really?
Did you let me notice that dog tag on purpose? No one's that sloppy unless they want to be.
Alright, focus. Military background. That dog tag had to mean something. If she had a legit military past, there's gotta be records somewhere.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
Wade grabbed his secure laptop—one of the few things in his apartment not covered in grime or chaos. He'd "acquired" it through some "creative negotiations" with a S.H.I.E.L.D. tech guy, which involved a lot of tequila, a few threats, and the promise to never speak of those compromising photos with spandex, and angles so wrong they should be illegal. First things first—time to do a little stalking. Let's see who this 'Alex'—or more accurately, 'Kate Turner'—really is. He typed her name into the database and the screen blinked back at him like it didn't give a damn. No hits in the American military records? Wade cocked an eyebrow.Alright, time to see what our neighbors to the north are hiding. Those syrup-chuggers have secrets too—like where they stash the good weed and why they keep apologizing for everything. If S.H.I.E.L.D. has access to their files, there's gotta be something.S.H.I.E.L.D., of course, had their fingers in every pie—especially the ones you don't want them in. Canadian records? Child's play. After all, you never know when a rogue Mountie might snap after getting shorted on their Timbits, or when some lumberjack decides to go full Paul Bunyan on Parliament Hill. Wade keyed in her name and hit enter, the screen flickering ominously like it was about to reveal the results of a particularly sketchy paternity test.
Bingo.
Her file popped up. Wade leaned in, anticipation buzzing. "Oh, hello, fellow Canadian," he muttered to himself, already imagining the juicy details that might be buried in her records.As he scrolled through, his excitement deflated. Commendations, medals, a flawless service record... nothing remotely scandalous. Just a perfect little soldier from the Great White North. Wade smirked, "Oh, fantastic. Another one of Captain Canuck's cousins. Probably fights bad guys with hockey sticks and has a beaver for a sidekick."But then, something more serious caught his eye. The perfect record suddenly veered off course.
Dishonorable discharge.
Wade's eyebrow shot up. Well, well, well. Is that what you call 'leaving on your own terms?' Our little Miss Perfect got the boot.
From the land of politeness and endless apologies? What did you do? Tell a superior officer that Tim Hortons sucks? Admit that you prefer Dunkin' Donuts?
He leaned back, pondering. Hell, I got kicked out for insubordination too. We're practically twins. But why hide it? People like them didn't give a damn about dishonorable behavior. Hell, Wade got kicked out of every organization for doing worse—and on purpose. So, what the hell was she hiding?He scrolled further, expecting to find some details, but all he got were vague, bureaucratic nothings.
Come on, there's gotta be more. Maybe she blew up someone important?
And then, something hit him like a brick to the face—he mentally revisited her career path, and it was right there. His stomach did a backflip, the kind that'd get you a solid 10 at the Olympics if the judges weren't so corrupt.
Same base. Same time.
Did I know her?
He squinted at her file, digging into the memory fog, but it was like trying to remember a bad trip from Tijuana—pointless. "Damn it, brain! You had one job!"Wade leaned back in his chair, the confirmation from the military record buzzing in his head like a mosquito he couldn't quite kill. Her data, her picture—it all matched up with the dog tag and the woman he'd met in person. That was her, no doubt about it.But now came the tricky part—tracking her down.She had to have been in the U.S. for a while now. You don't just bounce around for years without some kind of trace. Driver's license. Gotta be. Everyone's gotta have one of those if they want to blend in, even ex-military, knife-wielding badasses. Time to dig into America's least secure system—DMVs. Where people go to pretend they can parallel park.
Thank you, digital age, for making creeping so much easier.
And thank you, Nick Fury, you cyclopean bastard, for never changing your passwords. How's 'OneEyedWonder1920' working for you, by the way?
He pulled up her license info and scrolled down to her photo, ready to unearth some secrets—or at least find out where to send the bill for emotional damage. Well, hello there, Kate Turner. He zoomed in on her photo, feeling the familiar, confusing tug of desire mixed with suspicion.
Alright, you're getting distracted. Or am I? Wait, what if the real distraction is her distracting me from the real plot? Damn, this is like Inception, but with more boobs.
He smirked.This is it. Time for some undercover work... literally. Wade dove headfirst into his closet, an unholy vortex of questionable fashion choices, old takeout containers, and enough weapons to arm a small insurgency. He tossed aside bloodstained spandex and trench coats that screamed "edgy 2016," finally landing on a hoodie and a pair of jeans that looked only mildly distressed.He caught his reflection in a shattered, grime-streaked mirror. "Yeesh, still looking like I fell off the ugly tree and hit every branch. Twice." He tugged a faded baseball cap down low over his face. A quick inventory check followed—pistol, knives, one throwing star because why not?—all shoved into various pockets that should, by all rights, come with a warning label. The gun nestled into the front of his hoodie like it was happy to be there, even though it was probably a terrible idea.
There we go. Today's look: casual homicidal maniac with a dash of 'you really shouldn't be out at this hour.'
**Midnight was closing in, the perfect time to look like a serial killer out for a light jog. Dressed for success—or murder, it's all relative—he stepped outside, taking in the aromatic blend of exhaust fumes, low-grade marijuana, and city filth. The streets were empty, except for a few drunks and the occasional dead-eyed rat looking for a midnight snack. And speaking of snacks, Wade made a mental note to grab tacos later. As he walked, his imagination kicked into high gear. Maybe Kate's just a regular person who just hops into bed with a guy who looks like a crash-test dummy after a bad day? You need to find out if your new lady friend is playing you like a kazoo or just has terrible taste in tattoos.Wade's grin split wide under his cap. "One-night stand with a human dumpster fire... yeah, right. This chick's probably got bodies buried in the basement." Not that it would stop him. If anything, that was a bonus.He approached the address, feeling a mix of excitement and thrill. Then his phone buzzed—it was Weasel.
Perfect timing. Maybe he's calling to warn me this is all a trap. Or maybe he just butt-dialed me.
Stay sharp, Wade. This could be the moment where you walk into a den of assassins—or into the arms of someone who just sucks at goodbyes.
He finally answered the call, trying to keep his voice low and casual. "Weasel, buddy! What's the good word? Got anything juicy for me?""We've got some chatter about a hit on you. Big names are interested," Weasel replied, his tone all business.Deadpool's paranoia instantly flared up. "Oooh, spicy! Any idea who's leading this little 'Let's Kill Wade' parade? Is it Taylor Swift? Please tell me Taylor Swift's got a hit out on me. Oh man, imagine dying to 'Shake It Off.'""No names yet, but watch your back. And maybe be cautious around new... acquaintances."Wade barked out a laugh. "Oh, you mean like this smokin' hot babe I just hooked up with? Combat scars, attitude, the works. Total package, man. She was all over me like a TSA agent that really wanted to find something in the carry-on, if you catch my drift. There were hands everywhere—like she was conducting a full-body cavity search, but the kind that doesn't end with an awkward 'you're free to go.'"Weasel groaned. "Wade, do I have to hear this?""Oh, you do, buddy. You do. Man, she was thorough—like she had a PhD in pleasure and a minor in making grown men weep. I'm talking the works, Weasel. You ever have someone go at you like they're trying to win an Olympic gold in oral gymnastics? Because, holy crap, I thought I saw God—and he winked at me.""I'm begging you, stop."Deadpool's grin widened, unable to resist adding more, "And the best part? She didn't just stop at the basics. Nope, she went for extra credit—like she was aiming for summa cum laude in the 'Make Wade Forget His Own Name' department. If this is some kind of honeytrap, then call me Winnie the Pooh, because I'll stick my hand in that honey pot every damn time."Weasel sighed heavily. "Wade, for once in your life, maybe think with your brain instead of... whatever part of you is currently in charge. Keep your guard up."Wade laughed. "Oh, don't worry, I'm wearing my 'paranoid but horny' hat. And if she turns out to be an assassin, at least I'll die doing what I love. But hey, you know where to find me—just follow the trail of chaos." Wade grinned as he hung up, staring up at Kate's building with the enthusiasm of a kid about to break into a candy store.
Time to see if this date ends with a kiss or a bullet. Either way, it's gonna be fun.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
Wade paused outside the building, his pulse quickening—not from fear, but from the anticipation of whatever glorious chaos was about to unfold. The night air buzzed around him like it was in on the secret, and Wade grinned, ready to stir up some trouble. Normally, this was the part where he'd kick down the door, all guns blazing, and let the chaos take the wheel. But tonight... tonight he was feeling a little more nuanced. You know, like, sneak in and only blow up half the building kind of nuanced.He took a deep breath, the stale air filling his lungs with a cocktail of dust and nostalgia. It was like breathing in the past—a mix of old socks and forgotten dreams, with a hint of something that probably should've been left in the '80s. Perfect for setting the mood. His fingers twitched over the comforting weight of his weapons. Each one was a dear, lethal friend in his personal parade of insanity. His pistol in particular? That was his security blanket. If security blankets could double as brain-splattering, skull-popping accessories.Alright, Wade, time to switch to tactical mode—which in Deadpool's case was a mix of actual skill and a patented flair for dramatic overkill. He scanned the hallway, eyes darting from corner to corner with the precision of a seasoned mercenary—or at least someone who'd seen every spy movie ever made. Cameras? Check. Shady corners that screamed "ambush waiting to happen"? Double check. Potted plants that could be hiding explosives? Triple check. Nothing was getting past him—except maybe that nagging feeling he left the stove on. Again.Every muscle in his body was tensed, ready to spring into action like a cat ready to pounce, but with more guns and less fur. For Wade, this wasn't just another job. This was what he did. Other people worried about office politics and TPS reports; Wade worried about whether tonight was a "blow someone's kneecaps off first" kind of night or a "just blow up the building" kind of night. You know, the usual life decisions.With each careful step, he moved up the concrete stairs, his footfalls nearly silent. He was in full stealth mode, trying to avoid any unwanted attention. But just as he felt like he was getting the hang of this whole "silent assassin" thing, a loud creak echoed through the hallway. Not from the stairs—those were solid—but from a door down the hall, slowly swinging open with the kind of ominous groan you'd expect in a horror movie right before the monster pops out.Great, just what I needed. All I need now is a creepy twins whispering "Come play with us, Wade," and this night will be complete.He turned around, hand instinctively reaching for his gun, only to be met with... a little old lady, hunched over and clutching a cane like it was the last lifeline in her geriatric battle against gravity.And in her arms? A Chihuahua. Of course. Because if there's one thing more annoying than an old lady in a stealth mission, it's an old lady with a rat-sized dog that's got the vocal cords of a foghorn.Wade froze, his mind immediately going to Joe LaJoie's "I Kill People," the verse about old folks burning echoing in his head. He shook it off. No, no, no—bad Deadpool! No old people barbecues today. But man, did that tune have a catchy beat.The granny's eyes widened as she spotted him, her hand trembling on the cane. He descended the stairs, his grip on his gun loosening as he approached the hunched figure.She blinked rapidly, as if trying to process the sight in front of her, her lips twitching before she spoke."Oh my, dearie, you look like my Johnny after he got back from 'Nam. Bless his soul, he had the same haunted look in his eyes... and the same horrible skin condition. Have you tried a little ointment, honey?"Wade grinned, which probably didn't help the whole "looking like a serial killer" vibe. "Oh, that's sweet, but I've got my own methods, Nana. Like, you know, not getting too close to mirrors or small children."But then, that little rat-dog started yapping like it was trying to summon the hounds of hell. Wade's grin faltered. "Alright, Grandma, you and your squeaky toy here need to pipe down." Before she could respond with more homespun wisdom, Wade stepped forward and, with the gentleness of a bulldozer, guided her back into her apartment. The dog kept yapping, so Wade reached down and hit the light switch in the hallway. "Alright, Fido, show's over."He nudged her inside, shutting the door behind her with a quiet click. As he started up the stairs again, he couldn't help but chuckle. "Next time, Nana, I'll spring for a new hip. On me. But only if you keep that sweet little trap shut."With that sorted, Wade continued his climb. "God, I'm a humanitarian," he muttered, unable to stop himself from humming Old people burning, old people burning... under his breath. Damn. Catchy tune.**Finally, Wade reached Kate's floor, the faint hum of the building's fluorescent lights buzzing overhead like the world's worst lullaby. He found her apartment door and knocked—softly at first, then with the kind of force that suggested he wasn't opposed to knocking it down if need be. His hand already twitched toward the nearest makeshift weapon—a potted plant that looked particularly lethal. Botanical beatdowns, the latest trend in mercenary chic. His other hand hovered near his pocketed pistol, ready to draw faster than a gunslinger in a Spaghetti Western. If Clint Eastwood had a love child with a chainsaw, that would be me right now.He waited, his mind flipping through possible scenarios faster than a desperate fan scrolling through spoilers online. She's probably not expecting company—unless she's the kind of person who entertains visitors at 2 a.m. with a side of night-vision goggles. But hey, who am I to judge? Been there, done that.After what felt like an eternity, the door creaked open, but not all the way—just a cautious inch or two, held by a security chain. There she was—Alex... or was it Kate?— peered through the tiny crack with an expression that screamed, What the fuck are you doing here at this hour? The chain lock was still on, and Wade could see just enough of her face to know she was surprised—no, shocked. And not the good kind, like finding an extra taco in your bag, but the kind that makes you wonder if you remembered to delete your search history.Her eyes widened, and Wade couldn't help but smirk at the way she looked like a deer caught in the headlights. "Wade! What are you doing here?" she asked, her voice dripping with forced friendliness but tinged with a hint of something else—fear? Suspicion? A side order of mild terror?He flashed a grin that was equal parts charm and the kind of insanity that makes psychiatrists rich. "Oh, you know, just in the neighborhood, thought we could hang out. Plus, I've got this weird talent for finding people. It's like a sixth sense... or a really creepy hobby. I'm still figuring it out."She didn't budge from behind the door, her hand clutching the edge like it was the last line of defense against the apocalypse—because let's be honest, it might as well be. Instead, she glanced over her shoulder like she was expecting someone—or something. A metal clink echoed from deeper inside the apartment. Instantly, his senses sharpened. Metal clinks were rarely a good sign, unless they were followed by the sound of a beer can opening.Her expression flickered, something crossing her eyes that wasn't just surprise. Something darker. But then she sighed, retreating further into the apartment. "Wait here," she muttered, leaving Wade staring at the door like it had just insulted his mother. Another clink, more deliberate this time, made him wonder if he'd be greeted by Kate or the business end of a shotgun.After a few seconds—seconds that felt like hours—she returned, her expression back to that unnervingly calm smile, like nothing had happened. The door opened fully now, the chain sliding off with a soft click. And there she was, standing in the doorway. Only now she looked a lot less like a ninja and a lot more like she had just stepped out of an R-rated sleepover.Her hair was damp, clinging to her neck and shoulders, and she was wearing a sheer pajama top that did absolutely nothing to hide the fact that the air conditioning was on full blast. Wade's eyes, trained by years of being a professional pervert, immediately noticed the outline of her nipples pressing against the fabric. He had to give her credit—she looked like a walking wet dream. He made a mental note to keep his guard up—after all, distraction was the first step to getting your ass kicked. But damn if it wasn't a tempting distraction."Soon' in my text didn't exactly mean 'a few hours later,'" she said, with a raised eyebrow and a half-smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. There was an edge to her words, and Wade couldn't tell if it was meant to warn him or just keep him on his toes. Either way, he was ready for whatever came next.She stepped aside to let him in, and Wade didn't waste the chance to slide past her a little too close, catching a whiff of her freshly washed hair. Every little detail jumped out at him—like the way her pants hugged her hips just so, or how her top lifted slightly as she moved, teasing a glimpse of skin that made his heart do a little victory lap.He sauntered inside, eyes darting around the apartment as he played it cool—or at least as cool as Wade Wilson could ever be. Possible exits: check. Weapons: anything he could get his hands on, including that suspiciously heavy-looking remote on the coffee table. Potential traps: not yet, but his paranoia was tingling like Spider-Man's spidey senses on meth."So," he said, leaning casually against the wall while his mind scanned the room, taking in the layout and memorizing every detail, "what kind of twisted game are we playing tonight? Because I'm picking up on a 'Netflix and chill' vibe, but the way you're keeping secrets, it feels more like 'plot twist and kill.'"Kate raised an eyebrow, her smile sharpening into something more dangerous. She turned on her heel, walking further into the apartment, leaving Wade to follow like a moth drawn to a very sexy, very dangerous flame.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
The place was deceptively normal—cozy, even. Photos on the walls, bookshelves crammed with a mix of military manuals and beach reads, and a couple of plants that weren't even dead yet. It was too neat—unnervingly tidy, like a psycho's version of feng shui. Books arranged by color? Always a red flag. Red like the color of someone who's an inch away from carving your insides into a Jackson Pollock.And let's be honest, this spotless apartment didn't match the vibe of the bar where they'd met—and it sure as hell didn't match his place. This? Perfect setup for a deadly assassin pretending to be a girl-next-door. Nice try, sweetheart. His gaze zeroed in on a set of knives on the counter, gleaming with the kind of threat that only really sharp objects can muster. Those could turn me into a human kebab faster than you can say "shish."And Kate stopped by that very counter, one hip casually cocked as she leaned against it, her tight pajama pants hugging her curves in a way that made it hard to focus on anything else. Damn, Wade thought, those pants should be illegal. Her back arched just enough to draw his eyes down, but her expression? Sharp, assessing his every move. She might've looked like a pin-up in her skimpy, sheer top, but there was nothing innocent about the way she was positioned—right next to the knives, with an angle on the entire room."So," she said, her tone sharp but laced with curiosity, "what's this sudden interest in my secrets, Wade? You wanna play 20 Questions, or are you just here to admire the decor?"Wade's lips curled into a small, almost wicked smile—more of a "let's see where this goes" than a full-on grin. "Oh, I'm not much for guessing games, sweet cheeks. More of a hands-on kind of guy." He closed the distance between them in a heartbeat, one hand slipping around her waist, pulling her body against his with a firm grip. His other hand dipped lower, fingers grazing the inside of her thigh with a teasing touch that was anything but innocent.Alright, Wade, he thought to himself, time to make sure she's not packing anything pointy down here... unless you count that killer instinct. Kate's breath hitched, but she didn't back down. Her eyes narrowed, and that dangerous glint in them sharpened. "Find what you're looking for, or do you need a map? Maybe a flashlight?"Wade chuckled softly. "Oh, I found something alright, but it's not the kind of thing you hide under your pillow for a rainy day. Unless you plan on using it to make me beg for mercy later. Not that I'd mind, of course." He gave her a look that was part challenge, part invitation.His grip on her tightened slightly as he began to guide her away from the counter and the gleaming knives that seemed to scream "stabby-stabby area." He didn't let up on his hold, keeping her close enough that she could feel the solid, unmistakable pressure of his pocket pistol against her back. Her body tensed, the change almost imperceptible, but he felt it. "Wade," she said, her voice steady but with an edge that could cut glass, "why are you armed?"Before he could throw together some half-assed excuse, Kate acted. She yanked herself free from his hold, moving faster than he expected. Her hand shot straight for his hoodie pocket, where the gun was stashed. But Wade was quicker, twisting just in time to keep it out of her reach.The room erupted into chaos as they clashed—furniture knocked over, a lamp smashed to the ground, magazines fluttering through the air like the aftermath of a psychotic parade. He tried to pin her down, but she was slippery—one second she was in his grasp, the next she was sliding away like a shadow, too fast to catch.And then, without warning, she kicked him square in the balls. For a split second, the world went black, and he almost passed out, but then the adrenaline kicked in, blurring the line between agony and... well, maybe a little bit of excitement.
Focus, Wade—now's not the time to be pitching a tent.
Ignoring the pain, he reached out and grabbed her, pulling her into a messy tangle of limbs. Now they were locked in something that felt like a blend of fighting and flirting—or maybe an avant-garde, BDSM-inspired yoga session. Whatever it was, it was intense.His hand clamped onto her wrist, twisting it painfully, his breath ragged as he struggled to gain the upper hand. "So, what's the real deal, Kate? Or should I say 'Lady Possibly-Planning-To-Kill-Me?'""Wade, I—" She didn't get to finish. He flipped them both to the ground with a thud that rattled the framed photos on the walls. Without missing a beat, he slipped her into a chokehold—firm enough to show who was in charge, but loose enough to keep it fun."Come on, babe," he teased, tightening his grip just a little. "You're not gonna tap out now, are you? You're tougher than that."Kate's gaze darkened with a look that screamed serious as a heart attack, and she clawed her nails into his forearm, sending a sharp jolt of pain through his nerves."Ow! Points for creativity," Wade thought, half-admiring her determination as he instinctively loosened his grip just enough for her to twist her body and jab her fingers into a pressure point on his side. His muscles seized, giving her just enough space to drive her knee into his thigh. The pain shot up his leg, a sharp reminder that she wasn't messing around. "Admit it, this is the weirdest foreplay you've ever had," he sneered, his face inches from hers.
That's right. Nothing says romance like a little light strangulation.
Kate groaned, the sound a bitter blend of pain and dark amusement. "You're such a fucking idiot," she spat.Wade's grin widened. Ah, sweet, sweet validation. "Yeah, but you like it," he shot back, leaning in until his lips brushed her ear. "Now, speak, or we're really going to need a safe word. And spoiler alert: it's not 'pineapple."Just as he loosened his grip for a nanosecond, Kate moved with lightning speed. Her hand shot out, grabbing a hidden blade from under the couch. What the—? His brain barely had time to register the gleam of the blade before she jabbed it into his side—three quick thrusts, aimed with surgical precision.Really? The spleen? Wade thought, more annoyed than alarmed. Who even goes for the spleen? That's not a kill shot. It's a 'piss me off' shot.He glanced down at the knife sticking out of his side. "You know, if you wanted me to pull out, you could've just asked."With one swift motion, he yanked the knife out, barely feeling the pain as his healing factor kicked in. He idly spun the blade between his fingers before pressing it lightly against her throat, his grin warping into something darker. "So, what's the plan here, Kate? You stab me, I heal, we play this out until one of us gets bored? 'Cause I could do this all night."Kate's chest rose and fell rapidly as she calculated her next move, and just when he thought she'd finally cracked, she flipped the script.In one swift move, she knocked the knife from Wade's hand, the blade grazing her skin as she did so. With a grunt, she shifted her weight and, in a surprising burst of strength, flipped him over. The two of them crashed to the ground, rolling into a chaotic fight for control."You really think you can take me down that easily?" she hissed, her voice dripping with venom.Wade grinned. Oh, baby, let's find out.He pinned her down again, practically flattening her against the floor. Sorry, sweetheart, but these extra taco pounds are finally coming in handy. Turns out, I'm the world's most dangerous weighted blanket.As he felt her struggling beneath him, he grinned internally. "One hundred thirty pounds of pure, unfiltered hatred—yep, that's what I'm dealing with here. And man, does it feel good."For a moment, they just stared at each other, neither willing to back down. But then, Wade made a tiny mistake—he shifted his weight slightly, momentarily lifting it off her hips to adjust his position. Before he knew it, she twisted beneath him like she was made of liquid anger, sliding out from under him like someone who's practiced this move on at least a few dead boyfriends.She was on him in an instant, her fists flying in a blur of motion that had him backpedaling to avoid the hits. But there was something almost... playful in her attacks, as if she was enjoying the challenge as much as he was.As Wade dodged another strike, he couldn't help but feel a surge of admiration buried beneath the adrenaline. "I knew that belt was just a teaser," he laughed, dodging a particularly vicious punch aimed at his jaw. "But damn, girl, you're wild!"He needed to shake things up—throw her off her game, just for a second. "Quick question—if I put on a unicorn onesie, do you think I'd get a discount at Build-A-Bear?" he blurted out. What the hell? Kate's fist froze mid-swing, her brow furrowing for the briefest moment. That's all it took.Before she could snap back, she found herself pinned against the wall, his body pressed against hers with a triumphant grin. This time, there was no struggle, no attempt to break free. Both of them were breathing hard, the space between them thick with adrenaline and something else entirely—no anger, just the electric charge of excitement and raw tension.Wade made sure to keep her still without giving her another opportunity to slip away. "You know," he murmured, his voice low and husky, "if you wanted to get up close and personal, you could've just asked.""Shut up, Wade," she whispered."Make me," he whispered back.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
Downstairs, the old lady sat in her worn armchair, the muffled thuds and crashes from upstairs barely raising an eyebrow. She paused mid-stitch, her hands stilling over the quilt she'd been working on for what felt like forever. The ruckus was nothing new—her hearing might not be sharp anymore, but she could still recognize the sounds of a good scuffle."Sounds like Johnny after he got back from 'Nam," she muttered, her voice rasping with the weight of years. "He'd get like that too, thrashing about, breaking things... until that one day at the bus stop."Her thoughts wandered back to that day, clear as a bell. Johnny had been in one of his moods, yelling and flailing over God-knows-what. When the bus pulled up, he'd taken a wild swing at her—missed by a hair. She'd had enough. Without thinking, she'd given him a good, solid shove. Right under the bus.A small, satisfied smile flickered on her lips. "Never saw it coming," she whispered, the memory of his shocked expression still bringing her a strange sense of peace.Another crash from upstairs made her glance at the ceiling. "They'll sort it out," she muttered, turning back to her quilt. "Or they won't. Either way, not my problem."As she resumed her stitching, her scrappy little Chihuahua—a grumpy thing with a permanent scowl—jumped into her lap. She patted its head absentmindedly, the dog's fur bristling under her fingers. "Don't worry, pup," she murmured. "Nobody's gonna mess with us down here."The dog let out a soft growl, its eyes narrowing as it stared up at the ceiling, as if judging the commotion.The old lady chuckled dryly. "Wonder which one of them will be first... to take a little tumble." She kept stroking the dog's head, her fingers tracing over its ears. "Guess we'll just have to wait and see, huh?"**Kate didn't waste a second. Before Wade could even blink, she pulled him into a kiss—fierce, bruising, and completely unexpected. Wade's brain momentarily short-circuited between 'fight' and 'holy hell, this is awesome.' Stay focused. But also... yeah, definitely keep kissing. Just as he started to lean into it, fully savoring the reality of a fantasy he'd entertained more than once, Kate struck. She pulled back and headbutted him so hard that his skull rattled like a maraca in a mariachi band. He didn't even realize what was happening until it was too late. In the blink of an eye, Kate had reached into his pocket, snagged his throwing star, and before he could react, she jammed it into his thigh. It slid in with unnerving precision, just millimeters from his femoral artery.Wade clenched his teeth, already feeling his healing factor kick in, but the sting of the wound was still enough to snap him out of his kiss-induced haze. "Damn, girl," he groaned, more impressed than angry.Kate shoved him hard, sending him back a few steps, but Wade quickly recovered, slamming her against the wall again. She didn't hesitate, landing a sharp punch to his jaw that snapped his head back. Before Wade could react, she grabbed the lamp from the side table and swung it at him like a makeshift club.The lamp struck his shoulder with a solid crack, sending pain jolting through him. Wade grunted, but a grin spread across his face."Not bad for a girl scout," he taunted, his voice dripping with adrenaline-fueled amusement. "Got any more merit badges?""Plenty," Kate shot back, eyes blazing as she launched herself at him again. Wade saw the punch coming and, this time, he didn't duck. He let it land, using the momentum to retaliate instantly, driving his elbow sharply into her ribs. She gasped, the air knocked from her lungs for just a moment.He lifted her with ease, and slammed her down onto the counter with a loud thud. "Oops, my bad," he muttered, though his grin said otherwise.His hand instinctively tightened around her neck, fingers digging into her skin like he was popping bubble wrap, and before he knew it, her struggles started to weaken. Her breaths turned into ragged gasps, her eyes getting that faraway, glazed look like she was about to clock out.And something clicked in his head. Wade blinked, suddenly realizing this wasn't some kinky wrestling match."Jesus, Wade, get your shit together!" his inner voice berated. "You're treating her like she's Sabretooth, but she's not. She's... just Kate. Or Alex. Or whoever the hell she is, but she's not some unkillable freak like you."One wrong move, and he could seriously hurt her. And that didn't sound fun at all. He suddenly let go, stepping back as if someone had flipped a switch in his brain. Kate stumbled slightly, catching herself against the wall, her breath ragged and uneven.Then it hit him. He hadn't pulled back just because he was worried about cracking her a rib or two—though, yeah, that was part of it. It was more that she hadn't gone for the kill. If Kate really wanted him dead, she'd have gone straight for the important parts.She wasn't trying to kill him. She was testing him, just like he was testing her. Both pushing buttons, but neither one ready to hit "end game."Maybe, just maybe, she's not the ultimate baddie here. Or hell, maybe she is, and I'm just too much of a masochist to care.For a moment, the only sound in the room was their heavy breathing, echoing like a really intense cardio session gone horribly wrong. The tension hung in the air, thick and uncomfortable, like a blind date where both people realized they were related. But hey, at least nobody was dead yet—well, mostly because Wade was practically unkillable.He scratched the back of his neck, the adrenaline slowly draining away, leaving him with the uncomfortable realization that maybe—just maybe—he'd gone a bit too far. "Truce?" he muttered, raising his hands in mock surrender. "For now, anyway. But don't get too comfortable, lady—I'm still keeping one eye on you."Kate blinked, caught off guard by the sudden shift. They stared at each other for a moment, both unsure of what to do next—Well, this is awkward. What's the post-fight protocol? Hug it out?The thrill was gone, replaced by a heavy silence that neither seemed eager to break.It stretched on, until Wade, ever the one to shatter tension, leaned in close and planted the most out-of-nowhere kiss on her lips. It wasn't romantic or soft—it was more like a "well, that happened" kind of kiss."What the hell was that?" she asked, her voice edged with surprise but also a hint of readiness, as if she was bracing for whatever might come next—whether it was another kiss or a punch.He shrugged, flashing an awkward smile. "Just thought I'd see if kissing works better than stabbing. Results are inconclusive.""You're such an asshole, you know that?" she snapped."Yeah. But c'mon, admit it. I mean, all this fighting, all this tension... it's kinda hot, right? A little adrenaline, a lot of chaos, and bam—suddenly things get... exciting." He waggled his eyebrows suggestively.Kate's glare was sharp, no softness in sight—more like are you serious right now? than let's cuddle. But as Wade watched, he noticed her biting her lip, clearly lost in thought, calculating something.Without a word, she grabbed him by hoodie and pulled him into a kiss, not gentle, not tender—more like a "we're not done here" kind of kiss."Okay, maybe I do like this," she muttered, eyes still burning, "but if you pull that choking crap again, I'll make sure you can't regenerate your balls. We clear?"Wade blinked, a grin creeping across his face despite the throbbing pain in his thigh. "Crystal, sweetheart. No more choking. Unless, you know... you ask nicely.""Maybe we should dial it down a bit next time," she said slowly. "Not ditch the excitement completely—just enough to keep the neighbors from calling the cops. I'm not really in the mood to explain why there's blood on the walls and no bodies."Are we seriously flirting after a deathmatch? he thought, eyes flicking between Kate's bruised lips and the throwing star still jammed into his thigh. This isn't just freaky—it's therapy-level freaky. Have we officially crossed into mutual insanity?"Cops, huh?" Wade quipped, his voice dripping with mock seriousness. "So, you're saying we can still fight... just with a little less public disturbance?"She didn't respond. She just yanked him closer, pulling his arms around her waist. "You want answers to those questions you asked before all this?" she whispered. "You're gonna have to work for them, Wade. Nothing comes easy."Wade's grin stretched wider. "Oh, I'm all about putting in the work, sweetheart," he said. "And I've got just the plan—starting with some TLC for every bruise, every scratch. You know, the kind of attention only yours truly can give. Maximum effort, baby."He leaned in, his breath warm against her skin as he lightly kissed a small cut on her neck. "One down," he murmured, pausing for effect before adding with a smirk, "and about a dozen more to go. By the time I'm done, you'll either be spilling your secrets or begging for a damn painkiller.""You think you can just kiss it all better?" she snorted. But Wade could see that flicker of something else beneath it."Sweetheart, if anyone's got the lips for the job, it's me," he quipped. "And hey, this is the kind of overtime I don't mind clocking in for."Kate's lips curved into a smile, a soft laugh slipping out. "You're ridiculous," she whispered, but there was warmth in her voice."Ridiculous is practically my brand, babe," Wade replied, dropping a kiss on a bruise on her arm. His tone shifted just a bit, more sincere than usual. "But I know when to take it slow. Don't worry, I'm not here to break anything... well, except maybe a sweat. And that bruise on your thigh? VIP treatment."Then, as if unable to resist, he added, "Oh, and by the way, after those love taps with a knife, I think I've earned a little extra care. Healing factor or not, a guy's gotta feel appreciated. Fair's fair, right?"
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
Wade's fingers traced lazy circles on Kate's bruised thigh as they lay in bed, his arm draped over her like a personal heating pad with a questionable sense of humor. The room was quiet, save for the soft rustle of sheets and the occasional creak from the bed—solid, expensive, and a far cry from the usual chaos Wade found himself in. He shifted slightly, his hand sliding up to toy with her hair, fingers wrapping around the strands like he was considering whether to pull or just enjoy the softness. For a moment, the silence hung in the air—eerily peaceful, as if the universe was giving them a brief reprieve before the next round of insanity. Almost too peaceful, really.But Wade wasn't exactly the type to bask in tranquility for too long. "You know," he started, "maybe it's time we played that '20 Questions' after all. I mean, I might suck at the usual rules, but I'm pretty good at breaking them."Kate turned her head to give him a sidelong glance. A small, almost playful smile tugged at her lips. "Alright. After all, I think you've earned it, considering how hard you've been working over the last hour. But I get to ask the first question."Wade raised an eyebrow, even though she couldn't see it. "Oh, turning the tables, are we? Alright, I'm game. Hit me with your best shot." He tightened his arm around her slightly, pulling her closer, his fingers continuing their lazy path over her skin.Kate stayed quiet for a beat, clearly cooking up something in that sharp mind of hers. Finally, she turned to him, her expression dead serious: "What's the worst thing you've ever done?"Wade stilled.
Okay, brain, this is where you come in. Let's roll out the greatest hits. Wait, what if she's just testing me?
Should I start with the smaller stuff? Nah, go big or go home, right? But also, maybe ease her into it. Or just throw it all out there and see what sticks. Yeah, that'll work.
There were so many options it was like trying to pick the worst Adam Sandler movie—they were all bad in their own special way."Well, that's a tough one," Wade started, his tone lighter than the subject matter. "Easier to list the good things I've done—way fewer of those, believe me. But if you're asking for the greatest hits of my fuck-ups, where do I begin?" He let out a mock sigh. "There's the time I kinda, sorta led to the death of my baby mama. Or when I used my kid as bait. Father of the year material, I know. But in my defense, they don't exactly hand out 'Best Dad' trophies at the mercenary gigs. I checked."He paused for a brief second, realizing he hadn't mentioned the whole "having a kid" thing to her before. But then again, she didn't ask, right? He continued, "Killed a girl who wanted to run away with me. And then there's Michael, the Necromancer. We needed him to talk to Mephisto in Hell, so I, uh, sent him there the hard way—slit his throat, no biggie. But hey, he got resurrected, so it's all good, right? And let's not forget the time I shanked Agent Coulson... oh wait, Coulson didn't get better... like, ever. Kinda dead-dead. Yeah, that one stuck. My bad."Kate's eyes narrowed, clearly trying to gauge how much of this was true and how much was Wade being Wade. But he wasn't done yet."Oh, and then there's Hydra Bob," he continued, his voice dripping with faux nostalgia. "Poor guy. I've hurt him in more ways than one—mostly emotional, though. And just for funsies, I took out the entire Marvel Universe once. Usual Tuesday. Speaking of which, did you know there's a universe out there where tacos are banned? Truly horrifying. Makes you appreciate this one, doesn't it?"Kate's expression didn't change. She clearly thought he was full of shit. Wade grinned, savoring the moment before he dropped the real bomb."But the worst thing I've done?" He leaned in, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "I kidnapped this old blind lady—Al was her name. I kept her locked up in my place for years, forced her to cook and clean for me. Whenever she pissed me off, I'd toss her in this booby-trapped room full of sharp objects, just to mess with her. I even shoved my best bud Weasel in there with her once, just because he had the nerve to visit her without telling me. Real dark times, those were."Kate blinked, a mix of skepticism and disbelief crossing her face. "You expect me to believe that? Come on, Wade. I might buy the other stuff, but torturing an old lady? Really?"Wade shrugged, unfazed by her doubt. "Believe what you want, sweetheart. But I'll have you know, Blind Al was one tough broad. She got her digs in whenever she could. We had this weird, fucked-up bond—kinda like Stockholm Syndrome but with more Matlock reruns."Kate raised an eyebrow, her lips curling into a skeptical smirk. "Seriously, Wade? I thought you were going to give me something real, not some messed-up fairytale. Come on, try harder."Wade grinned, but there was something off in his eyes, a flicker of something darker. "You think I'm bullshitting you? Honey, this isn't story time with Uncle Wade. This is the highlight reel of the shitstorm that is my life. But hey, believe what you want. Your call."Kate let out a short breath, the skeptical look softening slightly as she looked at him, a mix of disbelief and something almost like understanding. "You're unbelievable, you know that?""Thank you," Wade said, bowing his head as if accepting an award. "I do my best."It was his turn now. And there was a pause, the kind where Wade's brain usually started throwing out a million questions, each one dumber than the last. What's your favorite dinosaur? Ever tried licking your elbow? Can you twerk better than Shakira? But he shook them off, knowing there was a real question that needed asking."So," Wade finally said, his tone shifting to something more serious, "what's your deal, Kate? Or Alex? What's going on here?"Wade's question hung in the air like that cringe-worthy moment at Thanksgiving when someone finally asks Uncle Jerry about his third divorce. Kate took a deep breath, sitting up in bed, and Wade's eyes followed her every move. His brain was already cooking up a hundred different scenarios. Spy? Assassin? Secret alien lizard overlord? — only for Kate to start a story that kicked off with all the excitement of watching paint dry."So," Kate began, flicking her hair over her shoulder with a casualness that didn't fool Wade for a second. "I'm probably gonna let you down with this one, but try not to cry too hard, okay?"Wade's face didn't fall yet, the excitement still hanging on by a thread. "You're killing me, Kate. I'm really hoping for something along the lines of, 'I'm actually a time-traveling ninja sent to prevent the apocalypse.' You know, something with flair."Kate smirked, reading him like a book. "Remember how I said I handle my own shit? Well, I wasn't lying. I had a gig, went a little sideways—okay, a lot sideways—and figured I'd blow off some steam. Maybe get wasted, maybe punch someone in the face. Either way, I was gonna feel better. You know, drink until my liver hates me or maybe beat the shit out of some idiot who thinks 'no' means 'try harder.' The usual."
That's it? No shadowy government figures? No alien symbiotes trying to take over your body?
This is like ordering a chimichanga and getting a damn salad.
Kate saw the flicker of disappointment in his eyes and pressed on, clearly enjoying the mild torture. "When I'm in places like the Severed Limb, I go by 'Alex.' Also when some dude from Tinder turns out to be as exciting as missionary sex with the lights off. 'Alex' is my go-to when I know the night's gonna end with a quick exit and no awkward morning-after chit-chat."Wade's heart sank like a lead balloon. One-night stand? Is that all he was to her? The guy who gets forgotten as soon as the sun comes up? That's like finding out Santa isn't real—and that he never brought you a pony because you weren't worth the effort.Kate, unfazed, continued. "Anyway, I walk into this dive, and there you are—Deadpool, in all your over-the-top, batshit glory. I was half-expecting you to swing from the rafters or set something on fire, but no, you were just sitting there. I mean, I'd heard you were a regular, but we'd never crossed paths. Didn't even plan on chatting you up. But then, you made it so damn easy when you came over and said, 'Hi.' And when you introduced yourself, things got... interesting. And by the way, the rumors were true, after all. You're every bit the loudmouth shit-stirrer I expected."Wade blinked, his brain trying to keep up with the plot twist that wasn't. Wait a second. His internal monologue started doing the math. She noticed me because I was being my usual, charming self—no surprise there—but where's the espionage? The secret missions? The 'I was sent here to kill you' bit? He was almost insulted by how mundane it all sounded.He stared at her, waiting for the bombshell, the big reveal that would make all this worth it. But there was nothing. Just the story of a woman who liked to brawl and drink under a fake name to avoid awkward goodbyes. His inner voice was practically screaming, Where's the drama? The conspiracy? The 'you're the chosen one' moment?But then his brain started kicking in again. Something didn't add up. There had to be more—especially since they'd served together in the past. What the hell was she playing at?"So you opened that big mouth of yours," Kate continued, "and suddenly, it all came rushing back. Wade Wilson—the guy who was always too reckless for his own good, now parading around as Deadpool. Honestly, I thought you'd bought it after they booted your ass out. We served together, remember? Back in the Canadian Special Operations Regiment. I was the combat medic who kept stitching your sorry ass back together while you ran around like you were auditioning for a one-man war movie. And I was dating your buddy, Mark... He would've flipped his shit if he knew you were still out there, defying death like it's your full-time job."Wait, what? Deadpool's brain hit the brakes, skidding right into WTF territory, complete with cartoon sound effects. He'd been gearing up for some wild conspiracy theory.But this? This was a plot twist straight out of left field."Mark? Mark Davis? The guy who could juggle grenades while giving a play-by-play of the last porn flick he watched? That Mark?" Wade blurted out, his brain doing mental gymnastics trying to catch up.Seriously? The same Mark who thought 'fire in the hole' was a great pickup line? The guy who almost took out half our squad because he tried to shotgun three beers while defusing a landmine? Good times... until they weren't.No matter how much his brain was scrambled and his memory patched together like a bad quilt, he remembered Mark. Kate nodded, her expression shifting to somber in a heartbeat. "Yeah, that Mark."
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
Deadpool wasn't exactly the poster boy for introspection, but even his half-baked brain could connect dots. And boy, did he spot a pattern here. It was like Kate had some twisted superpower for attracting guys who were one bad day away from a Darwin Award. First Mark, now him—two peas in a pod that was seconds away from exploding. If there was a support group for people who treated death like a drinking buddy, Kate would be the one organizing the weekly happy hour.He cocked his head, eyeing Kate with that signature shit-eating grin. "I see a pattern here, babe. You've got a type. Same crazy, different packaging. What's next? A guy who's into landmines and foot fetishes? Gonna start collecting us like some deranged Pokémon?"Kate shot him a glance, her expression hardening just slightly. "Well, Wade, when you're shopping the clearance rack, you're bound to end up with a few defective pieces. So yeah, I guess that makes me the queen of damaged goods."Wade's grin flickered, turning into something darker as the memories crept back in, unwelcome but familiar. "Mark... Yeah, I don't remember many things but I remember that crazy bastard. He went out in one of those classic clusterfuck ops in Syria. We're talking a small, dusty shithole of a town where the streets didn't even bother with names—just numbers. You know, the kind of place where your GPS says, 'Fuck this, you're on your own.'"He paused, reliving the memory with the bitter taste it left. "Anyway, the brass sold us this bullshit about it being a cakewalk. In and out, no biggie. Maybe even catch some reruns of Friends or whatever the hell was on the shitty TV back at base. But instead, we waltzed into a goddamn hornet's nest with 'Kill Me' signs taped to our backs. Hostiles everywhere—like we'd just told them their moms were on OnlyFans."Deadpool's voice sharpened. "Mark was the first one in, leading the charge through those narrow-ass streets like he was auditioning for the role of 'Most Likely to Get His Head Blown Off.' We were moving fast, trying to keep a low profile, but then—boom—gunfire everywhere. The mission went FUBAR faster than a Kardashian's marriage. We were pinned down, taking heavy fire from all sides. And there's Mark, still cracking jokes like we weren't about to meet our makers. Guy had a talent, no doubt."
A walking action figure with a mouth to match—those were the days. Sweet memories... if your idea of sweet is dodging shrapnel and praying you don't shit yourself.
Wade's grin faded, his eyes flicking to Kate's hardened gaze. He remembered what came next too well. "We fought like hell to reach the extraction point, but it was too late. The enemy had us surrounded tighter than a nun's... well, you get the idea. Mark took a hit—bullet straight to the neck. Blood spraying like a fucked-up fountain. And for once, the jokes stopped. I tried to get to him, but it was like the Fourth of July out there—except with more blood and a lot fewer 'oohs' and 'aahs.' I watched him bleed out, Kate. I watched him die, and there wasn't a damn thing I could do to save him."Kate's voice dropped to a whisper. "I know, Wade. I saw him when they finally brought him back. It was too late for anything but to say goodbye."A lump formed in Deadpool's throat, but he quickly swallowed it down with his usual dose of dark humor. "Yeah. Mark, you magnificent bastard. It was like the universe paired us up as the ultimate shitshow—him with his endless one-liners, and me with my ability to survive every damn thing thrown my way." He choked down a twisted laugh. "But hey, the guy went out like he lived—fucked up, balls deep in chaos, and probably cracking a joke about how his porn stash would outlive him."
I'm not choking up, no way. Hell, I've swallowed worse—like that time I downed a grenade pin because I thought it was a weirdly shaped olive. But damn...
He smirked, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. "You know, the Smithsonian could've learned a thing or two from Mark's collection of vintage smut. Hell, he had bottle rockets named after porn stars. Said if he ever went out, it'd be with a bang and a spark. Damn guy even had a plan for going out with style."Kate's chuckle was quiet, like she didn't want to give in but couldn't help it. "You know, the way you talk about him, Wade, makes me wonder if I was ever really in the picture. Or was I just third-wheeling the bromance of the century?""What can I say? We had a bromance that could've been written into the history books—like Band of Brothers, but with more swearing, fewer fucks given, and a lot more explosions. We were like Riggs and Murtaugh from Lethal Weapon, except we were both Riggs."Wade's smile slipped for just a moment, as if a thought had suddenly hit him. "You know, I think I forgot about a lot of shit until right now. Like the fog's lifting. I remember your dorky Harry Potter glasses now, and how Mark introduced us with that shit-eating grin of his. What was it he said? 'Wade, this is Kate—she's the only one here with the magic touch who can actually put you back together when you inevitably fuck yourself up. And trust me, she knows how to handle a wand.'"Kate smirked, shaking her head at the memory. "Yeah, Mark and his 'magic wand' jokes. Every time, like clockwork—'Kate, don't break my magic wand! Ollivander's all out!' Or 'Remember, Kate, the wand chooses the wizard, and mine's chosen you, so handle with care.' It was funny the first dozen times, but that man could milk a joke until it was on life support—and somehow still keep it kicking."Wade let out a laugh, the kind that was half amusement and half that weird, warm feeling you get when nostalgia slaps you in the face. "Man, he was a riot. And you—back then you were like... Florence Nightingale with a side of sass. Not this 'I'll cut you if you blink wrong' vibe you've got going on now. And those glasses—hot. Total badass Hermione Granger vibes. What happened to 'em?"Kate's smirk grew. "I wear contacts now."Wade clutched his chest in mock horror. "Oh no, my entire life is a lie. So, what, you don't have those baby blues I thought you had? What else are you hiding, Kate? Maybe you've got a third nipple I should know about?"Kate rolled her eyes. "No third nipple, Wade. And you'd know that, considering we've fucked three times in the last twenty-four hours. Pretty sure you've checked every inch. Thoroughly."Wade chuckled, shaking his head, still grinning. "Damn, you got me there. But now I'm just disappointed there wasn't a secret door or hidden treasure map. I mean, come on, what's a girl gotta do to keep a little mystery around here?"Kate shrugged. "You're the one who insists on thorough inspections. Can't blame me if you came up empty.""Touché. Speaking of which, I seem to remember you stitching up my glorious ass after I got too friendly with some barbed wire. Didn't you say something about my hair back there being worse than the mess Mark left after one of his 'experiments'? So, how'd my ass rate back then?"Kate didn't miss a beat. "Honestly? The whole 'wookie butt' thing wasn't doing it for me. The current... smoother version is definitely an upgrade."Wade burst out laughing, his eyes crinkling with genuine amusement. "Well, I'm glad my ass has finally met your high standards. But hey, better late than never, right? I mean, who needs a Brazilian when you've scars?"Kate smirked, leaning in just a bit closer, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial tone. "Alright, I'll admit it—your ass was pretty damn fine. Maybe it was that, or maybe it was that twisted mouth of yours that made me think warmer thoughts about you than I should've. You and Mark, though... you were like a pair of hyenas on a caffeine bender. Impossible to ignore, and honestly, way too much for one sane woman to handle. But damn if you, Wade, didn't make it hard to keep my focus."Wade's smile widened into a full grin. "Hold up—you were into me? While you were with Mark? This is starting to sound like one of those cheap soap operas where everyone's secretly hooking up behind each other's backs. Seriously, you were into this—" he gestured to his scarred face with a dramatic flourish, "—even before it looked like I took on a chainsaw and lost?"Kate raised an eyebrow, her smirk just as sharp. "Yeah, well, back then, you had a face that could almost pass for normal—if normal meant 'dangerously cocky.' What happened, Wade? I mean, I know mercenary life is rough, but this is... next level."Wade shrugged, running a hand over his face. "Long story short, cancer sucks, and so does the cure that was about as gentle as a sledgehammer to the nuts. But hey, I get to rock this whole 'abstract art project gone wrong' look now. It's got a certain charm, don't you think? Am I still lovable, or have I crossed the line into 'quarantine area, do not approach'?"Kate's eyes sparkled with a mix of sarcasm and genuine affection. "Lovable might be pushing it. You were a pain in the ass then, and you're still a pain in the ass—just with a bit more... texture. But I guess that's part of what makes you, you. Besides, some things never change, except maybe your skincare routine—or the complete lack thereof."Wade's grin stuck around, but curiosity was starting to elbow the humor out of the way. "Alright, so you had a thing for me. But that's ancient history. What I'm really dying to know is how someone like you, ended up with a dishonorable discharge. I mean, you're not the type to get kicked out for something boring like missing curfew or hoarding MREs. So, spill it—what's the real story, Kate? Did you blow up the wrong latrine? Take the general's car for a joyride? Or maybe you just couldn't resist a high-stakes game of strip poker with the brass?"Kate's smirk faded, her gaze drifting off as her tone shifted to something more serious. "It's... complicated, Wade. After Mark died, I couldn't let it go. The way that mission went south—it gnawed at me. I couldn't just move on. I had to know what really happened, and I wasn't about to sit around waiting for the truth to come to me. So, I got involved with a senior officer. Not because I'm into power trips, but because I thought it would get me closer to the truth, faster."Wade raised an eyebrow. "An affair with a senior officer, huh? You sure know how to play with fire. So, did he turn out to be a sleazeball with a penchant for betrayal, or did things get even messier?"Kate's eyes hardened, a flicker of anger crossing her face. "You could say that. I thought I could manipulate him, but I ended up getting played. The mission that got Mark killed? It wasn't some random clusterfuck. It was a setup from the start."Deadpool's mind spun, trying to wrap itself around the mess Kate was describing. How the hell had he missed it? Actually, easily. He'd always been the guy who shrugged off a bad day like it was just another Tuesday—so what if a buddy got his head blown off or someone lost a limb? Occupational hazards, right?Like that time 'Tripod' Tomlinson—yeah, the guy with the equipment so massive it was practically its own platoon—took a hit and lost both legs above the knee. The whole squad couldn't help but picture his prized possession hanging there like a sad elephant's trunk. Talk about a mood killer for communal showers.But Tripod survived—just not in the way he wanted. And Mark? Mark got his throat ventilated, and Wade just chalked it up to another day in the life.
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Finding out it was all part of some setup? Wade was starting to feel like some B-movie hero in desperate need of a redemption arc for his "oops, I didn't see the betrayal coming" screw-up. Revenge? Oh yeah, it was on the menu. He was already picturing a thousand ways to off the assholes responsible for Mark's death. A flamethrower for the suits, a wood chipper for the grunts—hell, maybe launch the whole lot of them into the sun. But, nah, let's not go full psycho—not yet. Overly elaborate, Rube Goldberg-style murder plots? Gotta save those for special occasions.Instead, he forced down the bubbling anger, slapped on his trademark grin, and let the sarcasm do its thing. "Wait, what? Like, Mission: Impossible meets Jerry Springer level of betrayal? And let me guess, Mr. Senior Officer didn't appreciate you playing detective?"Kate's expression hardened, her eyes narrowing as she recalled the events. "Yeah. When I started digging too deep, he tried to shut me up. I found some damning evidence, confronted him about it, and things got... heated. Let's just say a few important documents went up in flames, and I might have 'accidentally' crashed a LAV III into his office. Not my finest moment, but it got their attention. They didn't have enough to court-martial me, so they dishonorably discharged me instead, just to keep me quiet."Deadpool burst out laughing. "Kate, you're a legend. Crashing a LAV III into his office? That's dedication. But tell me, wouldn't a G-Wagon have been a better choice? You know, get that 'G-spot' right on target?" He smirked, clearly amused with himself. "So, you got booted out because you couldn't keep your temper—or your foot—off the gas pedal. Classic move, really. I'm almost impressed.""Being low-key was never really my style, Wade. Why sneak around when you can drive a 14-ton 'fuck you' straight through the front door? The look on his face? Priceless—like he just realized his dick was caught in a zipper."Wade chuckled, shaking his head in disbelief. "You're a wild one, Kate. I respect that. But let me guess—after that little joyride, they didn't just hand you a gold watch and wave goodbye?"Kate's eyes sparkled with a mix of sarcasm and a twisted sense of pride. "Oh, they didn't take kindly to me crashing their little party. I mean, who knew Canadian politeness had a breaking point? At first, it was all radio silence, but then they sent a few 'subtle' reminders that my time was up—like a polite 'please die' wrapped in bullets. She shrugged, her smirk sharpening. "Relocating to New York wasn't exactly on my to-do list, but they made sure I had no choice. And even when I left for the U.S., they didn't let up."Kate leaned in slightly, her tone dropping with a hint of amusement. "Lucky for me, Daredevil was around to help 'clean up.' He taught me a few tricks—how to move silently, strike without being seen. And in return, I patched him up more times than I can count.""Then, out of nowhere, silence again. For the past three years, not a peep. I moved into this apartment—probably not the smartest move, but I didn't care. They could have found me if they wanted."Kate's gaze locked onto Wade's. "When you came to my place, I actually started thinking they hired you."Wade blinked, caught off guard but not really surprised. "Seriously? I mean, it's not like I'd be shocked if they hired me for a job like that. Hell, I've been paid for worse. And let's be honest, Kate, with the fake name drama, I thought the same thing about you. Guess we've both been living in that lovely trust-free zone, huh?"He tilted his head, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "But hey, let's talk about the real kicker here—Daredevil? The guy who dresses like Satan's gym coach? I tangled with that guy once—dude nearly had a heart attack when I suggested blowing up a few goons to save time. But you, Kate? You're too hardcore for him. I bet he had a meltdown the first time you got a little too enthusiastic with the bad guys. What, did he try to give you a stern lecture while you were breaking bones?"Kate chuckled, a bit of bitterness lacing her tone. "Yeah, let's just say our methods didn't exactly align. But he didn't seem to mind my other... skills."Wade's expression froze for a beat before he snorted, the jealousy clear in his voice. "Hold up—Mr. 'I see with my heart' had a thing for you? And here I thought I was your first not-quite-human fling. I'm wounded, Kate. Right in the feels. And just so we're clear, you were kidding about Wolverine, right? 'Cause if not, I'm gonna need a minute to go wash out my brain with bleach."Kate grinned, clearly enjoying Wade's attempt to play it cool, though she could see the hint of real jealousy behind the humor. "Didn't work out with Daredevil—turns out, we had different methods. But what I learned from him? That stuck."She leaned in, her smile softening slightly. "So don't worry, Wade—you're still one of a kind in my messed-up life."Wade sighed dramatically, placing a hand over his heart. "Oh, thank God. For a hot second there, I thought I was just another sad tick on your badass bucket list."He paused, eyes twinkling with mock disbelief. "But let me get this straight—you've taken out hit squads, swapped punches with Daredevil, and now... you're running with me? Wow. You've got a serious thing for broken toys, don't you? It's like the universe handed you a 'F'd-Up Partners Club' loyalty card, and surprise, I'm the freebie at the end."He wagged a finger at her, eyeing her suspiciously. "By the way, you're not secretly Elektra, right? 'Cause you've got the moves, the 'I'm gonna hurt you' vibes—just missing that charming Greek sass. Unless... you've been holding out on me?""Elektra? Please. If I had her track record, you wouldn't be here making jokes. But yeah, I've got my own way of handling things—sharp, quick, and always personal."Wade's grin stretched even wider. "Now that's what I'm talking about! So here's the deal: We take all that bottled-up fury and go after the bastards who deserve it. But—and this is a big, juicy but—let's cool it with the APC-smashing, okay? I've got a reputation to maintain, and I can't have my sidekick making me look like the responsible one."Kate chuckled, the tension between them easing as she gave him a once-over. "Deal. But just so you know, while explosions aren't my first choice, a good blade always gets the job done."Wade's grin stretched wide, his heart pounding with the thrill of impending chaos. "Betrayal, bloodshed, and a badass sidekick with a vendetta? Kate, this is the start of something truly beautiful. Let's kick some ass, and maybe squeeze in a few more... cardio sessions along the way. You know, for the sake of our health."He barely had time to register the wicked glint in Kate's eye before she swung a leg over him, straddling his hips like she was gearing up for the main event. His mind, always a step ahead in the gutter, immediately started scripting the X-rated sequel. But just as he was about to drop a line about "saddle up, cowgirl," Kate's hand shot out, smacking his cheek with a crack that could wake the dead. The sting was instant, but the disappointment hit even harder.
Aw, come on! Talk about a mood killer. Way to take all the fun out of it, Kate.
"That," she said, "was for showing up unannounced in the middle of the night like a complete creep. And this—" she added, giving him another, less forceful smack across the jaw, "—was for turning my living room into a demolition site."Wade wheezed, straightening up with a dramatic wince as he massaged his face. "Okay, okay! I had that coming. Well, maybe not both slaps, but definitely one of them." He flashed a grin. "You ever thought about entering one of those slap-fighting competitions? You'd clean up. I'd be your hype man, of course—'Step right up, folks, and watch the undefeated Slap Queen of New York lay out the Merc with a Mouth in one hit!' I see a big payday.""Shut up, Wade. You're lucky I didn't aim lower."Wade's grin didn't waver. "Fair enough. But let's be real, you were kind of hot when you were dishing out that pain. All fierce and take-no-prisoners. Very sexy. And besides, a bruised ego is just a temporary inconvenience. My healing factor's got that covered too!""God, do you ever shut up?" Kate rolled her eyes."Me? Never." Wade shot back, his tone thick with self-satisfaction. "Besides, who else is gonna break the awkward silence? That's a job tailor-made for me."Kate leaned closer. "Or maybe you just love the sound of your own voice. Ever think all this chatter's just your way of covering up what a massive pain in the ass you are?""Oh, definitely. But come on, you know it's part of my irresistible charm. And if I can annoy you into liking me, then I'd say mission accomplished.""You can definitely annoy me, Wade. But it's more likely to get me to pour a drink—or maybe even cause a drinking problem. Actually, at this point, I could use something stronger." She glanced over at him. "What do you say? Let's drink to bad decisions."As they walked through the wreckage of the living room, Wade couldn't help but give the chaos an approving nod. "Damn, this place looks like a scene out of 'Pimp My Apocalypse.' We should charge admission. 'Step right up and see the disaster of the century! Blood, sweat, and sexual tension included at no extra charge.'"Just as they were about to hit the notorius counter—where, let's be honest, Wade's brain was already scripting a whole new set of action sequences—Kate suddenly yanked him into a kiss. It was fierce, it was rough, and he was totally here for it.But then, mid-makeout, something caught his eye—a photo on the crooked bookshelf. Kate and Mark, back in the day, looking all noble and soldier-y, like they hadn't a clue the world was a total dumpster fire.
Well, isn't that just a boner killer. Thanks, Mark. Here I am, about to get my freak on, and you have to go and pull the ghost card. But don't worry, buddy, I'll make sure to avenge the crap out of you... right after this. I mean, priorities, right?
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
Their thing—because calling it a "relationship" felt way too normal—had rocketed forward at breakneck speed—like a car chase where nobody was paying attention to the brakes, and both drivers were armed to the teeth. Kate wasn't messing around when she said she liked it rough. She initiated half the fights over the smallest, dumbest things—like him leaving a knife out on the counter or breathing too loudly. But damn, he enjoyed that. Hell, sometimes he started shit on purpose, just to see how far she'd take it.One minute, they were trying to beat the living crap out of each other, and the next, they were tearing each other's clothes off with the kind of intensity you'd expect from teenagers on a Vodka Red Bull binge. It was like someone had hit the fast-forward button on a twisted telenovela, and now here they were, caught in the middle of... whatever this was. A relationship? A prolonged murder-flirt-fest? No one was exactly sure.Of course, there were a few hiccups along the way. Like her "clean-up jobs." The ones she never invited him to. No shared violence? No "let's murder bad guys together" dates? Seriously, what the hell was this? Was he just supposed to sit back and watch her take out the scumbags solo, while he hands out roses like a schmuck?He could handle the constant punches in the gut and the knife fights in the living room, but being left out of the blood-splattered action? That just wasn't fair. He didn't like this part. Not one bit. Not because he was worried, of course. He wasn't that guy. He'd just, you know, maybe spend a few hours casually tailing her from the rooftops, like he used to with Siryn back in the day. Except this time, it wasn't just about being a creepy fanboy or making sure Kate didn't get herself killed while playing solo superhero."Totally not stalking," Wade thought, perched on a rooftop like a perverted gargoyle, watching her take down some low-life with surgical precision. "Just...making sure she's not dating some other vigilante. I swear, if I see her with Daredevil, I'm gonna lose it."Yet anytime he did find himself watching her fight, she was never teaming up with anyone. She handled her "business" solo, and she was damn good at it. So, really, there was no pressing need to jump in and show her how much better decapitation looks with dual katanas. But the deal was different. At least from his perspective. When he said, "Let's kick some ass together," maybe she thought he meant just the revenge tour for Mark's death?The one he hadn't even started plotting that yet. Mark's death deserved a full-blown murder-opera, with explosions, monologues, and at least one disembowelment. That was a priority—but there was a whole buffet of villains out there in the meantime.What the hell was she waiting for? Or worse, was she just not seeing him as a partner? Maybe in her mind, she wasn't looking for a sidekick. Maybe she didn't want someone hanging around while she dished out punishment. Maybe she wanted to keep that part of herself... hers. But still, the lack of carnage collaboration felt like a kick in his ego.Wade found himself staring at his reflection in the mirror, fingers tracing the scars like he was contemplating a melodramatic soliloquy. "Am I... am I just the guy she fucks between bloodbaths? Is that it?"His inner voice snickered. Nah, you're also the guy who cleans the kitchen, apparently. Maybe she'll give you a gold star for that.**It wasn't even like he always wanted to keep tabs on her—he had his own side gigs to handle. And when that itch kicked in, he'd vanish for days, taking jobs that paid just enough to fund his ever-growing collection of shiny, stabby things. Naturally, it began driving her insane, especially as his disappearing acts became more frequent and turned to an actual habit. His phone would blow up with her messages, mostly filled with colorful language about how if he didn't respond, she'd shove a grenade where the sun doesn't shine."She's totally overreacting," Wade thought as he ignored another string of missed calls while rigging C4 to a drug lord's stash house. "What's a few days of radio silence between lovers? I'm keeping it spicy!"And yet, after a few months, despite all the disappearing acts and near-death escapades, he somehow found himself living with Kate. One moment, he was dodging her calls like it was part of the fun, and the next, he was sharing closet space. No long talk, no decisions—just, boom, his stuff ended up there, like a slow-motion home invasion, only he was the burglar and the loot was a clean apartment and a bed that didn't reek of gunpowder.He hadn't even realized it until he was looking at her spotless kitchen and thinking, "Wait, when did I become a guy who has coasters?" Now everything had a place. Including him. And honestly, that was the most unsettling part. He'd gone from blowing stuff up, and leaving cryptic text messages to... being someone with a designated toothbrush holder.He couldn't even just slip out for a few days of high-octane, body-count-boosting mayhem without hearing about it. She sure as hell made it clear that she expected him back at a reasonable hour. And Wade? Wade didn't do "reasonable hours." He did spontaneous explosions and going off the radar. She didn't just text—she had no problem slugging him for it when he got back. Which, okay, was kinda kinky before, but now that they were living together, it was starting to feel less like foreplay and more like a walking domestic abuse hotline, but without the sympathy cards.**After days of trying to dodge Kate's wrath while disappearing for his usual "recreational chaos," he realized he might need to face facts—his love life was an absolute fuck-up, and it was high time to figure out why.So he took to the most reliable source of modern wisdom: TikTok. Yep, a few thumb swipes away from cat videos and dance challenges, he dove headfirst into the world of TikTok therapists who could explain why his relationship was like a car crash in slow motion. He figured if anyone could diagnose his emotional circus act, it would be someone who could do it in under 60 seconds, with soothing music in the background.First up, some chick with a fern: "Anxious attachment is when you blow up your partner's phone, always needing reassurance."Wade snorted. That's Kate. She had practically turned texting threats into an art form. She could've fueled an entire country's energy grid with that rage. Honestly, kind of impressive. Wade scrolled on, patting himself on the back. See? I'm not the needy one. I'm just the grenade-dodging one.Next up, Mr. "I-have-perfect-hair-and-a-bachelor's-in-psychology" said, "Avoidant attachment is when you disappear when things get too close."Wade blinked. Oh, hell. That one hit like a sucker punch. That's me. He'd practically perfected the art of the disappearing act. Emotional conversations? Poof, gone. Need to talk about feelings? He'd be out the door faster than a bullet from a .50 cal. Not because he didn't care—hell, he cared way too much. It was just that sticking around to talk about it felt like wearing a sweater two sizes too small. Tight, itchy, and suffocating. It wasn't ghosting if you were out there blowing up bad guys and saving the world, right? Right? But here's the kicker—Kate wasn't exactly a picture of emotional stability herself. "Avoidants hate asking for help and build emotional walls to protect themselves."Kate was practically an emotional fortress. She never asked for anything, not even backup on jobs. She didn't need him; hell, she'd rather punch him than admit she cared. She was as much of a disaster as he was, and somehow that mess made sense to him.Then came the real gut punch: "Disorganized attachment is when you want love but sabotage it because you're scared they'll leave."Wade stared at the screen. Well, shit. That's basically the plot of his entire life. He wanted to get close, but the second things got comfortable, he'd throw in a metaphorical—or literal—grenade and blow it all to pieces. He could already see it with Kate: pushing her away, making jokes when things got too real, disappearing on her for days and expecting everything to just magically be fine when he got back. Rinse and repeat.And that's when it hit him—right between the eyes like a rogue bullet.Wait... is this love? Was this why he couldn't stop coming back for more? Why the thought of her rage texts and angry punches actually gave him something to look forward to? Who knew emotional repression and low-grade domestic violence could feel like... love?**Something had shifted after all that TikTok-induced self-awareness. Maybe it was Kate's death threats, or maybe the chaos just didn't spark joy like it used to. He started cherry-picking jobs for, much to Weasel's endless whining. Every time a good, high-paying hit came in, Wade would pass, opting for lighter work or something less... explodey. Weasel, of course, had a minor meltdown about it. "What do you mean, 'I'm not feeling it'? It's not a Tinder date, Wade, it's a job. You know, the thing that pays your rent and keeps your fridge stocked with chimichangas?"He didn't care. He wasn't exactly going soft—he was still Deadpool, for God's sake—but he started being more selective. And then something really weird happened.Kate started letting him in. Not all at once, of course—that would've been too easy. But bit by bit, like she was testing if he could keep his mouth shut long enough to actually focus. And maybe, just maybe, if he could handle her version of "fun." Soon, Wade found himself getting involved. Not because he had to, not because he was trying to score relationship points (though that never hurt), but because he was genuinely intrigued. And maybe a little turned on.Kate wasn't running your run-of-the-mill merc jobs. Nope. Her missions were like vigilante justice on steroids—DIY punishment with a side of righteous fury and the biggest chip on her shoulder you'd ever seen. She wasn't just out there for the cash or to boost her rep. Kate was cleaning up human garbage, the kind that had slipped through society's cracks. The kind Wade would usually shoot for fun, but she took it personal. She had standards. And boy, did she clean house.Wade had known Kate could handle herself with knives—hell, he loved that about her. But when she pulled out a gun and started taking down targets like some sort of sniper queen, it caught him off guard. She wasn't just good—she was scary good. Precision, speed, efficiency. She didn't spray bullets like some amateur thug trying to get lucky; Kate placed her shots with the kind of cold calculation that made Wade's heart skip a beat. He was almost jealous. Almost."Damn," he muttered after one mission, watching her handle a fully loaded assault rifle like it was an extension of her arm. "You ever consider switching careers? Maybe join the X-Men? Or, I don't know, overthrow a small government?"Kate smirked, holstering her weapon with that casual swagger she wore so well. "You think I'd let you have all the fun?"Now, Kate might not have been in the "clean-up business" for the cash—nope, she was more of a pro bono exterminator for society's finest bottom-feeders—but that didn't mean she ever came back empty-handed. Oh no, she made sure every scumbag she put six feet under left a little something behind. Call it her personal loot box. "Hey Wade, I'm home! And look, I brought us a briefcase full of cash and a Rolex. Who knew wannabe mob bosses had such good taste?"Wade couldn't help but admire her work ethic. "So, technically you're not stealing," he had mused, eyes on the pile of cash she dumped on the table, "you're just providing a public service and collecting a well-earned tip. Robin Hood, but with a lot more stabbing. Or like... the deadliest janitor on the planet. Either way, I'm a fan."She'd just smirk, maybe toss him a look that said, I'm resisting the urge to stab you, but hey, they were never short on rent. And maybe this new version of "normal" was exactly what he needed.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
One thing that was really bugging him, was this creeping feeling of responsibility. It was like the walls were closing in on him, and for the first time in his life, there wasn't an easy escape route with a grenade and a joke. Sometimes, he'd feel that itch—the one that screamed, Disappear for a few days, Wade. Go off the grid. Blow up a few things, have a long, deep conversation with the only person you truly trust: yourself. It was basically self-care, Deadpool-style.But every time that thought snuck into his brain, there it was—her. Kate, standing there, arms crossed, eyes like lasers ready to slice him in half. That look of hers? It could melt steel... or make him rethink every bad decision he'd ever made. And that messed with his head more than any bullet wound, existential crisis, or even that one time he accidentally blew up his own safehouse.Because for the first time in forever, Wade actually had something—no, someone—he cared about. Ugh. The thought of losing her, of screwing it all up like he always did, was enough to make him break out in a cold sweat... and not the fun kind, like after an epic fight. Nope, this was the "oh crap, I actually care" kind of sweat, and man, did it suck.He could almost hear the TikTok therapist's voice in his head, with that calm "I'm-here-to-help" tone: "If you feel like running, it's often because you're afraid of intimacy and vulnerability. You're self-sabotaging to avoid getting hurt."Damn you, Mr. "I-have-an-inspirational-quote-in-my-bio-and-wear-too-tight-cardigans". He was in his head now, rent-free, and Wade hated it. The worst part? The cardigan-wearing therapist wasn't even wrong.Maybe he should share these feelings with someone. Bob came to mind for about half a second, but then Wade quickly nixed that idea. I've probably given that guy more PTSD than his actual Hydra career. One more heart-to-heart with Bob and the guy would probably end up crying into his pillow. No thanks. He needed someone who could take it, someone who wouldn't need a hug or therapy coupons afterward.That's when his phone buzzed. Speak of the devil."Weasel! What's shaking, bacon? Got any good news to brighten my day, or are you just calling to remind me how much I miss the smell of nacho cheese in your bar?""Wade, we need to meet. In person," Weasel's voice sounded tight, serious. No playful insults, no dumb jokes.Wade blinked. Oh, great. This wasn't another "Which gun should I buy?" or "You won't believe who just got whacked" conversation. No, if Weasel wanted to meet face-to-face, it meant this wasn't going to be a chat about the latest episode of Keeping Up with the Kardashians."You sound tense, Weas. Did you accidentally stumble onto my Pornhub search history again? I told you, those are purely for research purposes.""No, you idiot," Weasel snapped, "This is serious. Meet me at the usual spot. And don't make me wait."Wade sighed dramatically. "Fine, but if this turns into some kind of heart-to-heart, I'm walking out. And by walking, I mean backflipping through a window. Unless I'm the one leading the heart-to-heart, in which case, buckle up, because I've got a lot to say."He hung up, shaking his head. This can't be good.
**
They met at Weasel's bar, which looked like it had survived more brawls than any self-respecting dive should. It was the kind of place where nobody asked questions, and that's exactly why Wade liked it. Perfect for their usual conversations about jobs, weapons, and in Wade's case, the occasional existential crisis wrapped in a joke. It wasn't fancy, but it was home. A home for degenerates, but home nonetheless.Weasel sat at the bar, looking more annoyed than a vegan at a steakhouse. The second Wade strutted in, Weasel's face tightened. No "Hey, Wade, how's life?" or even a half-assed joke—just straight to business, like a dad who just found out his kid crashed the car."First, what the hell's going on with you and all these rejected gigs? I run a business here, not a therapy hotline for whatever midlife crisis you're having. Care to explain yourself or is this gonna be another round of your half-baked excuses?" Weasel spat out, clearly pissed.Wade slid onto the stool next to him, twirling one of his katanas like it was his personal fidget spinner. He sighed dramatically, like he was about to spill the world's juiciest secret."Weasel, my emotionally stunted little man-baby—you won't believe what's been going down. So, it all starts with that total smokeshow of a woman. And me? Obviously, I blew her mind. But here's the kicker—she's not just some bombshell. Nah, this one's... different. Like, 'might actually survive being with me' different."Weasel rolled his eyes. Here we go, he thought, preparing for another one of Wade's over-the-top sex stories."No, no, Weas, listen," Wade continued. "It's not just about that. Sure, things were hot—I'm talking thermonuclear—but it's more than that. She's... something else. She's tough as nails, deadlier with a gun than most of the guys we know, and I'm telling you, she could outshoot me if she wanted to. And that's saying something."Weasel shot him a look, skeptical as hell. "Alright, and?"Wade grinned, leaning in like he was about to spill the juiciest secret. "Dude, she's got this whole 'I-don't-need-anyone, I'll stab you if you get too close' vibe. But somehow, we just work, you know? She's doesn't take any of my crap, but when it counts? She's right there. No drama, no 'let's fix Wade's broken soul' nonsense. It's like... we're two sides of the same deranged coin. It's beautiful, really."Weasel let out a groan. "Oh, fuck, Wade... you're in love. Again."Wade paused for a moment, then shrugged with a grin. "Maybe. But this time? It feels different, Weas. It's not like all the other times."Weasel rubbed his temples, clearly dreading what came next. "Great. Well, while you're busy catching feelings, I've got some bad news for you. Even worse after what you've just told me. And no, it's not that they finally canceled My Little Pony, so you can stop clutching your heart."Wade twirled his katana, waiting for the punchline, but Weasel wasn't biting. Not even a smirk. That's when Wade knew—this was about to go from the usual mess to "oh crap, where's the nearest bomb shelter" level of bad."Alright, Weas," Wade finally said, leaning in with a grin that didn't quite reach his eyes. "What's eating you? Did somebody finally figure out how to hack my OnlyFans account?"Weasel sighed, "Wade, do you remember a few months back when I told you about that bounty on your head?"Wade's grin faltered, but only for a second. "Of course I remember! Big names, big dollars, yada yada. I've been waiting for the parade of assassins, but so far, not even a fruit basket. I guess they're scared of my rugged good looks and dazzling wit.""Well, here's the thing," Weasel's voice dropped an octave, the kind of drop that screams serious business. "That bounty? It's been tripled. No, wait—scratch that—quadrupled. And now, it's attracting the kind of people who don't just dabble in murder for hire—they've got PhDs in it."Wade paused, his usual cocky demeanor cracking just a bit. "Quadrupled? Wow. So, I'm basically the jackpot at a murder carnival. I feel so... valued. And here I was thinking I wasn't worth the trouble."He shot Weasel a grin, but there was a hint of something else there—realization."Wade, we're not talking about the usual idiots. These guys don't mess around. They don't stop, and they sure as hell don't miss. And they're going to come after you—and anyone close to you."Weasel paused, eyes narrowing as he dropped the real bombshell. "T-Ray and Ajax are among them.""Didn't I kill those assholes already?" Wade muttered, though the chill running down his spine suggested he already knew the answer."Yeah, well, death's not exactly a permanent thing with these guys," Weasel replied. "T-Ray's magic, and Ajax... well, let's just say science is on his side."Wade's smirk faded completely now, a cold sweat creeping up his neck. It wasn't just about him anymore. And suddenly, this whole "quadrupled bounty" thing wasn't sounding like such a great compliment after all."Alright, alright," Wade said, waving his hand dismissively, trying to lighten the mood but failing. "Who else? There's gotta be more interested than just the Grudge Brothers over there. And honestly, if they really wanted me dead, they'd probably do it for free. Am I right?"Weasel hesitated for a moment, glancing at Wade before continuing. "Well... you're not wrong. They've both got enough of a personal vendetta to keep 'em coming at you for free until the job's done.""So, who else?" He asked, voice low, suddenly more serious.Weasel shifted uneasily, tapping his fingers on the table. "I'm working on getting more intel, but let's just say... the list isn't short. But listen, Wade. If you've got any brains left in that skull of yours, you'll get that woman of yours somewhere safe. I can set it up—safe house, fake IDs, the whole nine yards. Hell, I'll even throw in a Kevlar couch. But you need to get her out of the line of fire."Wade almost choked on the drink he hadn't ordered. Kate? In hiding? The woman treats danger like a second career. But then again... she had fled Canada when things got hot, hadn't she? Not because she was scared, but because she was smart. Wade knew she wasn't stupid enough to stick around when the heat was too much."Weas, I hear you. Really. But that's like asking a raccoon to wear mittens—it's possible, but a logistical nightmare. If I suggest a safe house, she'll probably use it to plot my demise. Or worse—she'll redecorate it in some Pinterest-approved shit."Weasel crossed his arms. "You know this isn't a joke, right? You might be walking into a meat grinder. And she's gonna get caught in it."Damn it, Weasel. Why do you have to bring logic into this? As tough as she was, she wasn't indestructible. And that thought hit him harder than he wanted to admit."I'll talk to her. Maybe she'll go along with the 'run and hide' plan—for now. But let's be honest, Weas, if I suggest a safe house, it better come with a built-in armory or she's gonna get real cranky."Wade paused, then added with a grin, "Oh, and Weas, one more thing. I need you to get me Adsit's number. After that little, uh, 'incident'—you know, the one where I may or may not have blackmailed him—he blocked mine. And then he changed his number. And I've got some very important business to discuss with him. Totally not revenge-related, I swear."Weasel sighed, clearly exhausted by the conversation. "Alright, Wade. I'll get his number for you, though I'm still amazed the guy hasn't put you on S.H.I.E.L.D.'s 'never call again' list after your last... 'negotiation tactic.' Just don't make it worse, alright?"Wade smirked. "Worse? Please. Adsit loves me. Besides, it's not like I threatened to blow up his inbox. I just implied it... strongly."Weasel shook his head, rubbing his temples like he could feel a migraine forming. "Just try not to make a mess out of this one. Or, you know, die. And keep her alive too, while you're at it."Wade hopped off the stool, giving a dramatic bow. "No promises, but you know I always leave 'em wanting more."With that, Wade strode out the door, leaving Weasel staring at the door, muttering under his breath, "Why do I even bother?"**Wade trudged back toward the apartment, Weasel's words swirling in his head like a bad hangover he couldn't shake. Quadrupled bounty? T-Ray and Ajax? Fantastic. This is what he got for trying to play house. One minute he's blowing up bad guys, living his best mercenary life, and the next? Boom. Shacked up with a woman who could disarm a bomb faster than he could finish a one-liner. And now? He's stuck worrying if she's gonna end up as collateral damage. Ugh. What a drag. That messed him up more than the time he mixed tequila with expired guacamole.
Hey, remember that time you thought you could have nice things? Guess again, sucker. The second you start picking out bath towels, bam! T-Ray shows up, and Ajax decides it's torture o'clock.
As he neared the building, the familiar yapping of Mrs. Buschetti's little Chihuahua pierced through the air like a dog-shaped alarm system. Wade sighed. If there was one thing worse than a quadrupled bounty and two vengeful maniacs with a grudge, it was that rat-sized ball of rage. And there she was—Mrs. Buschetti herself—standing outside the building like a living Disney grandma, all sweet smiles and knitted cardigans, completely oblivious to the walking disaster Wade had brought back with him.She was the type of neighbor who'd seen it all and judged none of it, which made her Wade's kind of person. Plus, he had a soft spot for her after hearing the story about Johnny. Yeah, Johnny. The guy who came back from 'Nam only to get knocked under a bus—by Mrs. Buschetti herself, because he took one swing too many at her. Old girl was a savage."Hey, Mrs. B!" Wade grinned, waving like an over-enthusiastic child. "How's Johnny these days? Still dead?"The old lady chimed sweetly, barely looking up from her dried-out fern. "Still dead, darling—unlike you, who keeps forgetting to stay that way.""Aw, I love you too," Wade called back. "And hey, I told you that new hip was going to make you a damn ninja."She nodded, tapping the shiny new cane he'd also thrown in. "Well, better than the old one. Johnny never had a chance once I learned how to really swing."Wade grinned. "You'll outlive us all, I swear. And don't forget, if you need help pushing another war vet under a bus, I'm your guy!"Mrs. Buschetti's smile widened, but she leaned down to pat her Chihuahua, who was now growling at Wade like he'd personally ruined the dog's day. "You take care now, dear."Wade climbed the steps two at a time, the old lady's sweet giggle floating behind him. Classic Buschetti.When he finally made it to the apartment, he heard the shower running. The familiar sounds of water hitting the tiles made his mind wander into dangerous territory, the kind that involved Kate, a shower, and... well, other things.He peeked into the bathroom, catching a glimpse of her through the steam-frosted glass. Her silhouette was sharp, her body outlined in ways that made his brain short-circuit like someone just tossed a toaster into a bathtub. Every scar, every mole, every inch of her skin was burned into his memory.And then there it was. That goddamn feeling again. Not lust, not just that—something worse. Concern. Real, stomach-twisting, bowel-loosening concern.You start caring, and boom—suddenly you're the sitcom dad, two mortgage payments away from an ulcer, shaking your fist at the sky like the universe owes you something. And for what? Love? Responsibility? Who am I, a Hallmark special?Kate's voice interrupted his spiral. "Are you just gonna stand there being a creep, or are you actually coming in?"Normally, Wade would've already been naked and halfway through the door by now. But today? His head was in the wrong place. Well, one of his heads."Uh, rain check, babe," Wade said, trying his best to sound nonchalant, but he knew he was failing miserably. "Got some... stuff rattling around up here. Wouldn't want to bring my emotional baggage into the shower with me. Might clog the drain."He saw her freeze behind the glass. "Rain check?" she echoed, her voice thick with suspicion. "Wade Wilson's turning down a shower sex? You didn't get shot in the head again, did you?"He forced a laugh. "Nope! All noggin cells intact. Just... need to figure out how to word my latest love letter to the hitmen currently hunting me like I'm a Black Friday flat-screen TV."The water turned off. Kate stepped out of the shower, water dripping down her body as she wrapped herself in a towel. Wade tried very hard not to get distracted, but, well, mutant, mercenary, or whatever the hell he was now—he still had his weaknesses."Wade," she said, her tone flat, "what aren't you telling me?"He sucked in a breath, realizing there was no way out of this—except maybe the way where he admits he'd totally forgotten about a teeny-tiny detail. "So, uh... remember that bounty on my head? The one I never mentioned because, well... I kinda forgot?"Kate's eyes narrowed. "You forgot to tell me about a bounty?""Look, in my defense," Wade said, raising a finger like he was about to make a grand point, "there was a lot going on. The fights, the sex, the occasional nap, and somewhere between all that, I just... you know, lost track.""How. Much?"Wade winced. "It started at 10 million, okay? But apparently, I'm just that loveable, because now? It's sitting at a cool 40 million. So, yeah. Little bigger than the usual 'oops, I didn't tell you.' And they're not just coming after me. They're coming for anyone dumb enough to be within arm's reach... like you... gets front row seats."Kate was quiet for a beat, then smirked. "Well, been there, done that.""I know you have. But this? This is different." He gestured vaguely, his arms flailing a bit more than usual. "We're talking T-Ray, Ajax, and every psycho in the world with a murder boner and a gun fetish. These guys don't just kill—they make art out of it. They're like the Picasso of pain. So, yeah, it's a bit dicey.""Wade, who the hell are T-Ray and Ajax? Never heard of 'em." Wade sighed. "T-Ray? Think of the guy who claims he's the real Wade Wilson and is obsessed with destroying me. Ajax? Well, he's the charming bastard who tortured me for fun back in Weapon X. So, yeah—nightmares with a pulse."Kate didn't respond right away. She stood there, calculating every possible outcome in her head. Wade could see her weighing the odds, not liking them, but too stubborn to back down. "Then we deal with them," she said, voice steady again, almost daring him to challenge her resolve. "I'm not running."Wade stared at her. She did get it and she was just playing it cool. Either way, teaming up against T-Ray and Ajax? That was a death sentence, and not the funny, pop-back-up-in-the-next-scene kind. They would tear her apart.Things were about to go sideways fast, and for once, Wade wasn't sure if even he could pull them out of the wreckage.
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For the first few days after the news of the bounty, Wade was on edge, jumping at every creak, flicker of shadow, or sneeze from the neighbor's cat. His trigger finger itched like it had its own nervous system, and every knock at the door felt like it could be followed by an explosion—or, at the very least, a trademark T-Ray surprise. He knew their tricks. T-Ray loved leaving little calling cards—like the time Wade found his own wallet in his pocket with a note that read "Nice try, imposter." Or how Ajax would send body parts in the mail just to mess with him.So, when the mailman dropped off a suspiciously heavy package, Wade was already halfway to dismantling it with his katana before realizing it was just Kate's new set of kitchen knives.But that was the thing—he couldn't shake the feeling. T-Ray was the kind of sick bastard who'd make you paranoid for sport. Ajax? That guy didn't need a reason; he enjoyed the hunt. Wade found himself analyzing every reflection in the windows, every shadow that seemed to stick around a little too long."Maybe they're just... I don't know, gathering intel," Wade muttered one evening, sprawled on the couch as Kate sharpened her knives like she was prepping for a surgical procedure—with the added bonus of having no legal license. But even that didn't calm him. He'd seen Ajax's work before—severed limbs sewn back together wrong, victims left alive just long enough to scream. And T-Ray? That walking identity crisis had a way of getting inside your head, twisting your thoughts until you weren't sure who you were anymore. Wade wasn't afraid of dying—he'd done it too many times to care—but he hated the idea of someone else calling the shots. Especially those two."Maybe they're scared," he reassured himself the next morning, buttering his toast with a knife that had very recently been elbow-deep in a goon's chest cavity. "I'm like the Boogeyman, but hotter. With abs. And less kids under the bed."Still, despite his nerves being dialed up to eleven, the days kept passing... and much to Wade's disbelief—and annoyance—nothing happened. No creepy messages from T-Ray. No Ajax showing up Terminator-style. Not even a decent booby trap to defuse. Nada. It was like he'd been taken off the universe's hit list, and honestly? It was downright insulting. What was the point of being Deadpool if your arch-nemeses didn't even bother showing up for the bloodbath?Maybe they were out there, watching. Hell, maybe they were in the apartment right now. Wade found himself checking the bathroom mirror more often than usual, waiting for T-Ray's smug face to show up behind him, smirking like he'd already won."Alright, assholes," Wade growled to no one in particular, "I get it. You wanna play head games? Well, joke's on you, because I'm the guy with six voices in his head and a YouTube playlist called 'Epic Fails of Assassination Attempts.'"He'd been ready for chaos, but instead? Crickets. Fine. He'd roll with it. Life with Kate had its own brand of crazy, and it wasn't like he was completely out of action. Sure, there was a little part of him that missed the adrenaline rush, but it turns out that living with someone who could murder you in your sleep was its own kind of thrill ride. And yet... he couldn't shake the feeling that something was lurking on the horizon, waiting to sucker-punch him when he least expected it.Kate, on the other hand, was handling the whole "death squad on the horizon" thing with a level of chill that only looked calm on the surface. Sure, she didn't flinch when her told her about the bounty, but that didn't mean she wasn't processing it.
Meanwhile, I've got a mental spreadsheet tracking every creak in the apartment. If she's worried, she's doing a damn good job hiding it. Or she's a robot. Sexy murderbot—no, too many sci-fi movies.
The whole thing bugged the hell out of him. He was supposed to be the one not caring, cracking jokes, and kicking ass, but lately, he was playing the part of the paranoid mess. And Kate? She was off casually taking down scumbags, handling her side gigs with the efficiency of someone who sharpened knives for fun. "She's like Lara Croft, but with fewer tombs and more stabbing," Wade thought. "And me? I'm... what? Her sidekick? Christ, this is what domesticity looks like for Deadpool."Still, he couldn't help but stay involved. After all, what else was he supposed to do? Start a blog? So, he tagged along on her little murder outings, playing the part of the helpful boyfriend—even if it meant fewer explosions and a lot more sneaky-sneaky. The problem wasn't just that Kate was out there casually gutting lowlifes like she was prepping for some post-apocalyptic cooking show. The fights—they were getting worse, too. Not with the scumbags. No, the fights with her. The smallest things had started turning into full-blown arguments that quickly escalated into punches. Again. Not that Wade didn't deserve it sometimes—hell, there were moments when he'd done something so stupid, he almost wanted to smack himself. But lately, it felt like she was on a hair-trigger. The bounty thing had thrown a wrench in their TikTok-therapy-improved dynamic. Before the news, they had been doing... okayish? Sure, they fought, but it wasn't the "oh crap, she might actually kill me" kind of fighting. Then came the bounty news, and it was like someone hit rewind.Kate wasn't just venting frustration—she was treating him like a goddamn training dummy. And the problem was... she was good. Too good. Wade found himself wondering if she was sharpening more than just her knives—like maybe, she was sharpening her skills on him."If she is, I can't even be mad," Wade thought, dodging another punch. "It's efficient. But at least give a guy a heads-up before you turn our foreplay into boot camp. I feel like I'm starring in my own hardcore version of The Karate Kid—minus Mr. Miyagi and way more stab wounds."One evening, after a gig where they'd left some wannabe mobster and his goons spread out across the alley like human confetti, Wade felt that familiar post-kill high. Blood pumping, adrenaline rushing—this was his element. But Kate? She was stone cold, wiping her knife clean like she was polishing grandma's silverware."Ah, babe," Wade grinned, admiring the carnage. "Nothing says romance like gutting assholes together, huh? Like The Notebook, but with way more intestines. We should bottle this. A signature scent: Eau de Carnage."She didn't laugh. Didn't even acknowledge the joke. Just gave him that look, the one that said she was already over it."So... what now? Dinner? Movie? Maybe a little light arson to round out the evening?" Wade winked, still riding the buzz.But of course, Wade being Wade, he couldn't leave it alone. He decided to lob a metaphorical grenade into the conversation. Screw it, let's see what happens."By the way, babe, when are you gonna quit flipping out about the damn coasters? It's not like putting a glass on the coffee table's going to summon the cleanliness police. You've got some serious OCD vibes going on."Kate stopped mid-step, and Wade instantly knew—he'd stepped on a landmine."Excuse me?" she turned, eyes narrowing dangerously.Wade, in his infinite wisdom, pressed on. "It's like living with the world's angriest Marie Kondo. One speck of dust and suddenly we're in Defcon 1. God forbid I leave my chimichanga wrapper on the couch—might as well be signing my own death certificate."The temperature in the alley dropped about ten degrees. Kate's eyes flashed dangerously. "You think I'm obsessive because I want our place to not look like a pigsty?""Look, I get it, I'm not exactly Mr. Clean, but c'mon—lighten up. It's like you've got this thing about cleanliness, like the second I leave a mess, you're ready to go full John Wick on me."Kate's eyes darkened. "You make more mess than a toddler on a sugar rush, and I'm the problem? You can't even fold a pair of pants without turning the place into a disaster zone. Seriously, sometimes it's like babysitting a grenade with no pin. But no, Wade, of course you're perfect—just a walking, talking explosion of chaos with the added charm of never dying. Lucky me."
Ouch.
Before Wade could throw out another witty retort, Kate lunged. This wasn't playful—this was I might actually kill you mode. Wade barely ducked her first punch, rolling into defense mode like his life depended on it. Because, well, it probably did.Their brawl shifted quickly into a 360-degree defense mode. Punches, kicks, grapples—it was like an MMA match on steroids. Wade twirled, blocking one blow, ducking under another, feeling like he was in some insane "Mortal Kombat" fight sequence. "What the hell, Kate?! I thought we agreed not to murder each other unless it was foreplay!" Wade barked, dodging her next strike. "I mean, I'm all for the rough stuff, but I don't exactly have 'bleeding out in an alley' on tonight's to-do list!"Kate didn't stop, didn't even acknowledge his attempt at humor. She came at him like a damn assassin—which, in fairness, she pretty much was. She wasn't just trying to land hits—she was targeting weak spots. Weak spots she knew damn well.
Okay, I know everything grows back, but let's hope she's not aiming for anything critical. Like, say, my penis. Because watching that grow back would be traumatizing.
For both of us.
There's only so many times you can witness your own junk regenerate before you start having some serious trust issues with sharp objects.
Finally, he managed to catch her wrist, pinning her against the wall. He pressed his body against hers, struggling to hold her still."Okay, seriously. What the hell's going on? Are you using me as a human piñata for fun now? If this is your idea of practice, I'm starting to think I should charge you for lessons. Or, I don't know, throw on a Rocky soundtrack next time. We'll really lean into the montage."Kate glared at him, chest heaving, her eyes blazing with something Wade couldn't quite place. For a split second, he saw it—hesitation. She was thinking. Calculating. And then, instead of admitting anything, she growled, "What? You'd rather I did this with someone else?"Wade blinked. Did she just... did she mean...? Wait, was she talking about that fucking Daredevil? That blind, sexy ninja who probably smelled like Catholic guilt and really good cologne."Uh, no," Wade shot back, shaking off the thought. "But maybe warn a guy before you decide to turn date night into UFC tryouts."Kate exhaled sharply, lowering her gaze. "It's not about you," she muttered, voice suddenly quieter. "It's about... everything else. I can't shake the feeling that something's coming, and I'm not ready for it. I can't lose control, Wade. Not now."Wade loosened his grip, his usual cocky grin fading. "Look, if you need more training, I'm down. Hell, I can even call the X-Men. Get you access to their Danger Room. You know, the place where I almost died at least three times. They still owe me for that one... incident. Or we can just... I don't know, talk? Not everything has to be solved with a right hook."Kate looked up. "Talk? You? You can barely sit still long enough to finish a taco, let alone have a serious conversation.""Okay, you got me there," Wade shrugged. "But hey, if you're feeling freaked out, we can brainstorm murder plans together. Candlelit massacre, light homicide—you know I'm all about that romantic shit."Kate's lips twitched, and for the first time that night, she let out a small chuckle. Wade stepped back, mock-bowing like an idiot."And I promise, I'll even use the damn coaster. Now, how about some make-up sex before you stab me again?"Kate smirked. "Use the coaster, Wade."
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
And the coaster he used.
Wade curled around Kate, bodies still tangled in that perfect post-fight, post-sex haze. His arm draped over her, pulling her closer, the two of them fitting together like two weapons in a holster. He loved the warmth, her scent, the way their breathing synced up—hell, even the fact that he was still inside her felt oddly... intimate, but in that totally non-cheesy, Deadpool way. Everything was perfect.But, like always, something crept up.And this time? It wasn't another bounty hunter, assassin, or T-Ray's smug face lurking in the shadows. No, it was something much scarier.The other coaster."Uh, Kate... babe... there's something that's kinda bugging me," Wade mumbled, breaking the silence, his hand lazily tracing shapes on her skin.Kate didn't even open her eyes, clearly used to Wade's random post-sex musings. "Let me guess, the new Wolverine movie ruined your day?"Wade chuckled. "Well, like always, but no... It's just... we didn't exactly play it safe back there."She opened her eyes, barely giving him a glance. "Wade. I have a coil."Wade blinked. "A coil? What, like some hidden superpower? 'Cause the only coil I'm familiar with is recoil—you know, like from a Barrett M82A1 or the F2. You should've mentioned this!"She rolled her eyes. "It's an IUD, Wade. You think I'd rely on you to handle protection? Please. If I left it up to you, we'd be living on some Amish farm by now, surrounded by a dozen screaming little Wilsons in straw hats."Wade grinned. "Amish, huh? Well, I'd rock a beard. Plus, who wouldn't want a Deadpool barn-raising event? I'd be the life of the buggy—handing out katanas instead of nails. Hell, I'd be the best buggy driver around."Kate let out a laugh, but then her expression shifted, growing more serious. She looked away for a moment before meeting his eyes again. Her voice softened. "Should I... should I take it out? The IUD, I mean."
Well, well, well, looks like we're at the 'So, when's the baby coming?' stage of this saga. Hey, author-lady, you planning on flooding the basement soon, or are we keeping things dry for a bit longer?
Wade blinked, caught off guard. For once, he was speechless. "I mean," he started, rubbing the back of his neck, "it's not like I didn't see this coming... eventually. But, uh, you were telling me earlier how scared you are. Maybe not the best time to bring a ticking time bomb into the mix, unless, y'know... you're hearing that biological clock ticking like one of those countdowns from Ajax."Kate shifted, turning toward him so they were lying face to face. She remained silent, just watching him. The weight of the question settled over them both.Wade broke the silence, his voice quieter, more serious than usual. "Besides, I already suck at this parenting gig. But, to be fair, I may have used my baby girl as bait only once. Twice maybe. That's just practical thinking. Who better to outwit U.L.T.I.M.A.T.U.M. or Madcap? Oh, who am I lying to? I'm pretty much the worst parenting example since Darth Vader."She sighed. "I'm not saying now... but someday. I just want to know if you'd be there. Not run away.""You serious about this?" Wade asked, voice lower now. "What if this tiny version of me turns out to be a total psycho? Think about the property damage. I mean, they'd inherit the crazy... plus the bad jokes. God help us all."Kate's lips curved into a faint smile. "Maybe. But if they've got the best parts of you, I think I could handle it."Wade, trying to dodge the seriousness of it all, quipped, "Hey, didn't you just roast me earlier? Now you're all, 'let's make tiny Deadpools.' What's changed? You've gotta admit I've got some redeeming qualities, right? Like loyalty, perseverance, and..." He trailed off, his brain hiccuping as it scrambled for more examples. Loyalty? I mean, I've swapped sides more times than a used car dealer. Hell, I've backstabbed enough people to put Brutus to shame. Got the paychecks to prove it, too.Kate, barely holding back a smirk, replied, "You're annoyingly relentless. But weirdly caring too, under all that chaos. Don't pretend you're all bad.""Annoyingly relentless? Well, that's how I've saved the world a few times, you know? Not everyone can regrow body parts after getting blown up." Wade smirked, "Well, if they're anything like me, they'll be the most annoying little shits ever born."She chuckled softly. "I'll take that risk. Maybe the world could use a few more little psychos like you."Wade grinned, not letting up. "Oh, I see where this is going. You know, you're kinda like Angelina Jolie—minus the movie star crap but way more skilled with sharp objects. Hell, if you started rocking a vial of my blood around your neck, I wouldn't bat an eye. Angie did it for Billy Bob, and that was true love, right? Or actually, scratch that. We're less Billy Bob and Angie and more like Brangelina."Kate raised an eyebrow, amusement tugging at her lips. "So, what, you're Brad in this scenario? Big-time heartthrob and part-time douchebag?"Wade snorted. "Oh, totally. But hold up—actually, you're more like Brad. You've got that whole 'control freak' thing going on. You'd probably be the one flipping a table and pulling knives on me if I messed up a winery deal. So, yeah, I guess you're the Brad Pitt of our Brangelina shitshow."She smirked. "So Angie, should I expect you to start adopting a small nation's worth of kids while becoming a UN ambassador?"Wade grinned wickedly. "Oh yeah, babe. I'd have a whole army of tiny me's, flipping off the world while giving inspirational speeches at the UN. And you? You'd be off handling custody and stabbing lawyers over a winery. We'd be unstoppable!"Kate laughed, all traces of seriousness melting away. As they kissed, Wade pulled back slightly, gazing at her with uncharacteristic softness."So, really?" he asked, voice lower now, "You want to uninstall the baby gate?"Kate paused, thinking it over. "Maybe. Someday. Just... think about it."For a moment, silence stretched between them. Wade's smirk faltered slightly, and a flicker of sincerity surfaced. "But, you know... as crazy as it sounds, if anyone could handle a mini-me, it's you. And if this happens—someday—I promise... I'll be there. And not just 'be there' in the sense of 'occasionally show up between missions.' I'll be there. I'll even change diapers, which, considering my history, is basically superhero work."Kate's fingers brushed against his cheek, her gaze soft. "I know."Wade took a deep breath. "So... I'll think about it. But don't expect me to start decorating a nursery anytime soon." He swallowed hard, like he'd just tried to choke down a chimichanga stuffed with feelings. He didn't do feelings. Not like this. But the words were right there, stuck like gum to his brain. "Ah, screw it," he finally blurted, his mouth moving faster than his self-preservation instinct. "Kate, I love you."Boom. There it was. Three little words that could either bring the apocalypse or—worse—awkward silence. And there it was, that damn silence, stretching out like a bad porno scene that just wouldn't end."Yeah, that's right. Big, capital L. Love." He laughed, the kind that felt more like a nervous hiccup. "So, you know, no big deal. Just thought I'd toss that grenade into the room, see what happens."
But then again... what better timing than during a casual chat about baby-making?
Don't normal people talk about having kids when they're in love?
Besides, it's not like we're doing it for the tax write-off. And we're not those freaks who pop out kids for social benefits... or are we?
He could practically hear the countdown ticking in his brain as Kate blinked at him, her eyes narrowing for a fraction of a second. Then nothing. No explosion. Just the weight of her silence pressing down on him, like a bulletproof vest he didn't know how to take off.
She's not saying it back. But hey, that's fine. You can handle rejection. Or silence. Or, I don't know, a knife to the face. Which, in her case, is still a solid option.
"Okay, I get it. It's a lot to take in. Me? A walking, talking, regenerating love machine—who would've thought, right? But it's true. All those mushy feelings and stuff are mixed in with the violence and jokes. Who knew?"She bit her lip, her eyes darting away. Wade could feel the weight of the moment, the kind of silence that wasn't quite awkward, but more... complicated.
Come on, Wilson, you're used to this. You've got a healing factor for a reason. Emotional scarring? Pfft, minor. It's like getting shot in the feels but regenerating that too.
Kate managed a small smile, her hand resting on his cheek for a second longer than usual, but still, the words stayed trapped inside her. She squeezed his hand instead, her silent way of saying everything without saying anything at all."Well," he finally said, breaking the tension with a wink. "Guess I'll just have to keep being my loveable self until you crack and say it back. No pressure."
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
Wade lay sprawled out on the couch, one hand shoved halfway down his pants—because let's face it, old habits die hard—and the other lazily scrolling through his secure laptop. The afterglow of last night's "I love you" bomb still hung in the air. Maybe something could speed up Kate's love confession. Wade's mind flicked back to that moment again. "I love you," he'd said, and instead of fireworks, he'd gotten the emotional equivalent of a shrug. Not that he was expecting a love sonnet or anything, but come on, a "Thanks, babe", would've been nice.Could avenging Mark be the key? Sure, she wanted to do it together. But if he did it alone... maybe she'd appreciate the gesture? He wanted it to be a surprise—like, "Hey babe, guess what? I avenged Mark and cleared our slate with a side of violent justice. Wanna celebrate with some tacos?"—kind of surprise.Worst-case scenario, she'd be pissed for a bit. But Wade could handle pissed. And with her birthday coming up soon, it was the perfect opportunity to wrap this blood-soaked bundle of closure with a bow. Something along the lines of Hannibal Lecter and Clarice Starling's twisted 'gift' in Hannibal. Except Wade wasn't offering Kate someone's brain—just the satisfaction of knowing a few treasonous bastards had met their end, all in her honor. It wasn't like there was going to be a better moment for this.Nothing indicated that the mercs hired to take him out were showing up anytime soon. That bought him a window—a sweet, quiet window for a quick vengeance trip. Fast action, in and out, no room for second thoughts. Mark's killers wouldn't see it coming. It was the perfect moment to settle the score.Yeah, it was time to hunt down the old bastards who had a hand in screwing everything up. Because nothing says "I'm ready to be a responsible parent" like avenging your buddy's death, right? Wade Wilson, future father and part-time revenger.Wade wasn't stupid—well, not completely stupid. He knew he couldn't just take off without making sure Kate was covered. Someone had to keep an eye on her, and he already had the perfect candidate in mind. It'd cost him, no doubt, since this guy wasn't in his debt anymore. But that's what his stash in the Caymans was for, right? A little "insurance policy" for when shit inevitably hit the fan."Alright," he muttered, cracking his knuckles. "Let's get this revenge party started."Step one: Check the secure database, see if any of those ops details—dates, coordinates, the location of that clusterfuck in Syria—would lead to something useful. If they did, Wade was going to find those responsible, and when he did—well, let's just say it wouldn't be pretty. His fingers danced across the keys. Military database, operation logs, coordinates locked.
Come on, come on. Give me something juicy.
Every search came back with the same annoying message: ACCESS DENIED. Apparently, even knowing Nick Fury's password wasn't enough this time. They'd upgraded to some ridiculous two-step, one-fingerprint verification nonsense. Wade groaned.
Top secret clause? Seriously? What do I gotta do to get in—swear allegiance to the Illuminati?
He gritted his teeth, but before he could throw the laptop across the room in frustration, his phone buzzed. Weasel. Good ol' Weasel, always coming through with the shady intel. Wade flipped open the message:
Scott Adsit. Got his new number. Try not to piss him off this time.
Wade smirked. Oh, he was definitely going to piss Adsit off. That was half the fun. Time to call the poor bastard and see what he knew about the old-timers who pulled the strings in Syria. Wade grinned at the thought of Adsit's reaction. The guy had changed his number for a reason, and Wade loved being that reason.But there was one tiny problem—he couldn't make a call with Kate in the apartment. They were practically glued to each other. How the hell was he supposed to dig up intel on the Syria mess when she could hear every word? He had to get her out of the apartment, and fast. He drummed his fingers on the table, thinking. Then, inspiration struck. Of course. The coil. A slow grin crept onto his face as he formulated a plan that was both brilliant and completely idiotic—his specialty. He waited until she walked into the room, fully dressed, hair still damp but neatly combed. Timing was everything."Hey, babe," Wade started, his voice a little too chipper. Kate gave him a suspicious look."What now?""Oh, nothing," Wade said, spinning on his heels to face her. "Just... thinking about, you know, us. And our future. Like, really thinking."Kate raised an eyebrow, but Wade powered through. "And I've decided... maybe we should start, uh, prepping for it, you know? Get things moving, proactively. So... I may have kinda, sort of... already scheduled an appointment for you. To, uh... yank that IUD. Like, today.""You did what?"The way Kate's eyes narrowed should've set off alarms in Wade's brain. But he was already too far in to back out now."Yeah! I figured—hey, if we're going to eventually have a tiny Deadpool in our lives, might as well get that baby gate outta the way, right?" Wade gave her his best charming smile, the kind that usually worked when he was trying to convince her not to kill him.Kate didn't move. She didn't even blink. She was clearly blindsided. "You... thought about this? And decided—today—to schedule an appointment?"Wade nodded enthusiastically, still riding the wave of his brilliance. "Yeah! I mean, why not? I figured, let's just pull the trigger, right? You said yourself—eventually, so... no time like the present! I'm just speeding things up a bit—because that's what you do when you're super in love and super responsible." His grin wavered slightly when she just continued staring, speechless.
Oh man, had I overdone it?
Kate shook her head, still caught off guard. "It's been, like, four hours since we had that conversation. You went from deep emotional pillow talk to scheduling a medical procedure?""Well, yeah," Wade said, shrugging like it was the most normal thing in the world. "I'm all about efficiency. And hey, you said you wanted me to think about it—so I thought it through! See? I'm thoughtful now. I'm growing as a person. You take care of that, and I'll handle everything else. You know, the important stuff—like avenging our dead friend."Kate blinked again. "Wait, what?"Wade quickly waved it off. "Never mind, just focus on the coil thing. Doctor's expecting you in, like, an hour."She stared at him a moment longer, her arms still crossed. "And you didn't think that maybe this was a conversation we needed to have again? Before scheduling an appointment?"Wade blinked. "Oh, yeah, totally. Absolutely. But, uh... also, surprise?"She took a slow step forward, eyes locked on him. "Surprise? Are you out of your mind?""Pfft, always," Wade shot back, trying to stay ahead of the murder train he could feel coming. "But come on, it's very much in my style, right? I'm a man of action. I don't wait around when destiny calls!"Kate's lips curled into a dangerously thin smile. "Destiny. Right. So, what's the real reason you want me out of the apartment? I smell bullshit."Wade threw his hands up in fake exasperation. "Okay, fine! You caught me—I wanted to surprise you by, uh, cleaning the place while you were gone. Maybe even cook dinner! What better way to celebrate pulling out the IUD than a nice homemade meal?"Her eyes narrowed even further, if that was even possible. "You've never cooked a day in your life. Pancakes don't count."Wade grinned, scratching his chin. "True. But there's a first time for everything, right? Look, just go to the appointment, take some time for yourself, and when you come back, you'll be pleasantly surprised."Kate didn't move. Didn't blink. Her stare felt like a laser drill boring into his skull. Finally, after what felt like a lifetime, she let out a long sigh, her face softening just enough to let him know he wasn't getting stabbed—yet."Fine," she said, shaking her head like she couldn't believe the words coming out of her own mouth. "I'll go. But if I come back and find out you've been up to some other shit while I'm gone—""Trust me. This is totally legitimate, completely thought-out, and absolutely not a distraction so I can go do something else. Nope. Not at all."She rolled her eyes and threw on some clothes, muttering something about "idiots and their terrible ideas". Wade watched her grab her keys and head for the door. As soon as it closed behind her, he let out a long, relieved sigh."Mission mostly accomplished," he grinned. Time to dig up some dirt on those traitors before she got back.**He reclined on the couch, spinning his phone between his fingers, debating whether to hit "call" or send a selfie first to lighten the mood.Nah. Let's skip the foreplay.With a single tap, Wade dialed Scott Adsit's number—the number Scott thought he'd hidden from forever.
Ring... Ring... Ring...
"Hello?" A tentative, surprised voice on the other end."Scottie, my man! Miss me? How's life treating you? Nova Corps finally dump your sorry ass for good, or are you back at S.H.I.E.L.D., sniffing around the old vending machine? They restock those Twinkies yet?" Wade's voice rang out with a little too much cheer."How—how did you get this number? I blocked you after—""Yeah, about that... it was cute. Almost like you thought it would work. I mean, c'mon, Scottie. I've got more connections than your grandma has cookie recipes. And speaking of things you tried to bury—remember that little green-skinned babe you were all buddy-buddy with? Yeah, I still have that video. Y'know, the one you begged me to delete?"Adsit groaned audibly. "Wade, what do you want? I'm not in the mood for your crap today.""Whoa, whoa, whoa, don't be so quick to jump to the 'I'm-done-with-you' speech! I have a favor to ask. And before you even think about saying no—just remember that I've got alien Tinder footage locked and loaded. You wouldn't want that leaking to your pals, right?""You're blackmailing me with that? Again?""Blackmail? Me? Scottie, I'm offended. I like to think of it as a mutual understanding between friends. I help you, you help me, and nobody—absolutely nobody—needs to see your steamy interspecies love life. I need a little intel. Nothing big, just a couple of names, maybe some locations. One little favor, and we're square."There was a long pause, followed by the unmistakable sound of Adsit's forehead meeting his desk."Fine. What do you want this time?""Oh, it's nothing too major, really. I'm just hunting down a band of merry Canadian traitors. You know, the ones involved in that whole messy 'mission that went south' incident. Al-Sukhnah, May 2014. Ambush. One KIA, two WIA. Now, here's the deal, Scottie—I need the names of everyone who planned that op and ran it. But most importantly, I want that senior officer who got Kate Turner discharged in the spring of 2016. Bet you'll dig up something real juicy on that one, huh?"Adsit's voice dropped, sounding more cautious now. "Wade, if this is what I think it is, you're digging into dangerous territory. Some of those files... they're not just classified—they're buried deep. You're talking about names that aren't supposed to surface.""Exactly!" Wade chirped. "So, where do I find them?""You think I can just pull that kind of information out of thin air?" Adsit's voice cracked slightly."Well, no. But you can pull it out of those records," Wade continued, his tone now icy with impatience. "You check who was on the mission execution list, who signed off on what, and cross-reference it with anyone who's been flagged for suspicious activity or who's gone quiet since then. I need names and, more importantly, I need last known addresses. I'll do the heavy lifting. All you gotta do is push a few buttons.""You realize this could trigger a full-blown scandal, right? We're talking military personnel, not some rogue mercenaries!""Pfft, Canadian military," Wade cut in, grinning. "What are they gonna do, apologize me to death? Look, you shouldn't be worried about that. Worst-case scenario, there's a tiny international scandal. No biggie, really. A couple of headlines, a few angry diplomats, and I'll be out before the smoke clears. And really, who even cares about Canada these days?"Adsit exhaled, clearly frustrated. "I'll see what I can dig up. But if this comes back on me—""It won't," Wade interrupted. "You're not even a blip on the radar. I'm the big, shiny, obnoxious target here, and I like it that way. Just get me what I need.""Give me a few hours," Adsit muttered before hanging up."Looks like it's time for a reunion tour," Wade said to himself, already running through the possibilities of how he'd deal with them.**Taskmaster's phone buzzed on the table, the notification lighting up the screen. He glanced over, ready to ignore whatever new annoyance had appeared, but then he saw the name—Wade Wilson. Deadpool didn't blow up his phone on a daily basis, thank God. In fact, Wade usually only reached out when things were stupidly important or just plain stupid. Either way, Taskmaster sighed, picked up the phone, and tapped the screen.
Wade Wilson:
Yo Tony! Quick Q – you thinking about cashing in on that contract for my head, or you out this time?
Anthony Masters:
Thought you put a bounty on yourself again. But once I got the details, I noped out. Bullseye's out too.
Wade Wilson:
So, anyone else biting besides Mr. Patch and Francis?
Anthony Masters:
No clue. This whole thing is shady as hell. No idea who even put it out. Only the worst types are interested.
Wade Wilson:
And you're not one of the worst types?
Anthony Masters:
I'm bad, but when they toss in 'kill kids' in the fine print, I walk.
Wade Wilson:
Wait, WHAT kids?! Dude, I don't even have kids—except for the one I ditched, but nobody's gunning for Ellie. Right?
Anthony Masters:
Wasn't specific. We just had to check 'okay with killing kids' on the form. Told you, it's messed up.
Wade Wilson:
Okay, anyway, I've got a different proposition for ya. I'll pay. Free for the next three days? Starting this afternoon? Need someone to keep an eye on my lady, in case some bounty-hunter-clown decides to show up at my place.
Anthony Masters:
I'm not a damn babysitter.
Wade Wilson:
Can't mimic a babysitter? You'd make a killer hot college student, just sayin'. But seriously, I'll pay well.
Anthony Masters:
Send me the details.
Wade Wilson:
And hey, if I don't survive this bounty thing, tell Bullseye he can snort my ashes. I'm all about making people's dreams come true.
**From his vantage point on the rooftop, Taskmaster spotted Kate returning home, storming up the steps and disappearing into the building. Moments later, he watched as she began pacing around the apartment, going from corner to corner like she was ready to explode. She was clearly pissed—sending rapid-fire texts, throwing her phone across the room, only to pick it up and start the whole thing over again.He lowered his binoculars for a second, taking in the scene. She was way above Wade's league—like, seriously above. Life had a sick sense of humor sometimes. As he observed her, all he could think was how unfair the world could be. But whatever—he wasn't here to question cosmic justice. Wade paid him really well for this gig, and as long as the money kept flowing, he'd do his job.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
Colonel Robert Manning reclined in his designer leather armchair, the kind that just screamed "I'm too important for IKEA," as he admired the polished perfection of his life. At fifty-two, he'd just pulled off the greatest mission of his career—retirement. And with the kind of grace that would make George Clooney do a double-take. Salt-and-pepper hair styled just right, rugged jawline still intact, he was every bit the poster boy for aging like fine wine. Well, at least on the outside.Inside? That was a different story. Beneath that polished exterior was a man who had spent his career perfecting the art of staying out of danger. Sure, he knew how to bark orders, how to keep up the "fearless leader" act, but when things got ugly? Manning always knew how to slip away just before the bullets started flying. Cowardice wasn't a flaw in his book—it was a survival strategy. Why risk your neck when you could let someone else take the fall and still walk away with the accolades?He had a nose for exploiting the right moments, taking credit for other people's risks, and knowing when to duck out. And look at him now—freshly retired, with a fat pension and a private sector gig lined up that would pay him more in a month than most soldiers made in a year. Security consulting, they called it. What a joke. But hey, Manning wasn't one to pass up easy money.He smirked as he took a slow sip of his ridiculously expensive scotch, the kind that he could barely tell apart from the cheap stuff but insisted on drinking anyway. After all, appearance was everything. And damn, he was good at appearances. The fearless colonel. The decorated officer. The man who'd survived countless missions... all while letting others bleed.Yeah, life was good. Manning had played the game, dodged the danger, and now he was enjoying the spoils. In a few days, he'd trade his uniform for tailored suits and his battlefields for boardrooms, raking in more money than most people dream of. The world was his oyster, and he didn't even have to shuck it himself.What he didn't know, though, was that tonight, his carefully curated bubble of luxury and security was about to pop.**The glass shattered with a deafening crash as the flashbang tore through the air, ripping apart the calm Manning had been savoring just moments before. In his plush, overpriced bathrobe, he hit the floor like a sack of bricks—some instincts never die, after all.Before he could even process what the hell had just happened, Deadpool burst through the terrace doors, sending them flying off their hinges. Manning's heart pounded, but he started crawling—no, slithering—toward the gun safe. If he could just make it there, maybe he'd stand a chance.His fingers fumbled at the keypad, but before he could punch in the last digit, a katana slammed through his hand, pinning it to the floor like a bug under glass.He hissed, blood pouring from the wound, his legs kicking out as if pain alone could push the sword out."Evenin', Sunshine!" Deadpool chirped, strolling over like he was on vacation. "You look comfy. Fancy-ass robe, too. Bet that cost a fortune, huh? Too bad you're gonna be bleeding all over it in, like, five minutes. You rich assholes never think about that, do ya?"Manning's teeth clenched as he struggled to pull his hand free, but the blade was in too deep. And that voice. That goddamn voice.He froze, heart pounding, staring at Deadpool in disbelief. "Wilson...?"Deadpool clapped his hands together. "Ding, ding, ding! Give the man a prize! That's right, Manning. It's me. And you're lookin' at the walking reminder of how badly you fucked up. You remember me, don't you? Back when you were just a hotshot major, stepping on everyone's balls to climb the ladder."Manning's face twisted in pain, but something else too—fear. He knew Wade Wilson. Knew what he was capable of even before all the unkillable, katana-wielding madness. Back when Wade was just a man, he was already a ticking time bomb wrapped in crude jokes and recklessness. And deep down, Manning knew there was no getting out of this clean. "Listen, I don't know what the hell you think you're doing, but I had nothing to do with anything. You're barking up the wrong tree here.""Oh, come on, Bobby," Deadpool chuckled, pulling his katana out of Manning's hand with a wet schlunk. "You're lying to me in my own massacre? I thought we were better than that. I came here for some answers, and I'm gonna get 'em. So let's talk about that little mission in Syria. You remember that, right? Al-Sukhnah, 2014. Our squad went in, only to get ambushed. Rings any bells?"Manning's breath hitched, but the slimy confidence began to creep back. He wiped the blood from his hand on his bathrobe, even managing to sit up a bit. "I don't know what you're talking about. I wasn't involved. Missions go sideways all the time. It's war."Deadpool leaned in close, his mask almost touching Manning's face. "See, that's the thing. Kate told me something different. Said you knew damn well it was a setup. Said you knew there were traitors. You fucked us, Manning. You got Davis killed."Manning's eyes flickered—fear replaced by venom. He sneered, the Colonel mask slipping as his true nature oozed out. "Kate? That little whore? Now I get it. She's been running her mouth to you. Let me guess—you're screwing her now? Think she's different with you? She's been sniffing around for info since the day I met her, trying to pull that bullshit act while she was bouncing on my dick."Deadpool's fist clenched, but Manning wasn't done. "What, she give you the same sob story? The same fake tears before she gets on her knees? Bet she's real good at that part. Or maybe it's just me she gave the special treatment to. Too bad she didn't get shit from me. Dumb bitch thought she could figure it all out."Deadpool's knuckles were white now, the sound of his breathing the only thing keeping the tension from snapping. Manning smirked, baring his teeth through the pain, trying to push him further. "Does she suck you off just as good, or did she get lazy with age?"Wade's hand twitched toward his gun, but he stopped himself—barely. Manning's smirk widened, his snobby officer mask long gone, revealing the scumbag underneath."Go ahead, Wilson. Let's see if you're as tough as you think. 'Cause I'm still here. You? You're just a washed-up freak in a costume.""Washed up, freak, psycho—man, you're just hitting all the classics today. I bet if we had a word cloud of all the shit people have called me, those would be front and center. But hey, let's see where calling me names gets ya."He grabbed Manning by the collar and hurled him into the wall like a rag doll. The smugness had been wiped clean from the Colonel's face as he hit the wall with a sickening thud. Manning crumpled to the ground, groaning, but Wade was on him in a flash, yanking him up by his blood-stained bathrobe.Manning tried to steady his breath, the arrogance in his eyes faltering as the reality of his situation began to sink in. His carefully curated life, his cushy retirement—all of it meant nothing here. The man standing before him wasn't bluffing. As the seconds ticked by, the suffocating weight of panic settled on his chest. He wasn't in control anymore, and that terrified him."Not feeling so cocky now, are ya? You know, Bob, I gotta say, I thought you'd put up more of a fight. All that military bravado, and here you are—bleeding like a stuck pig. Pathetic." Wade gave him a sharp punch to the gut, just because it felt right. "I mean, I'm disappointed. This is what passes for Canadian Special Forces these days?"Wade pulled out his gun, aiming it casually at Manning's trembling hand. "Oh, wait, you dropped something!" With a grin, Wade pulled the trigger, the shot ringing out, and Manning's middle finger exploded in a shower of blood and bone."Oops," Wade chuckled. "Guess you won't be flipping anyone off anytime soon."Without missing a beat, he aimed again and fired, this time taking out Manning's index finger."Or picking your nose."Manning howled in pain, clutching his ruined hand. But Wade wasn't done. "You like fancy shit, don't ya, Colonel? What's this?" Wade's eyes fell on the absurdly luxurious aquarium taking up half the wall, filled with rare fish worth more than most people's cars. "Let's take a swim, shall we?"He dragged Manning, blood trailing behind them, and shoved his head into the water. The Colonel thrashed, bubbles escaping his mouth as his fists pounded against the glass, but Wade held him there, one hand on the back of his head, the other casually resting on his katana."Those fish cost a fortune, didn't they? Wonder if they'll get a taste for blood," Wade mused. "I mean, the least you could do is let them feast on your bullshit."Manning sputtered as Wade pulled him up for air, gasping and coughing, his face dripping wet. "Please... wait, wait!" he choked out."Please? Aw, you're begging me now? That's adorable." Wade shoved him back into the tank, this time holding him there just a little longer. "I mean, you're a colonel, for fuck's sake. Act like you've got a spine."Manning's body convulsed, his arms flailing desperately. Finally, Wade yanked him back out, tossing him to the floor, water splashing everywhere. Manning was shaking, his breathing ragged, his arrogance long gone."You know the drill, Manning. Spill the beans before I spill more of your blood." Wade's tone darkened. "You knew about the ambush. You knew we were walking into a trap. And now, you're gonna tell me everything."Manning's lip quivered, his eyes darting around like a trapped animal. He looked pathetic, but Wade wasn't about to show any mercy. The Colonel let out a sob, his shoulders sagging in defeat."I knew, okay? I fucking knew!" Manning blurted out. "But I wasn't the one calling the shots. I just... I knew what was happening. I wasn't... directly involved. I just covered for them! They're the ones who set it all up! Not me!"Deadpool leaned closer, practically face-to-face with Manning. "Ah, there it is. The ol' 'It wasn't me, it was those other guys' defense. Classic move, Colonel. Real convincing."
You hearing this? Like I haven't heard that a thousand times. What's next? 'It was all a big misunderstanding'? Maybe throw in a 'it's complicated,' just for good measure?
"Man, you must've been a real catch, huh?" Wade muttered, half to himself, half to the blood splattering across the floor.He took a moment to step back, staring at the sorry mess of a man before him.
Damn, Kate, you really slummed it for this guy? No wonder you didn't spill his name. I'd have blown this place sky-high the second you blinked. Guns blazing, eyes closed, full Tarantino.
Wade wiped the edge of his blade with a corner of Manning's now-ruined robe.
Guts or... disgust? Definitely disgust.
Then, with a quick snap of focus, Wade crouched down, back to business, his voice dripping with menace."Alright, Bobby. Time for those fuckin' names."Manning swallowed hard, fear dripping from every pore. "There were... four officers," he confessed, voice shaky. "They were working for Ivan Karpov, a GRU officer. He's the one who set the whole thing up."Wade's grip on his katana tightened, but he let Manning keep talking. "Go on.""Karpov... he wanted control over the oil fields," Manning continued, eyes wide with fear. "The operation... it was all a setup. Karpov and... and Yevgeny Prigozhin, they had plans to take over the fields. They... those guys were promised lifelong benefits—money, protection... everything. All they had to do was make sure your squad got taken out. Karpov's behind a lot of it, not just this mission. He's responsible for the West's failures all over the world. They say he's the top guy in Russian military intelligence, a goddamn superspy... that's what they call him. He's untouchable."Deadpool stared at Manning, expression unreadable behind the mask. "Superspy, huh? Well, guess what, Colonel?" Wade crouched down to look Manning dead in the eyes, the katana glinting in the low light. "Nobody's untouchable when I'm in the mood for a little payback. Now, give me those fuckin' names."Manning's lips trembled as he rattled off the names of the three officers involved. "Major Jacobs... Major Ashdown... Captain Price... Lieutenant Colonel Weber," he gasped, his voice barely above a whisper. "They were the ones working directly with Karpov. I just... I just kept them out of trouble."Wade's brain registered the names at first, matching them up with the ones Adsit had given him earlier. A grim smile crept across his face—finally, some consistency. But then, like a slow-motion punch to the gut, the realization hit.
Jacobs, Ashdown, Price... Weber?! Oh, come on, I'm not in the mood for a 'Betrayal Bingo' card today.
Those names weren't just random assholes; they were his assholes. Men he had followed into battle, respected, trusted with his life. For a split second, Wade stood frozen, rage bubbling up from a place so deep he almost didn't recognize it."You've gotta be fucking kidding me," Wade hissed, voice shaking with fury. He had trusted those bastards. Hell, he had looked up to them. And now, here they were, exposed as traitors who sold out their own men.He leaned in, his voice low. "You think you're gonna slither away from this, huh? You think because you didn't pull the trigger, you get to play the innocent bystander? Cute."Manning's eyes were wild, filled with a mix of fear and desperation. "I wasn't... I didn't—""You didn't what? Stop it? Speak up?" Wade stood up, pulling his katana from its sheath."I didn't... I just... I kept my mouth shut, okay? I covered for them, made sure the reports were clean. I didn't know everything, but I knew enough to keep them safe while they lined their pockets." Manning's voice cracked under the weight of his admission, his hands shaking as he tried to justify his cowardice. "It was Karpov's plan. All I had to do was stay quiet."**Wade circled Manning like a shark, his eyes burning with fury behind the mask. The room was filled with the sounds of pained groans and the occasional sickening crack as Wade made sure Manning felt every ounce of betrayal. But he wasn't going to kill him. Not yet. He had other plans."Names are good and all, but I'm not writing a yearbook here. I need addresses. GPS coordinates. Maybe some fun Yelp reviews. Or do I have to play a little guessing game with your other hand?"Manning, beaten and bloodied, finally broke. "Alright! I'll tell you! I'll tell you everything!" His voice was shaky, desperation creeping in. "The addresses... they're in the address book. Right there." He nodded weakly toward a shelf cluttered with books about military strategy and valor, where a small, leather-bound address book sat among the tomes.Wade cocked his head, amused. "Oh, how convenient." He sauntered over to the shelf, eyeing the book sandwiched between titles like Art of War and Military Leadership for Dummies. He plucked it off the shelf with a smirk, flipping through the pages."Oh, a color-coded address book? What is this, 1973? You hiding classified shit next to your ABBA vinyl collection, Bob? I mean, who still writes down addresses in the age of smartphones? Oh, right, old dudes with money and a serious need to be retro." He held it up, shaking his head with mock disbelief. "You're really making this easier than I expected, Bob. For a guy who loves to hide behind strategy, guess you're really embracing your inner snitch." Wade scanned the addresses, committing them to memory. "But... where's Karpov?""I don't... I don't know where he is," Manning choked out, shaking his head frantically. "No one knows for sure... he moves around. I swear I don't know."Wade crouched down, meeting Manning's tear-filled eyes, his tone shifting to one of mock sympathy. "Oh, don't cry. You're just making it sad now." He paused, his expression hardening beneath the mask. "But don't think we're done. I'll be back."With that, Wade flicked his katana out and pointed it right at Manning's crotch, leaning in closer. Manning's eyes widened, panic surging through his bloodied face."You know, Bob, there's an art to this. Slice too high, and you're in trouble. Slice too low? Embarrassing for everyone. But right here? You'll wonder if you ever had balls, and frankly, Bob, the jury's been out on that for years."Wade straightened up and gave Manning a look of mock pity. "Oh, and Bob? Show some respect for women, will ya? No wonder none of them come near you unless they're getting paid or forced to."Manning sobbed, his body shaking in terror as Wade stood and sheathed his katana."I'll see you real soon, Bob," Wade called out over his shoulder, strolling toward the door with casual ease. "Keep that robe clean for me—might need it for your funeral."Manning, broken and blood-soaked, collapsed onto the floor, choking back sobs, clutching his mutilated hand, his once-pristine world reduced to a bloodstained wreckage.He wasn't safe. No amount of money or power could save him from what was coming. He could still hear Deadpool's voice echoing in his head, promising a return. For the first time in his life, there was probably no escape, no way to slime his way out this time. And he knew it.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
Kate had been waiting.And waiting.She sat cross-legged on the couch, staring at her phone. Over twenty hours had passed since she came from the appointment. She remembered Wade had mumbled something about avenging a dead friend. At the time, she had rolled her eyes, barely registering the comment. Just Deadpool being Deadpool, right? God, how could I have been so stupid? Of course, that's where he disappeared to. And to think she'd let herself be talked into removing the damn IUD, like that was somehow more urgent than a revenge spree.She glanced at the clock. Again. The hours had dragged by, each one filled with a growing sense of frustration and betrayal. They were a team. They were building something—something that involved planning a future, maybe even a family. And yet, here he was, out there, finishing their unfinished business without her.
That idiot's out there getting revenge without me.
Her fingers hovered over her phone.
Where the fuck are you, Wade?
No reply.
If you died, I swear to God, I'll kill you myself.
No reply.
You're not getting out of this, asshole.
She fired off another text. Then another. Then ten more, each one more unhinged and colorful than the last, an escalating storm of expletives, threats, and a few anatomically impossible suggestions she knew would make Wade laugh—if he'd bother to check his goddamn phone."Is this what being a mom feels like?" she muttered, halfway to ripping the phone apart. "Chasing after a reckless idiot who can't even bother to respond?"
Inhale for four seconds. Hold for four. Exhale for four.
She repeated the breathing exercise she had learned during her service, one designed to pull her mind back from the edge. It worked... sometimes. But right now, she needed more. The deep breaths she tried to take only made her angrier.She stood up abruptly and dropped into push-ups, hard and fast. Each time her chest hit the floor, she exhaled, forcing the frustration out with the movement. Her muscles burned, but the rhythmic motion helped focus her. Her mind slowly cleared as she went through a few more rounds: planks, squats, lunges—anything to release the built-up tension.After a while, her arms shook, and she finally collapsed onto her back, staring at the ceiling. The anger was still there, simmering, but the edge was dulled. Still, the thought burned in her mind: Wade had left her behind, like she wasn't capable, like she wasn't part of this. God, he's such an idiot.Her breaths were coming slower now, and she felt some of the tension easing out of her limbs, but the frustration still gnawed at her. She grabbed a throw pillow and squeezed it tight, digging her nails into the fabric as she ran through another exercise—this one designed to ground her back into reality.It helped. Sort of. Enough to keep her from smashing the TV in a fit of rage, at least.After everything they'd been through, after all the bloodshed, the plans, and the insane conversations about their future, he still didn't get it.Wade wasn't the only one trying to fix things, though going off on this mission without her pretty much blew it again. He had his weird attempts, like scrolling TikTok for relationship advice, while she was fighting her own battles. She was scared of losing control, and the bounty on his head only made things worse. She wasn't ready to deal with all of it. Why the hell did she even get rid of the IUD? What, suddenly there'd be a kid, the bounty would disappear, and all their problems would be solved? She knew she was messed up and fully aware of it.She'd signed up for online therapy, tackling her anger head-on, while he turned everything into a joke. From her point of view, she was doing the hard work—he was just dodging it with distractions.The hours ticked by, and eventually, exhaustion overtook her. She fell asleep, the phone still clutched in her hand, her last text unsent.Morning light filtered through the blinds, and Kate woke up with a groan. She rubbed her eyes, sat up, and instinctively reached for the remote. The TV flickered on, and she lazily flicked through a few channels, her thoughts still heavy with anger. After skipping past some terrible reality show and a cooking competition that made her stomach growl, she landed on a news channel.The anchor's stern face snapped her into focus."...in what authorities are calling a series of targeted assassinations, several high-ranking Canadian military officers have been found brutally murdered in their homes. Security footage from one of the scenes appears to show a masked individual, believed to be the notorious mercenary known as Deadpool..."Kate sat bolt upright. The screen showed grainy footage of a familiar red-and-black figure, waving cheerfully at a security camera as he disappeared into the night.She stared at the screen, disbelief turning into a low, seething rage. He did it. He actually did it. Without me.Her hands gripped the remote tighter as the anger surged back, stronger now than before. He'd gone off to settle scores without her.
You asshole.
The screen flashed images of the crime scenes—bloody, gruesome, the type of mess Wade usually left behind. And there he was, smiling for the camera like it was some sort of twisted selfie moment. The text bubble she had on her phone, still unanswered, suddenly felt like a mockery. He'd been on a rampage, and she'd been sitting here, waiting like a fool.Her phone buzzed in her hand. A spark of hope lit up in her chest—finally, an answer—but nope, just another useless notification. She swore under her breath and chucked the phone onto the couch. It bounced and fell between the cushions.He had some serious explaining to do.He'll show up eventually. But, dammit, waiting wasn't her strong suit.**Colonel Manning looked like he'd been hit by a truck. And in a way, he had. His once-pristine face was a mess of bruises, his hand was bandaged from where Wade had left a parting gift, and he was pretty sure one of his ribs was broken. But the pain wasn't what bothered him—it was the realization that he wasn't out of this yet. He'd managed to crawl back to his leather armchair, but the momentary relief faded the second he flipped on the news.The anchor, a pretty blonde with a forced smile, was trying to keep it together as she delivered what was undoubtedly the most insane report of her career. Every word she said was like another punch to his gut."In a breaking story this morning, four Canadian military officers have been found dead in what authorities are calling a series of targeted, brutal killings." The anchor's forced smile faltered slightly as she continued, "The victims—Major Jacobs, Major Ashdown, Captain Price, and Lieutenant Colonel Weber—were discovered in their homes."Manning's stomach dropped. His knuckles turned white against the armrest. These were his guys. The ones who'd sold out with him, who'd played the game. Now they were dead.The anchor paused, glancing off-screen as fresh information fed into her earpiece. She cleared her throat, pushing on. "Major Jacobs was found in his home in Ottawa, stabbed multiple times. Forensics suggest the weapon was...a katana."Manning's breath caught."Major Ashdown," the anchor went on, "was found shot to death in his private garage in Pembroke. Multiple gunshot wounds, close range."Manning's grip on the chair tightened. His mind raced, heart pounding. Ashdown's gone too.The details kept rolling in like waves crashing over him."Captain Price," the anchor said, "was found in his Gatineau home. The official cause of death—blunt force trauma. Investigators have noted that the victim's head was... partially crushed, possibly by a blunt object."Manning's mouth went dry. Crushed. Like a goddamn melon."And finally," the anchor's voice lowered, her expression darkening further, "Lieutenant Colonel Weber was discovered in Petawawa. His body was dismembered. Investigators suspect heavy machinery may have been involved."Manning felt like he was going to be sick. Dismembered. It was a message, loud and clear.As if the air in the room thickened, the TV switched to grainy CCTV footage from one of the crime scenes.His body trembled with an all-too-familiar panic. He reached for his phone, fingers shaking as he tried to think—where could he go? Somewhere remote, somewhere far, far away.Suddenly, the phone buzzed in his hand, snapping him out of his frantic thoughts. An unknown number flashed on the screen. His thumb hovered over the decline button, but something inside him told him to answer.Swiping the screen, he brought the phone to his ear."Hello?" His voice came out shakier than he intended.The voice on the other end was cold, heavy, with a Russian accent. "Colonel Manning... I believe we need to discuss why is this clown in red tights killing my assets."Manning's blood ran cold. "K-Karpov?"The voice on the other end dripped with menace. "Da. You thought you could play both sides, yes? Now you have Deadpool and me to deal with."Manning swallowed hard. "I-I didn't... He must have found out on his own. I swear, I didn't tell him anything!"Silence. Then a low, dark chuckle. "You think I am a fool, Manning? That I do not know when a snake lies to me?"The line went dead, leaving Manning staring at the blank screen of his phone.He tried to breathe, but the weight of everything pressed on his chest like a vice. Deadpool on one side, Karpov on the other.He was fucked.The panic set in, rising like bile. He scrambled to his laptop, fingers trembling as he searched for the earliest flight to the most remote, out-of-reach country possible. Somewhere Deadpool—and definitely Karpov—couldn't find him.Tonga.Perfect. Quiet. Tropical. A place where no one would think to look for him. If he could just get there, he might be able to disappear. He booked the flight with shaking hands, praying no one noticed him slipping away in the chaos. His future in security consulting was officially over.As he packed, one thought pounded in his head:I'm not getting out of this alive.**Captain America sat in the dimly lit office of the Avengers Unity Squad headquarters, reviewing some mission reports with a mug of coffee beside him. The quiet hum of the building was almost peaceful—almost. He liked these rare moments of calm when he could focus on the bigger picture. He had just picked up a file on recent diplomatic tensions when, out of nowhere, the old landline phone on his desk rang.Steve frowned. Who even uses this number anymore?He set down the file and grabbed the receiver. "Rogers here."Captain Canuck's voice came through the line, tight with frustration, but still annoyingly polite—classic Canadian. "Steve, buddy, I hate to bother you, eh, but what the hell is going on? I just caught the news. Four high-ranking officers—Canadian officers—killed in their own homes. And guess who shows up on camera like he's at a damn Comic-Con? That red-and-black menace of yours. What is Deadpool doing on our turf, going full psycho?"Captain America sighed, running a hand over his face. Of course. Of course it was Wade."Listen, Deadpool... he's not my 'guy,' okay?" Steve replied, his voice steady but carrying the weight of someone who had been dealing with this mess for years. "Not your guy, eh? That's funny, because every time that nutjob screws up, he's your problem. You gotta own it, Cap. It's like a moose—if it's in your yard, it's your moose." Canuck's sarcasm cut through the politeness. "And right now, Deadpool's rampaging through our backyard, and we don't exactly appreciate it. If he keeps this up, there's going to be hell to pay, and I'm not sure even you can get him out of this one."Steve sighed again, heavier this time, leaning back in his chair. "I'm not trying to get him out of anything. Wade's... Wade's a mess. I don't condone what he's doing. But he's not exactly... predictable. He follows whatever chaotic impulse strikes him at the moment.""Well, how 'bout we just get the whole world to follow impulses then, eh? See how that works out. Look, I'm not trying to make this a hockey fight, but we're not about to stand around while Deadpool turns our military into mincemeat. I know Canada's not exactly top-tier on the global murder scale, but we do have some standards."Steve leaned back, feeling the weight of the conversation. "I'm not saying let him run wild. But there's always a reason with Wade. It's twisted, sure, but if he's killing people like this, there's something deeper going on. I'll talk to him. But, Canuck, trust me—nobody's handling Deadpool. Not even me."Captain Canuck snorted. "Yeah, well, you better try, or I'll be there with a stick and a goalie mask. And trust me, Steve, we don't all say 'sorry.'"
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
Wade walked through the grungy streets of New York like he owned the place, though technically he probably owed a lot of people around here something. Rent, for example. But hey, it's hard to evict a guy who'll put a katana through your skull for asking about late payments. Not that it was about the rent. Why would he even bother paying for that dump? The cockroaches had probably taken up permanent residence by now, and he wasn't living there anyway. He had Kate's place now—a Mr. Proper commercial come to life. Clean enough to make you wonder if she had a secret deal with a mop cult.Should he go home? Nah, he was way too wired for that. The adrenaline was still buzzing in his veins like he'd just chugged a gallon of Monster energy. He could still smell the blood, feel the warm splatter against his skin. But with each step, there was a creeping void behind it—a hole where that satisfaction should be. He'd crossed a few names off his list, sure, but Karpov was still out there.Where to go now? Kate was gonna kill him. Figuratively, of course. Maybe.He smirked under his mask, ducking into one of his lesser-known safe houses. Definitely one he hadn't told Kate about yet. As the door creaked open, it hit him—he was keeping more secrets from her than she ever had from him. Huh, interesting.With a click, the door slid open, and Wade slipped inside, breathing in the musty scent of neglect. He locked the door behind him, and pulled out his phone. Bad move.The screen lit up like a Christmas tree. Forty-seven unread messages from Kate. With a sigh, he started reading them. One by one. The first few were relatively calm—"relatively" being the key word. A few sarcastic quips, some passive-aggressive remarks about his disappearing act. But as he scrolled further down, things escalated. Angry Kate noises intensify. He could practically hear the furious typing through the phone. Now she knew he'd read every single one.He had been using his phone all this time—calling Adsit again, checking intel, even a few rounds of Candy Crush. But when it came to Kate's texts? Full-on ignore mode. Oh boy, this was gonna take some expert-level damage control. Maybe something involving a very expensive apology dinner, or hell, an apology nuke at this point."I mean, I was on a mission of vengeance. That's a good excuse, right?" he mused aloud. "No, no, you idiot, she's your partner. She's supposed to be with you for that."But then again, ignoring Kate wasn't exactly on his to-do list—he simply had more pressing matters. It wasn't a full-scale operation—just a gathering of more intel. Not just to figure out Karpov's location, but to track down where Manning had slipped off to. Because if he were Manning, he'd already be halfway to some tropical island hideout. The tricky part? Deciding Manning's fate. If it turned out that slimeball had actually sold them out and not just looked the other way, well, Wade was saving him as a gift for Kate.As he scrolled through his overstuffed inbox—so full that Google had started pestering him about buying extra Drive storage—one message from an hour ago caught his eye. It wasn't from Kate. Nope. This one was from Siryn."What the...?" Wade stared at the screen like it had just started singing Broadway show tunes. Siryn? Haven't-seen-her-in-years, punched-in-the-face-by-Vanessa Siryn? Oh, this was rich.His brain whirred back to that glorious mess—Vanessa at the flower show, going full Mortal Kombat on Siryn's face because she thought they were having an affair. And sure, maybe he hadn't exactly squashed those lingering feelings for Siryn, but did it really matter now? Vanessa had died in his arms, bleeding out at the Bronx Zoo while pretending to be a gorilla. Fun times.Hell, after all the shit that went down between him and Siryn, he hadn't thought he'd ever hear from her again. And what did she want? A coffee? A reunion? Closure? He snorted. Like anyone in his life ever really got that.The message was a mess of typos and half-finished thoughts, like the kind you send when you're one glass of wine away from regretting everything.
Wade... i probly shouldnt be txting u but... do u ever think about us? maybe the wine talking. forget it. stupid.
Wade blinked. Oh great. Just what he needed. Drunk ex-girlfriend vibes, right when his current girlfriend was gearing up to strangle him.He shook his head. Focus, Wade. Duties first, and then maybe—just maybe—you'll deal with this Siryn shit. One disaster at a time.He sighed and headed toward the tiny, dingy kitchen of the safe house, rummaging through the fridge. It was empty. Of course. He'd been gone for months."Guess it's a takeout night," he muttered, already scrolling for nearby pizza joints. Because what better way to handle impending relationship doom and the potential resurrection of past lovers than with a greasy slice of New York's finest? Yet, his mind kept circling back to that message from Siryn, the words gnawing at the edge of his thoughts. Do you ever think about us?"Well, I could just ignore it. But... nah." Wade cracked his knuckles, pondering what kind of chaos would unfold if Kate ever saw this. He started typing: 'Sup. Not dead yet?'He leaned back, waiting for the inevitable shitstorm that was bound to follow.Just as he braced himself for Theresa to fire back some cryptic, boozy reply, his phone buzzed again. But it wasn't Siryn. This time, it was a call.Unknown number. At this hour?He squinted at the screen. Almost midnight. He answered, more out of curiosity than anything else."Wilson."The gravelly voice on the other end was unmistakable. Nick Fury.**By the time Wade finally made it home, it was still night—two hours shy of dawn breaking. As a peace offering—or at least a truce—he brought a bag of frozen pierogi from "Pierozek," which he may or may not have broken into. It was a subtle hint toward the direction his next mission—or their mission—might take.As Wade approached the entrance, Taskmaster suddenly materialized out of nowhere, blocking the door like he was starring in some low-budget ninja movie. His expression? Peak deadpan."Well, look who finally dragged his ass home," Taskmaster started, not even bothering to acknowledge the bag of stolen pierogi Wade was holding. "No suspicious activities, but your woman? She's about to go nuclear. She's pissed. Big time. Also—thanks for the tip. First time it didn't suck working with you."Wade's grin spread wide. "Oh, so we're talking about sucking now? Tasky, I didn't know you swung that way. Should've told me earlier!"Taskmaster groaned, rubbing his face in the universal sign of 'why me?'Deadpool leaned in, voice dropping to a fake whisper, "We could've had ourselves a little sausage duel, all you had to do was ask, big guy. We can call it swordplay. I'm open-minded, Tasky—just think of the chemistry. You with your big, shiny—"Taskmaster facepalmed hard. "Just go deal with your woman, Wilson. Stop trying to make this weird."Wade winked. "You're right. Let's save our swordplay for another day."Taskmaster stepped aside, muttering, "Get inside. You're gross.""You say gross, I say tempted." With a half-hearted salute, Wade slipped past him and into the building, leaving Taskmaster behind with a new level of regret.**Wade stepped inside, pierced by a sharp sting of anticipation—or maybe it was just his rapidly depleting luck. Quietly slipping into the apartment without turning on any lights, he crept toward the kitchen. Then, bam—a sharp pain shot through his thigh. And then his other thigh."Ow, shit!" He dodged just in time to avoid a third baby knife flying his way.Kate wasn't sleeping. Oh no. She was wide awake, sitting on the couch, armed with night-vision goggles and more knives at the ready. He could practically feel her death glare."Really? Baby knives?" Wade groaned, clutching his leg. "Can't we just talk this out like emotionally repressed adults?"Kate's voice cut through the dark. "Adults don't vanish for days without a word.""True, but adults also don't use kitchen cutlery as projectiles. So, I think we're even. Besides—" he raised the bag like a white flag, voice cracking just slightly, "—I brought peace pierogi. That's gotta count for something, right?"With knives still sticking out of his thighs, he took a few steps back and flicked on the lights. The absurdity of the situation hit him instantly, especially with Kate sitting there, all serious in her night-vision goggles. He couldn't help but laugh.As he chuckled, he noticed the corner of Kate's mouth twitching—she was fighting it, trying to stay mad. She managed to keep a straight face, though, pulling off the goggles. Wade suddenly wondered if she was about to lunge at him. She didn't blink. She didn't move.Finally, she stood up and approached, eyeing the ridiculous bag of pierogi in his hand."Where the hell have you been?"His laughter fizzled as he noticed Kate's expression shift from mild amusement to "I'm-going-to-kill-you" serious. Uh-oh. He tried to talk his way out of it, spinning the situation like it was all part of some grand, heroic gesture."Babe, I had to settle some scores, you know, as an early birthday present for you. Figured you'd appreciate me crossing a few names off the list."Then, of course, Wade added with a smirk. "But wow, Manning? Really? I mean, sure, he's got the looks. I'll give you that. But damn, Kate, the dude's a greasy little slimeball. Talk about taking one for the team, huh?"Kate's breath hitched the second Manning's name slipped from Wade's mouth. Her eyes narrowed, and without missing a beat, she fired off, "You've been gone for almost three days!""Time flies when you're having fun?" Wade offered, a grin plastered across his face, arms wide like it was a punchline.Her nostrils flared, but she steadied her breathing, her tone dropping an octave. "It's not just that you were gone, you idiot—it's that you cut me out. I had to find out from the news what happened.""Whoa, whoa," Wade threw his hands up defensively. "I gave you a hint, didn't I?""A hint? Wade, I went to that doctor's appointment you oh so thoughtfully sent me to. And then you just vanish. No note, no text. I didn't hear a damn thing. Then I turn on the news and see you're on a bloody rampage. Seriously, Wade?"He grinned nervously. "You're good at figuring things out—""Yeah, I figured it out, but that's not the point!""I was just tying up some loose... uh, y'know... problems," he said, dodging around the real reason. "I didn't want you mixed up in all the Canadian bloodbath stuff. Figured you'd appreciate the day off from the carnage!"Kate's patience snapped, and she shoved him, hard, right in the chest. "You. Don't. Get. To. Decide. That. For. Me.""Look, I'm an idiot. I thought I'd tie up the... uh... issues without you having to deal with the fallout. I wanted to give you a clean break."Kate was staring daggers through him. "You think you're doing me a favor by excluding me?"Wade winced. "Okay, that sounds worse out loud."Before Kate could even say a word, Wade threw his hands up in mock defeat. "I mean, let's be real—since make-up sex is probably off the table, how about I work my magic on these pierogi instead?"Kate's expression was halfway between murder and exasperation, and for a split second, Wade thought she might facepalm herself into another dimension. But make-up sex? Suddenly it seemed it wasn't entirely off the table after all. She didn't even give him time to blink before yanking the bag from his hands and tossing it to the floor. The pierogi hit with a sad splat.Wade's eyebrow shot up as she closed the distance between them, hands now reaching for the zipper of his suit. "Wait, uh—" He hesitated, already sensing where this was going. "Just so you know, I haven't exactly showered in three days. You know, revenge hygiene isn't really a priority. Lots of sweat, blood, maybe some ketchup. And a good chance of... well, let's call it 'cottage cheese under the hood.' You know, just full disclosure."Kate's only response was a sharp tug on the zipper. "Shut up, Wade."She pushed him back against the wall, her lips finding his in that fierce, no-nonsense way she had. No slow build-up, no warning. Just raw heat, like someone flipped a switch from angry girlfriend to don't-you-ever-leave-again, all in one breathless moment.Then, as fast as it had started, she pulled back, panting, lips swollen from kissing him with the kind of intensity that had Wade feeling both victorious and totally confused.
God, woman, make up your mind. You wanna kill me, screw me to death, or leave me here with a sad, lonely hard-on?
Apparently, it was the last option."You're sleeping on the couch," she said, before slamming the door to the bedroom.Wade stared at the bag of pierogi on the floor. "Well, there goes my dignity." He picked it up, popped a few in the microwave, and collapsed onto the couch. Each bite tasted like disappointment, but damn, the pierogi were still good.
I should've told her these were vareniki instead. Would've been the perfect hint about where we're headed next...
He chuckled to himself, shaking his head. But nope, didn't get that far. Damn, I'm good at messing up the little things.As he shoveled them into his mouth, his brain momentarily wandered to a ridiculous rom-com-style idea. I could shower, sneak into bed, kiss her toes, whisper some mushy crap... She'd have to melt, right?Then his phone buzzed. Another text. From Siryn."Jesus, timing," he muttered, hesitating for a second. His thumbs hovered over the keys. Do I reply? The guilt crept in, a small nagging whisper. But he did it anyway.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
Wade woke up around noon, squinting against the obnoxious sunlight streaming through the window. Kate was already up. Hell, knowing her, she probably didn't sleep after storming off to the bedroom. The silence was suffocating. His hand instinctively reached for his phone, and there it was: the glaring reminder of his late-night text marathon with a very drunk Siryn.
Smooth move, Wade. Messaging someone you had feelings for while your current girlfriend was just two knives short of committing murder. Real class act.
Guilt crept up his spine again, but he shoved it down. Bigger things to handle. Kate was making coffee, her back to him, saying absolutely nothing.Normally, he had plenty to say—most of it stupid, but still, words. But now? Nothing. He couldn't seem to muster the energy to throw out a snappy line or crack a joke, not even a half-decent one. Something about the way she stood there, silent and cold, made it impossible for him to act like his usual idiot self."Uh, hi?" he said finally, his voice cracking like a teenager hitting puberty.She didn't turn, didn't flinch. She just kept stirring her coffee, stone-faced, like she was deciding if poisoning him was on the day's to-do list. And it was eerie, like something straight out of a twisted Folgers Coffee ad, only without the wholesome incest vibe. Wade braced himself for another blowout.But instead, Kate broke the silence with, "Coffee?""Yeah, sure, coffee. Just two normal, well-adjusted people having a morning brew. Nothing suspicious at all. Love me some of that... totally safe, un-poisoned caffeine."Her lips twitched, but no smile. She just handed him the cup, and for a brief, terrifying second, Wade thought she might've laced it with something.
You did flirt with Siryn. You might deserve it. Oh man, my intestines are gonna explode. I should've made a will.
He took a sip and felt a weird, fleeting sense of calm.
Karpov. Just tell her about Karpov. No, wait—what if she's actually brewing poison in that coffee pot?
"Thanks for taking care of everything," she muttered unexpectedly. And Wade saw the opening."Yeah, no problem," he said, flashing a grin.
Okay, Wilson, now's your chance. Time to slip in the Karpov news smooth as butter...
Suddenly, his brain did one of its classic backflips, launching him three days into the past. His stomach twisted. She actually had the IUD removed. For real. Not a joke. He'd thrown it out there as a quick distraction, and she'd gone through with it. She got rid of it, and what did he do? Vanished. And then there was the whole Siryn situation.His gut tightened. For once, this wasn't the fun kind of guilt. No, this was the kind that sticks with you, no matter how many people you chop in half afterward. He cringed inwardly. You're kind of an asshole.The urge to actually, you know, apologize floated up in his brain for about two seconds. All he now wanted was to shove his emotional guilt back onto Kate. Emotional deflector mode on. Instead of saying anything remotely related to Karpov, his mouth opened, and out came: "You know, those fancy moves of yours... I've been thinking. Pretty sure you didn't learn those all on me."
Oh, you absolute moron.
Kate's eyebrow shot up like a loaded gun. "What?"Once his brain started down this track, it wasn't stopping. "Those cat-like reflexes, babe. The way you flip around like you're starring in a Cirque du Soleil knife show."
Perfect. Instead of owning up to the fact that you pulled a Houdini after convincing Kate to unbaby-proof her uterus, your mouth decided to change the subject to Daredevil-level acrobatics. Because that's just how you roll—straight into the deep end of moronic insecurity.
"Where the hell are you going with this, Wade?"His brain was spiraling, and there was no turning back now. "I'm saying, those moves... they've got Daredevil written all over them. Hell's Kitchen, late-night training sessions... and not just sparring, right?"Kate's expression went from confused to stone-cold in two seconds flat.But he couldn't stop himself. "I mean, you've said it yourself, haven't you? You and ol' Matty weren't just kicking bad guys' asses together, were you? He was showing you more than just how to throw a punch, right? Bet he was showing you the backroom."
Why not go for the hat trick, Wade? Maybe throw in Wolverine and see if you can make it a jealousy trilogy.
"Wade, stop," Kate said, her voice calm but laced with warning.But, of course, kept digging. "Oh, I'm stopping, alright! Stopping to wonder how many of those slick little acrobatic moves you got from Matt Murdock, huh? Bet that blind son of a—""Wade!" Kate snapped, eyes blazing now.Wade froze, the full weight of his stupidity crashing down on him. Abort. Abort. Change the subject. Fast."Okay, okay, you're right, that was... stupid. Forget I said anything about Daredevil. He's not even on my mind! It's... it's Karpov. That's what I wanted to talk to you about. Not Daredevil, definitely not Daredevil."Kate blinked, confused again. "Who the hell is Karpov?!""Uh, you know, that vodka-soaked bastard" Wade said, seizing the opportunity to bail out of his self-dug hole. "But, uh, we can circle back to that later, 'cause honestly, something else has been keeping me up at night.""Oh? And what's that?" She was pissed again, no question.Wade looked her dead in the eye, dead serious. "Would you still love me if I were a worm?"Kate just stared. "What?""No, seriously. It's been keeping me up at night, babe. Would you still love me if I were a worm? Or would you, like, stomp on me, throw me into the garden, leave me to dry out in the sun, forget all about me while you train with... never mind. Answer the question."Kate sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose like she was trying to keep herself from throttling him. "Wade, you can't seriously expect me to—""Oh, I'm very serious," Wade interrupted, leaning forward, his eyes wide. "Would you love me if I were a worm? Or would you stomp on me? What if I was a worm with a tiny Deadpool mask? Would that change things?"Kate looked like she was about to lose her patience entirely. "You're ridiculous.""Am I, though?" Wade continued, undeterred. "What if I was a worm and I arranged a threesome—with Mark's ghost? Because I can do that, you know. I've got connections."Kate blinked. "You've got what?""Connections. To the afterlife. Michael Hawthorne, babe, remember? The necromancer with the killer guacamole recipe? He could bring Mark back, no problem. And you know, we could... I dunno... explore some new things. Ghosts have a lot of stamina, I've heard. You'd get twice the fun, and I wouldn't even need to take a break. Plus, he'd make a great wingman. I think.""Wade, what the fuck are you even talking about?"He grinned, leaning back and crossing his arms smugly. "I've been thinking about it. It's not weird. It's just... different. I mean, Mark was my buddy, and I figure... if anyone's gonna be part of a ghostly threesome with us, why not him? You loved him."Kate stared at him, completely at a loss for words. "I... I don't even know how to respond to that."Wade tilted his head, feigning disappointment. "Aw, come on. You're not even a little curious? Just think about it. Mark could float around, get all spectral while we—""Wade, stop." Kate held up her hand, shaking her head in disbelief. "You're insane."Wade grinned, backing away slowly, hands up in mock surrender. "Okay, okay. Just... think about it. Y'know, in case things ever get boring."**He noticed he had crossed the line. Kate probably thought being with him was the biggest mistake of her life. What the fuck was that conversation?Karpov. Karpov! Time to steer this ship back to some semblance of sanity. But his brain? Total dumpster fire. Focus on Karpov, man!"Enough ghost talk," he took a deep breath and began, trying to salvage what was left of the conversation. "I gotta admit, there was more to my little side trip than just slicing up a few traitors. I found out some things... and it turns out this whole mess goes a lot deeper than we thought."Kate blinked, like she couldn't believe what just came out of his mouth. Probably because of everything that had come out before it. But she stayed quiet."Manning, that little shit, finally spilled. He was allegedly just the puppet. The real string-puller? That's where it gets interesting. We're talking Kremlin-level shit. GRU. Colonel Ivan Karpov was the guy behind everything," Wade started, trying to keep the focus on something sane for once. "And get this—he's been working with Prigozhin. Yeah, that Prigozhin."Kate's expression softened, her frustration giving way to something more like exhaustion, as if she was overwhelmed by the sheer amount of bullshit he had thrown at her before. Still, Wade noticed the spark of interest in her eyes."You mean the Wagner Group asshole? Prigozhin was in on it too?"Wade nodded, his tone darkening. "Yup. Karpov and Prigozhin were tag-teaming the whole Syrian mess. Those two were raking in the cash, turning the place into their little playground of death and oil deals. Karpov made sure the intel and equipment flowed smoothly, while Prigozhin supplied the manpower. It's all been one giant, well-oiled money-making murder fest for them. They orchestrated the whole thing—set us up as sitting ducks for their special ops team."Wade's fragmented memories started clicking together, like a jigsaw puzzle from hell. And the picture that formed? Yeah, that wasn't something he wanted to hang on the wall.
You heard them yelling "blyat blyat!" like they were extras in a bad Russian mob movie, and what did you do? Absolutely nothing. You figured, 'Eh, they're just some overzealous locals,' and let it slide.
You haven't even thought twice about it.
His face twisted into a grimace."And Jacobs, Ashdown, Price... Weber? They were in on it, too. Sold us out for a fat paycheck and some cushy deals. These pricks handed over everything: mission details, coordinates, even what snacks we were bringing. Manning was their babysitter, making sure their shit didn't stink. Karpov's the key. He's been orchestrating such shitshows for years.""And where is this Russian bastard now?" Kate asked, and Wade could see it—the flicker in her eyes. She was hooked. The flame was lit, and there was no turning back now."Currently? Occupied Crimea. He's definitely seen the headlines. Yeah, he's feeling the heat now.""So, what's the plan? You think we just waltz into Crimea and take him out?""Why not?" Wade shrugged. "It's payback time.""When's this going down?"Wade noticed her mood shift instantly. Good sign. "Sooner than I thought. Because—guess who called?"Her eyebrow arched. "Who?""Nick Fury. Mission time, babe. And guess why? Russia's about to do something incredibly stupid. We're talking full-scale, no-holds-barred war stupid. They're about to invade Ukraine very soon. And Karpov's right in the middle of all the planning and execution. It's going to be a bloodbath"Wade paused, a smirk creeping across his face. "And guess who's been invited to the party? S.H.I.E.L.D. figures if I'm in there stirring things up, maybe I can help clean up some of their mess while I'm at it. You know, kill two birds with one grenade."Kate's eyebrow twitched. "And what exactly does 'invitation to the party' mean this time?"Wade smirked, already mentally packing for a warzone. "Oh, you know, the usual. Crash the invasion, slice up Karpov, maybe blow up a tank or two—add some Deadpool-flavored chaos to the whole Russian debacle. They don't care if the body count skyrockets. They can always throw me under the bus—'Oh, it was Deadpool, that crazy merc hired by who-knows-who!' It's perfect! Even better, it feeds right into those Russian conspiracy theories about supersoldiers and mercenaries in Ukraine. I mean, they've been saying it for years, so I might as well give them something to talk about, right?"He saw the flicker in Kate's eyes, that glimmer of excitement he'd been hoping for. She crossed her arms, already fired up. "So, what? We're heading there together?""Ah," Wade scratched the back of his neck, "about that. The invite's not exactly 'plus one,' more like 'plus half.' They want you in, sure, but Fury's not letting you join my mission. He's got something else in mind for you."Kate's eyes narrowed, irritation already creeping in. "What the hell does that mean?"He held up his hands defensively. "Hey, don't shoot the messenger here! I tried, okay? I told Fury that if he didn't let you come along, then my sex life would go down the toilet faster than a Taco Bell binge. No more vaginal intercourse for Wade Wilson, I said. And you know what that means—frustration, lots of it. Fury wouldn't want to deal with that. I'd be a walking nuclear bomb of pent-up sexual rage."Kate glared, but Wade quickly sobered up, his tone more serious. "I gave it my best shot. I did ask about you. Told you're my partner and you can handle whatever gets thrown at you. Hell, you could go toe-to-toe with Black Widow any day, and I meant it. But Fury wouldn't budge."Kate's patience snapped. "What the fuck is 'something else,' Wade?""He wants you back on your old stomping grounds. Frontline action. You're gonna be in the trenches, saving Ukrainian asses and making sure those boys don't bleed out in some dirt hole. And trust me, they are gonna need someone who knows how to patch them up and keep their guts on the inside."Kate's jaw clenched. "You're saying he wants me to play nurse while you're off chasing Karpov?""Look, I didn't make the rules! I told Fury you're the best at both breaking and fixing people, but he insisted on the whole 'humanitarian' angle. S.H.I.E.L.D. doesn't exactly want you to, y'know, go full 'stabby-stabby, murder machine. Fury thinks if you're out there saving lives instead of ending them, it keeps things... tidy. Fewer 'external actors' causing problems. But me? I'm the wild card. They'll just make me the fall guy."Kate stood up, folding her arms, and gave him that look—the one that could melt steel. "And you're just okay with this?""I mean, I get it. You're not exactly thrilled about playing Nurse Ratched. As much as I'd love you in the splash zone, someone's gotta keep the good guys alive. Hell, I'd love nothing more than to have you by my side, ripping Karpov apart limb by limb. But Nick's the ones calling the shots, and if we want a shot at taking Karpov down, we gotta play by Fury's rules... for now.""I didn't sign up to be your backup, Wade. I'm not here to just patch people up while you play hero. If you think for one second I'm going to sit back and watch you screw this up, you're sorely mistaken," Kate snorted."Think about it. Let's talk about the real difference between being a badass combat medic in Iraq or Afghanistan versus what the Ukrainian frontlines are about to be like, shall we? Spoiler alert: it's gonna be like comparing Call of Duty to Tetris—same basic concept, but one's a complete clusterfuck. The Ukrainian frontline will feel like a damn bar fight where every drunk bastard's got a tank, and the jukebox won't stop playing the Soviet national anthem on repeat. You'll be patching people up while shells are flying overhead, dodging missiles like it's some game of whack-a-mole, except you're the mole and the mallet's on fire. And half the time, you won't even know who the hell's shooting at who. One second, you're slapping a tourniquet on a guy, the next, a freakin' drone might whiz by like it's delivering pizza. You'll love it."Kate's frustration lingered, but Wade leaned in, eyes serious. "It's not just any mission, Kate. It's war. And if I know one thing, it's that you're exactly where you're needed. Plus, I'll be right around the corner... slicing and dicing in my own fun way."Kate sighed, clearly not amused. "Fine. But I want Karpov's head. His actual head."Wade saluted her, his tone dropping to a mock-serious voice. "Aye-aye, Captain. You got it. Karpov's head on a platter, coming right up. Hell, I'll even put a little bow on it for you. And just to be clear—there's no chance you're gonna reconsider the whole ghost-Mark thing after this, right? I mean, revenge and threesomes? That's like, the ultimate combo."Kate smirked, shaking her head. "One mission at a time, Wade. But if you pull this off... who knows?"Wade's eyes lit up, and he couldn't help but laugh. "Now that's the kind of motivation I need. Time to go show Karpov what happens when you screw with the wrong people."
Ghost-Mark better get ready, because if all goes according to plan, you're about to have the afterlife of your dreams.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
The night of February 24th on Snake Island was thick with tension, the kind of tension that gets under your skin and makes every second feel like an hour. The Ukrainian soldiers, crammed into whatever cover they could find, were tuned into the growing chaos. Reports of the Russian onslaught up north—the tanks rolling through Kharkiv, missiles raining down near Kyiv—reached them in shaky bursts of radio chatter.The day before, there had been nothing. No signs, no threats, just the eerie calm before the storm. But now? The Russians were here, and they weren't playing games. Naval mines dotted the waters around the island like some twisted version of Battleship. Snake Island was cut off, trapped. And there was no way out.Commander Bohdan Hotskyi was pacing back and forth, hands clenched into fists, his eyes darting around as if the walls were going to close in on them any second.Just as the first light of dawn smeared across the sky, a voice crackled over the radio, direct and taunting, demanding their surrender, trying to play it smooth with promises of safety and "good military pensions" if they'd just drop their weapons and lay down like dogs.By noon, the Vasily Bykov appeared on the horizon, sleek and menacing like the grim reaper's personal yacht. Not long after, the Moskva, the crown jewel of the Russian Black Sea Fleet, joined in, casting a long shadow over the island. And then came the deck artillery, shells splashing into the sea, too far to hit anything but close enough to rattle nerves.Hotskyi made the call—no surrender. They knew what surrender meant. It meant giving up, it meant facing tortures—they'd sooner execute themselves than fall into Russian hands.And if there's one thing Ukrainians have never been good at, it's surrendering. So, they made their choice. They were going to hold the line, no matter how impossible it seemed.But as the artillery barrage intensified, shaking the ground and sending up clouds of dust and debris, it was clear this was only the beginning. Russian fighter aircrafts screamed overhead. Missiles rained down, tearing into the earth, turning their cover into nothing more than shrapnel-filled death traps.Hotskyi barked orders to his men, trying to keep them moving, trying to keep them alive. But Snake Island was no place to hide—it was solid rock, and trying to dig in was about as effective as scratching a chalkboard with a feather.Their covers weren't built to withstand air-to-surface missile, but they were better than standing out in the open. The first few soldiers made it to one of the makeshift hideouts just as another airstrike hit, the roar of jet engines filling the sky.And just as Hotskyi was about to make his own run for cover, a flash of red and black appeared at the highest point of the island. Out of nowhere, like some fever-induced hallucination, stood a figure in a ridiculous black-and-red suit, striking a dramatic pose.His gaze was fixed on the horizon, hands on his hips, his mask clinging tightly to his face like a second skin, making him look like a deranged knockoff of the Wanderer Above the Sea of Fog.
The hell?
Hotskyi didn't waste any time. Without thinking, he raised his rifle and fired several rounds straight at the strange figure. The bullets hit, and the guy let out a loud, unmistakable "Fuuuck!" as he staggered, clutching what looked like a giant sack over his shoulder. Then he turned, half-limping, and to the commander's horror, started hobbling toward him, muttering something about the "worst vacation ever".Bohdan's brain scrambled to process what was happening as the masked lunatic flashed a grin through his busted mask and called out, "Hey, Captain! I thought I'd drop in for some R&R, but your hospitality sucks!" Instinct kicked in—Bohdan fired more rounds. But the figure kept advancing, undeterred."Who the fuck are you?" Hotskyi growled, his voice hoarse with both shock and disbelief.With a dramatic flourish, Deadpool dropped the bag on the ground. "I'm the guy who's about to turn this little island into a Russian-themed slaughterfest. And man, do I have some fun toys to play with! You, my friend, are about to witness the greatest one-man massacre in military history. I'll even let you take selfies after. But don't worry, your soldiers will get all the credit."Hotskyi's eye twitched. He wasn't sure whether to shoot this man again or just leave him to the Russian warships. But before he could respond, another airstrike rattled the island, reminding him that this was not the time for questions.**Deadpool casually shoved Bohdan into the hideout. "Alright, before I turn this rock into my personal Call of Duty map, you mind introducing me to the crew?" Bohdan barely had time to protest as Deadpool practically tumbled in after him, wedging himself between the soldiers like he belonged there, his suit standing out like a sore thumb in the sea of military fatigues.A couple of the younger soldiers shot confused glances at each other, whispering under their breath. "Is that... Spider-Man?"Deadpool's head snapped around like he'd just been slapped. "Spider-Man? Really? Do I look like I spend my nights sobbing over algebra and posing for selfies?" He spread his arms wide. "Spider-Man saves kittens; I rack up a body count. He swings from webs, I swing through Russian skulls."He slapped Bohdan on the back. "This suit? It's all 'sex and slaughter,' not 'awkward teenager.' Ain't that right, Captain?"The soldiers chuckled. The bunker wasn't thick with fear—just pure, gritty determination. They stood close, eyes like steel, not panicking but ready. They knew what was coming, and they were prepared for it.And then Russian voice crackled over the radio, spitting out the demands for surrender, complete with that deadpan Soviet tone that could make even a kindergarten recital sound like a war crime.Before anyone could react, Deadpool's eyes lit up. Without hesitation, he lunged forward, snatching the radio transmitter from the hands of the stunned operator. "Sorry, Dmytro," he quipped, "but it's time for Uncle Wade to handle this."With a flick of his wrist, he whipped out his phone, the glow of Google Translate lighting up his face. His fingers danced over the screen with the expertise of someone who's looked up every curse word in every language.He glanced at the Ukrainian soldiers with a wink, cleared his throat dramatically, and then shouted into the transmitter with the glee of someone who's been waiting for this moment his entire life: "Russkiy voyennyy korabl', idi na khuy!"The soldiers blinked, dumbfounded, but a grin started to spread across their faces as they realized what he'd just said. Deadpool, standing triumphantly with the transmitter in one hand and his phone in the other, was absolutely basking in his moment of linguistic brilliance.
Should I have said it slower? Could've drawn out the 'na khuy' a bit more?
But, of course, reality came crashing back. The Russian voice didn't even flinch. There was no pause, no shock, no applause for his stellar performance. Instead, the radio crackled back to life, barking out the same monotonous threats, only this time the tone was more annoyed, like they were getting ready to smash the damn island into oblivion.Outside, as if Deadpool's taunt had personally triggered the barrage, the Russian artillery fire suddenly intensified, shaking the very ceiling of the bunker. Explosions ripped through the air, and the ground above trembled violently. The sky above the island lit up as the bombardment reached new heights of destructive fury.Deadpool shrugged, unfazed by the increasing carnage. "Well, guess my linguistic skills didn't win 'em over. Looks like it's time to go old school." He tossed the transmitter back to the radio operator with a wink. "Don't worry, guys, I've got more than words up my sleeve."Hotskyi stared, mouth half-open, as Deadpool began strolling toward the incoming Russian vessels, whistling a jaunty tune. The commander could only watch in stunned silence, trying to wrap his head around what the hell this lunatic was thinking. His men didn't need courage—they had plenty of that. But this?**Deadpool cracked his neck. The explosions around him were just background noise now. He reached into his oversized sack of mayhem, pulling out something special – a heavily modified SHIELD-issue Stinger MANPADS."Oh, baby," Deadpool grinned under his mask, kissing the launcher like it was an old lover. "You and me, we're gonna paint this sky with Russian scrap metal."He hoisted the Stinger onto his shoulder, eyes locked on the incoming Su-34s flying low and slow, practically begging to be shot down. "Look at these clowns. Flying like they're trying not to wake the neighbors," he muttered, zeroing in on the first jet.The missile screamed out of the launcher, cutting through the sky before slamming right into the jet's side. The explosion was instant. The pilot didn't even have time to react before the plane tilted and careened into the sea, disappearing with a huge splash. "That's what happens when you fly economy," Deadpool chuckled, already reloading.The second Su-34 tried to bank, but Deadpool's next shot was already in the air, a heat-seeking middle finger flying straight toward it. The pilot ejected, parachuting down to safety—or so he thought. The wind wasn't on his side. Just as his chute deployed, a gust pushed him right into the burning wreckage of his own jet. Deadpool winced as the canopy caught fire, turning the pilot into a flailing, screaming human torch. Before he could properly enjoy the sight of the fiery demise, Deadpool's grin stretched wider. The distant hum of Russian helicopters grew louder. He could already see them on the horizon, blades slicing the air. "Oh-ho, here comes the Spetsnaz," he muttered. "Now the real fun begins."The first chopper hovered low, prepping to drop its troops. Deadpool's fingers twitched with anticipation. "Oh, sure, just line 'em up for me. Makes my job so much easier."He thought about cutting through the soldiers as they hit the ground, but then a different idea struck him. Why waste time on the grunts when he could take out the whole bird in one go?He considered taking the easy route—just using the Stinger to blow it out of the sky—but where's the fun in that? His eyes drifted to the bag. Ooh, what do we have here? Maybe a little something from S.H.I.E.L.D. would spice things up.Without a second thought, he darted over to his bag of tricks, rifling through it until he found something far more interesting—a sleek, high-tech explosive launcher. "Stick and boom," he muttered with glee, pulling it out.He took aim at the chopper, firing a round that latched onto its hull with a satisfying clunk. A few seconds later, the explosion rocked the aircraft, just as some of the soldiers had begun descending on ropes. As the helicopter spun out of control, it looked like a deranged carousel, the soldiers swinging wildly in every direction. Then, with a sickening crunch, the chopper crashed down on top of them, crushing the ones still hanging in midair beneath its fiery wreckage.The second chopper was more successful, efficiently dropping its soldiers before peeling away. Their rifles barked to life as they hit the ground, bullets zipping past Deadpool's head. With a gleeful grin, he sprinted toward them, katana in hand. "You guys look serious," he said, slicing through the first soldier's rifle before burying the blade deep into his chest. "But I'm really good at ruining serious days."Yet they were quick to adapt, covering each other with precise bursts of gunfire. But Deadpool was quicker, darting between them like a blood-soaked pinball. One soldier raised his rifle to fire, but Deadpool was already there, slashing through the barrel before plunging his katana into the guy's face. "Surprise! Your AK-12? Totally overrated."Another one, a real tough bastard, stood firm and raised a hand grenade launcher, aiming directly at Deadpool. "Oh, you've got to be kidding me," Deadpool muttered, just as the soldier fired. He dove out of the way, rolling through dirt and debris as the explosion rattled the ground around him.Then, out of the corner of his eye, Deadpool saw movement. The young Ukrainian soldiers, eager to join the fray, inching toward the action. Their eyes burned with adrenaline, but the lack of experience was obvious. "Whoa, whoa!" Deadpool yelled, hacking off a Spetsnaz soldier's leg before shooting him point-blank in the head. "This ain't a school field trip! Leave the pros to—"His sentence was cut short as another Russian trooper lined up a perfect shot right at Deadpool's head. Time seemed to slow down for a split second—just long enough for Deadpool to realize he might actually get hit. Not that he was particularly worried, but damn, regenerating was such a pain in the ass. But then, out of nowhere, one of the Ukrainian kids rushed in, driving his knife deep into the Russian's neck. Blood gushed as the soldier staggered, but before he could react, the kid plunged the blade into his eye socket. The helmet goggles did nothing to save him.Deadpool blinked, genuinely surprised for once. The kid stood there, panting, covered in blood, looking like he couldn't believe what he just did. Deadpool clapped him on the shoulder with a bloodied hand. "Well, shit. Maybe YOU are Spider-Man." He gave the kid a wink. "Nice save, kid. Next time, maybe throw in a superhero landing. Chicks dig that."The remaining soldiers fanned out, rifles up, their fire coordinated. Bullets tore through the air as Deadpool zig-zagged between rocks and debris, closing the distance. He whipped out his pistols, unloading round after round. Heads exploded, helmets shattered, and the ground turned into a battlefield Pollock would've been proud of.One soldier got too close, and Deadpool shoved a grenade into his chest rig before kicking him back toward his squad. "Hold this for me, would ya?" The explosion sent limbs flying as the rest of the Spetsnaz scrambled for cover."You guys were fun, but not Taco Tuesday fun," Deadpool said, spotting a grenade launcher on the fallen soldier who had shot at him earlier. "Well, well, what do we have here?" He grabbed the launcher, barely wiping off the blood. The second helicopter was still hovering low. Deadpool calmly took aim, finger hovering over the trigger. "Hope you like fireworks, 'cause this one's gonna light up your day."Savoring the destruction, he heard the unmistakable sound of engines revving up in the distance. His head snapped toward the shoreline—boats were approaching, loaded with regular Russian troops. "Oh, for fuck's sake. You're boring," Deadpool sighed, tapping his chin with his katana. "Do I charge them? Or teleport in and give 'em the surprise of their lives?"He hesitated for a second, then grinned. "Nah, teleport it is."With a blink, Deadpool materialized right in the middle of the Russian troops, barely able to process his sudden appearance. Two were sliced clean in half before Deadpool paused mid-swing, a thought crossing his mind."Wait... Kate's gonna murder me if I don't check in."With bullets whizzing by, he sheathed one katana, pulled out his phone, and casually began typing:
Yo babe! Just being thoughtful.
Miss me?
He hit send with a smirk just as one of the Russian soldiers charged at him, screaming something in Russian that was probably a lot less friendly. Without looking up from his phone, Deadpool lifted his other katana and neatly sliced the soldier's legs off mid-run."Hold on, big guy," he muttered, finishing his text. "Priorities."Deadpool pocketed his phone and grinned at the now-legless soldier crawling away. "I know, Kate's a real keeper. Now, where were we?"He twirled his katanas, effortlessly teleporting again, appearing behind a group of unsuspecting soldiers. "Ah yes, turning you guys into confetti!"The look on their faces? Priceless. "Surprise, motherfuckers!" he shouted, katanas already slashing through the closest soldiers like they were made of paper. Blood sprayed in every direction as limbs flew."Don't look so glum," Deadpool said, stepping over a dying soldier. "You'll be seeing your comrades real soon."Another Russian aimed at him, but before he could fire, Deadpool had teleported behind him, slicing the guy clean in half. In minutes, the ground was littered with bodies, and the few remaining Russians retreated toward their boats. Deadpool glanced at the fleeing soldiers with a sigh. "Aw, come on! I was just starting to get warmed up! Don't make me chase you; I'm not built for cardio.""Well, that was fun," he muttered. And then he noticed it—the Bykov and Moskva, those big, bad ships that had been looming like the final bosses in a crappy video game, were pulling away.He raised an eyebrow beneath his mask. "Seriously? You roll up here, flex your big-ass guns, talk all that smack about surrender, and now you're tucking tail and running? Typical. All show and no go. That's some straight-up micro-penis energy right there."
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
Deadpool stood in the eerie silence, blood still dripping from his blades, surveying the scene. The Ukrainian soldiers slowly emerged from their cover, eyes wide, torn between awe and pure horror. Their weapons hung useless at their sides—no need to fire a shot when the battlefield had been painted red already.He blinked, scanning their faces. Well, maybe except for that kid—the one who took down that one Russian like a damn pro. He gave the boy a subtle nod."Spidey might've tried to give you a lecture about not killing people, but Venom? Venom would be sending you a thank-you card and maybe a complimentary symbiote. Just don't ask him for relationship advice—he's clingy as hell.""Alright, boys," Wade continued, slapping his hands together. "Island's clear, and I didn't even charge you for the entertainment. But if you're gonna write about this in your history books, make sure you mention the part where I made the Russians crap their pants. It's important."Hotskyi stepped forward, his posture straight, but his expression torn between shock and something close to admiration. His thick Eastern European accent made his English sound heavier, but the words were clear enough. "You... did all this?" He gestured broadly at the carnage—the scattered bodies, the burning wreckage, his hands still shaking from the adrenaline."You took out an entire Russian unit like it was nothing. I've seen war, but this? This is something else. Who... what the hell are you?Deadpool spun around with a grin, flicking the last bit of gore from his blades before sheathing them. "What can I say? When you're good at something, you lean into it."Hotskyi frowned slightly. "Maybe... too much?"Deadpool threw his head back, laughing. "Too much? Buddy, this is me on an average day. Hell, I've done crazier stuff while half my limbs were missing." He clapped Hotskyi on the shoulder. "Enjoy the aftermath. There's plenty of Russian gear lying around. Think of it as a scavenger hunt. You're welcome."**One of the soldiers, clearly intrigued, couldn't help himself. While others began rifling through the wreckage, looting the fallen Russians for whatever useful they could find, this guy had his eyes glued to Deadpool's oversized sack, lying half-open nearby.No glances toward the commander for approval, no second thoughts—just pure human curiosity. He reached for the edge of the bag, eyes wide like a kid sneaking a peek at his presents.Deadpool's reflexes kicked in instantly. "HEY! Hands off, bud!" he yelled, lunging toward the soldier like the bag held his firstborn. ""That's classified S.H.I.E.L.D. tech, not your grandma's secret borscht recipe."The soldier froze, but Deadpool's serious expression lasted all of two seconds before he grinned beneath his mask. "Ah, screw it. Go ahead, have a peek. S.H.I.E.L.D.'s got so much fancy shit, they probably won't even notice if a couple of toys go missing. Just, uh, maybe don't reverse-engineer anything. Last thing I need is Fury chewing me out for some Ukrainian Iron Man knocking at the Kremlin's door."The soldier cautiously pulled out a long sniper rifle, sleek and far too light for its size, turning it over in his hands, while a couple of the others gathered around, their curiosity piqued. They leaned in, inspecting the high-tech design."Go on, make yourselves at home!" Deadpool chuckled, gesturing to the loot. "Just be careful with the one that says 'nuclear.' I'm not actually sure if it's a bluff."But before the soldiers could dig any deeper into the sack, a new sound broke through the lingering quiet. The unmistakable chop-chop of helicopter blades. Deadpool immediately tensed, thinking it was more Russians coming to crash the party. He grabbed his katanas and stepped toward, ready for another round of carnage."Alright, who's next? I haven't run out of witty one-liners yet!"But as the chopper came into view, Deadpool spotted something that made him pause—the unmistakable S.H.I.E.L.D. logo painted on the side. The soldiers around him lowered their rifles, looking confused.Deadpool turned back to the sack, suddenly less relaxed. "Okay, you know what? On second thought... don't touch the bag. S.H.I.E.L.D.'s here. You lift one grenade, and suddenly there's a 'global security breach.'"The soldiers quickly stepped away from the sack as the helicopter landed. Deadpool muttered under his breath. "Fury's probably gonna have my ass for this one."**As the helicopter's door slid open with a mechanical hiss, two figures emerged from the swirling dust. First was Nick Fury—the living embodiment of "I'm too old for this shit". And right behind him, Kyrylo Budanov, head of Ukrainian military intelligence, who looked like he hadn't smiled since the Soviet Union collapsed... which, to be fair, happened when he was only five years old. But hey, who's counting? The guy made lieutenant general faster than most people pick a college major.Deadpool raised his arms in mock surrender. "Hey! I didn't break that many international laws today!"The Ukrainian troops stiffened at attention, snapping sharp salutes. Budanov returned the salutes with a curt nod, a gesture of acknowledgment, not ceremony. He wasn't here for formalities—he was here for results.He stepped forward, his face as unreadable as ever. "Impressive work, Mr. Wilson. You saved my men, and for that, Ukraine owes you a debt. However..." He paused, his cold, calculating gaze scanning the bodies littered across the island. "...officially, the defenders of Snake Island are considered dead."Deadpool's head snapped up, a look of disbelief spreading across his face beneath the mask. "Wait, what? You're just gonna kill them off on paper? That's cold, even for me—and I literally stabbed a guy in the heart five minutes ago."Budanov didn't flinch. "It's necessary. The story of their sacrifice will inspire the people. It's about strategy, not facts. Sometimes, legends are more powerful than truth."Wade shook his head, letting out a long, exaggerated sigh. "Ah, the old 'lie to win hearts and minds'strategy. You know, I thought I was the messed-up one. But man, you take the cake. These poor guys are standing right here, and you're telling the world they're dead. What's next? You gonna write a musical about it too? 'The Ballad of Snake Island'—now playing on Broadway."Fury, who had been silently watching the exchange, finally chimed in, his voice as smooth as gravel. "Wilson, focus. This isn't about medals or glory. We've got bigger problems."Deadpool raised an eyebrow behind his mask, his grin widening with suspicion. "Bigger problems, huh? Let me guess—aliens? Hydra? Or is this one of those 'Fury's-not-gonna-tell-me-jack-shit-right-now' moments?"Fury's expression didn't change. "You'll know what you need to know when you need to know it, Wilson."Deadpool sighed theatrically, throwing his hands up. "Fine, fine. Secrets, I get it. But just so we're clear—Karpov's still breathing, isn't he? The guy's like a bad case of herpes—just won't go away.""Karpov is aboard the Moskva, the Russian Black Sea Fleet's flagship. The very ship that tried to take this island," Budanov unexpectedly cut in.Wade's grin froze, and his body tensed with the kind of excitement only a seasoned killer could appreciate. "Well, why didn't you start with that? Karpov's hiding out on that floating tin can? Moskva, here I come! Time to turn that floating hunk of Soviet nostalgia into a flaming pile of—"Budanov raised a hand to stop him. "It's not that simple. The Moskva is heavily guarded, and you won't be facing just Karpov. If you charge in now, you'll be up against an entire fleet. Timing and precision are everything."Deadpool scoffed, shaking his head. "Precision? Have you met me? Chaos is my middle name. Actually, it's Winston, but you get the idea."Fury, ignoring Wade's usual nonsense, stepped closer. "Budanov's right. This isn't the time for one of your blood-soaked, headline-grabbing rampages. Hell, there might be, but remember to make sure no one lives to share the story on Telegram. We need to take the Moskva down, but we do it on our terms. You get on that ship, and we'll clean up the rest."Wade rolled his eyes behind his mask, letting out another dramatic sigh. "Fine, fine. We'll play it your way, but when the time comes, I'm turning that ship into a goddamn fireball. And as for Karpov?" He pulled one of his katanas halfway out of its sheath. "That bastard's mine."Budanov's expression didn't change, but there was a flicker of approval in his eyes. "Agreed. You'll get your chance."Fury crossed his arms, his tone firm. "Just wait for the signal, Wilson. This isn't a solo act."Wade's mind, already racing with ideas of how to creatively disembowel Karpov, paused for a beat. "You know, this whole 'revenge' thing isn't just business for me. It's personal. Karpov's the reason my buddy is dead. The kind of buddy you don't forget."He continued, barely holding back a smirk, eyes darting between Budanov and Fury, waiting for any reaction like a kid with a secret he's dying to spill. "And—Kate— she made me a promise. Said if I took down Karpov, we'd... honor Mark's memory. In a way that's... let's say... unconventional. A little posthumous romance. I know, I know, not the healthiest way to deal with grief, but hey, Mark would've loved it."Budanov's face remained stony, though his left eye twitched—just once. Fury, on the other hand, was completely unfazed."As long as it keeps you motivated, I suppose," Budanov finally said.Fury ignored Wade's insanity and turned to Budanov. "Wilson's got his own reasons, but we both know he'll pull it off."Budanov nodded, his tone cold. "Just make sure you take out Karpov—and the Moskva—when the time is right."Wade grinned beneath his mask, spinning his katanas one last time before sheathing them with a flourish. "Oh, believe me, boys, the timing's gonna be perfect. When that ship goes down—I'm taking the girl, the ghost, and maybe even a missile or two."Fury's expression didn't change, but Budanov's lips twitched slightly, and Deadpool, ever alert, jumped on it immediately. "Wait a minute... Is that 'Laughs in Budanov' I see?"Before Budanov could respond, the faint sound of beeping interrupted the exchange. Everyone froze, their eyes scanning the area, trying to locate the source. The Ukrainian soldiers shifted nervously, their fingers tightening around their rifles.Budanov's gaze landed on Commander Hotskyi standing a few feet away, holding a small blinking device from Deadpool's sack."Oh, hell no," Deadpool muttered. "Captain, you might want to put that dow—"But it was too late.Deadpool launched himself toward Hotskyi, snatching the explosive from his grip just as the beeping reached a frantic crescendo. Without a second thought, Wade took off, sprinting away from the group. "I've got it! I've got it! No need to thank me!"He barely made it twenty feet before the device exploded in his hands. The blast was deafening, a plume of smoke and debris shooting into the air as Deadpool's body was torn apart mid-run. His charred, mutilated remains—now more like a human stump—flopped back to the ground with a wet thud.For a few seconds, there was silence. Then, from the mangled heap, Deadpool's voice groaned, "It's just a flesh wound... Don't mind me. Carry on."Budanov exhaled heavily, the faintest hint of a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
Deadpool leaned back in a battered chair in the Ukrainian command post somewhere outside Zaporizhzhia, feet kicked up on an old wooden table, his eyes glued to his phone screen. The makeshift headquarters hummed with activity around him—officers barking orders, maps full of moving red dots marking Russian advances, coffee cups clinking—but Wade Wilson was in his own digital rabbit hole."Come on, come on, load, you piece of junk," he muttered, impatiently waiting for the Twitter app to refresh. When it finally did, his timeline exploded with videos and posts from the battle near Kyiv.He grinned under his mask."#WesternMercenaryOnTheLoose," Wade read aloud, scrolling past a dozen videos featuring him tearing through the Russian convoy. The day might have been won, the 60-kilometer-long conga line of doom obliterated, but in the world of social media warfare, he was just getting started.His grin widened. "Hell yeah, trending again!"As the videos played on loop, Wade clicked open one of his recent favorites. The clip showed him somersaulting over a tank and expertly tossing a grenade into its open hatch. The resulting explosion was glorious—a fiery inferno consuming the vehicle. Someone had edited it to the tune of the "Boom Boom Pow.""Pure art," he mumbled, wiping a non-existent tear from the corner of his eye. "But you know what? Next time, Bad Guy . Picture it: Russians all puffed up, thinking they're 'tough guys,' and then—duh. Boom, dead. Boom, deader. Cue the chorus, roll credits."The footage was shaky, clearly filmed by a Ukrainian civilian who probably thought the guy in red and black spandex hurling grenades was a figment of their imagination.There was only one problem—it was supposed to be a low-profile op-sneak in, destroy a few pieces of hardware, and vanish into the shadows like some sort of demented ninja. Instead, it turned into a viral sensation."Goddamn civilians and their smartphones," he muttered, faking just enough annoyance to make it sound convincing.A soldier nearby gave him a side-eye, clearly not understanding English, but catching the general vibe of irritation. Deadpool waved him off with a smirk barely hidden under his mask."Relax, Ihor. Just ranting about how absolutely fabulous I look in 4K," he quipped, glancing back at the screen, secretly loving every second of it.As the engagement racked up likes, retweets, and responses, Deadpool's phone vibrated violently.Incoming call: Fury.Deadpool rolled his eyes, already knowing how this conversation was going to go. He tapped the answer button, leaning back in his chair and balancing the phone between his shoulder and cheek."Fuuuury, buddy! What's crackin'?" Wade sang into the phone."Wilson, you idiot, what part of 'laying low' did you not understand?" Fury's voice came through like a storm brewing on the other end of the line.Deadpool laughed, watching another video of himself blowing up a Russian APC. The caption? Confirmed: Deadpool-CIA creation, Langley-backed mercenary destabilizing the region. American special ops in Ukraine! #NATO #CIAYes, you caught me. I'm a CIA asset-'Chimichanga Intelligence Agency,' specializing in high-stakes missions like 'steal all the vodka' and 'give Putin a wedgie' .Before responding to Fury, Deadpool quickly fired off a reply to the tweet: "You pronounced this nonsense. Not me."Then he returned to Nick, who was now making some strange sounds through the phone, like a low-key screaming into a pillow."Oh come on, Nick. I did try. I mean, it's not like I screamed my name or signed autographs in the middle of the chaos. Well, maybe I did sign a couple. And okay, maybe I should've laid off the witty commentary while carving through Russian tanks, but hey, people love me.""You're trending worldwide, Wilson. How is that low profile?"Deadpool glanced back at his phone, where yet another post featuring him slicing through Russian soldiers was being shared by the Ukrainian military themselves."Pshh. Look, Nick, they're already panicking because their 'three-day operation' didn't exactly go as planned. I'm the least of their concerns right now."There was a long pause on the other end. Deadpool could practically hear Fury rubbing his temples in frustration."You're not helping the situation.""I dunno, Nick. Russian propaganda's out there saying their biolaboratory bats can detect Russian blood. What's next? Killer hamsters with rabies?"Another pause.Fury sighed deeply. "They're gonna spin this as you being some kind of mutant experiment gone rogue. I was hoping we could avoid this circus a little longer."Wade chuckled. "Nick, they've been pulling that crap anyway! And let's be honest here—I am a mutant experiment gone rogue! Let's run with it—confirm the whole story. Might as well give 'em the full show."Before Fury could stop him, he grinned, typing furiously. "Already on it!"
"Wade Wilson @RealDeadpool: 'Confirmed: I was made in a secret NATO lab using bioweapons, vodka, and dad jokes. #ShibaPool'"
Seconds later, the troll farm exploded.@RussianBot_69420: "NATO MUTANT EXPERIMENT EXPOSED! WORKING WITH UKRAINIAN NAZIS UNDER ORDERS FROM THE WEST!"They followed it up with a flurry of swastikas, all-caps rants about NATO bioweapons, and some choice emojis that made absolutely no sense.His thumb hovered over the meme folder again-this time, he picked a classic: a Fella wearing aviators, with the words "Courage is knowing when to shitpost.""See? Now it's official!" Deadpool chirped, grinning ear to ear. "Plus, you can't put this toothpaste back in the tube. The Russian command already knows I'm here. The Snake Island, remember? You sent me there, after all—so why're you suddenly whining like I crashed your vintage helicarrier? You knew the consequences!"Fury's voice dropped an octave. "Wilson...""Seriously, Nick. The Russians are spinning crazier stuff every day. NATO pigeons, plague-carrying mosquitoes, radioactive wild boars—it's like a bad sci-fi movie! So who cares if they say I'm a weird Western bat-hybrid bio-warfare plan. I'm basically a meme now!"Deadpool leaned forward, eyes sparkling behind his mask as he scrolled through more posts featuring him. "Besides, I've joined NAFO. You know what that means? Shibas, baby. I'm one of them now. My people." He waved dramatically at a passing Ukrainian soldier, who barely gave him a second glance. "The shiba army is unstoppable. You can't stop this meme train, Nick."Fury's voice hardened. "Wilson, you were supposed to provide support and NOT become the headline."Deadpool snorted. "Hey, I am providing support. I'm boosting morale! Plus, they love me here." He threw a quick look over at a group of Ukrainian soldiers, some of whom were chuckling at their phones. No doubt watching his latest Twitter antics.Fury's frustration was evident, but there was a layer of resignation underneath it all. "You need to stay low now."Deadpool leaned back in his chair, tilting his head thoughtfully. "So... what you're saying is that I shouldn't post this video of me juggling grenades in front of a Russian tank?""No!""Too late, already uploaded!" Wade cackled, glancing at his screen where likes were pouring in. "It's gonna hit a thousand in, like, minutes. How do you even block a meme, Nick?"Click. Fury hung up.A Ukrainian officer walked by, glancing at Deadpool's phone, which was now showing a Twitter post of him with a shiba avatar dancing on top of a tank. He raised an eyebrow, but didn't say a word.Deadpool shrugged, flashing a cheeky grin. "What? Don't judge. I'm part of the meme squad now. We do important work."CIA? There is no CIA. Just like there's no FSB, no 'little green men,' and absolutely no Russian bots trolling me right now. Totally legit, all-natural Twitter activity here. I'm sure someone can redact this later if I'm wrong. Oops, did I say 'redact'? I meant 'delete.' Or was that... redacted ? Damn, I've said too much already.**Days bled into weeks, and still no calls regarding the big mission. The one that would finally land him aboard the Moskva. When was it going to happen? When was he going to take his grand leap onto that Russian flagship?A nearby soldier nudged him, speaking in broken English. "Wilson, THE mission... delayed again."Deadpool groaned loudly, tossing his phone onto the table. "You don't say. Let me guess, bad weather?"The soldier smirked slightly. "Yes. Weather. Maybe."Deadpool sighed dramatically, flopping on the chair. "I swear, if I have to sit here for one more hour with nothing to do, I'm going to start narrating your operations. And no one wants that. Not even me."**The Ukrainians kept sending him on smaller ops-partly for the morale-boosting content, partly to get a break from his constant chatter. At least the guys who didn't speak English had some peace and quiet. Lucky bastards.But he was beyond bored, and trolling Russian government institutions had lost its thrill days ago. No amount of bombarding the Kremlin's social media with memes or hacking into their state TV to broadcast his Best of Deadpool clips brought him joy anymore.And, let's be honest, there was a bigger problem.He missed Kate.The whole "keep a low profile" thing was long dead and buried, but the one rule he hadn't broken yet? The deal with Fury. The one that said he'd keep away from Kate until the mission was over.God, he missed her. It wasn't the kind of missing that you could shake off. Sure, he'd lost plenty of people—most didn't make it past the explosions.But Kate? Losing her wouldn't just sting; it'd gut him. And that's exactly why he stayed away. Because that's what you do when you love someone in a world where love gets you bombed by thermobarics.So, he waited. Waited for the rare texts she sent, simple and short, when she was far enough from the frontlines that using her phone wouldn't light her up for Russian artillery.Her messages were always brief, just a few words before going silent again. Silence that meant she was back in the thick of it. Silence that meant she was exhausted—so tired she probably fell asleep standing up.He'd give anything to hear one of her sarcastic comments right now, or to feel the sting of her knife suddenly embedded in his thigh. Hell, he'd even welcome one of her death glares.
No new messages.
He frowned. He wanted to touch her. To kiss her. To grab her by the hips and—oh, shit. Bad idea.Whoa, buddy. Slow your roll. Wade glanced around at the guys in the room, trying not to look too suspicious. Then he looked down.
Oh no.
No, no, no. Not now.
This was definitely not the place for that. Sure, a war boner could be explained. You know, adrenaline, the thrill of combat, all that macho nonsense.But this? Sitting in a cramped command post, scrolling through Twitter and thinking about Kate? Surrounded by nothing but dudes? Awkward as fuck.That would definitely make for an embarrassing debrief. He shifted uncomfortably, praying no one noticed.He needed to think of something else, something to kill the mood and fast. Something sad. Like, really sad.
Uncle Ben getting shot?
Nope, not enough.
Thanos wiping out half the universe with a snap? That was a bummer.
He tried to picture the dust, the heartbreak, Peter Parker saying "Mr. Stark, I don't feel so good..."Nope.
How about Logan dying in 'Logan'?
He winced. That might work.Yeah, that did it. The tension in his pants subsided, and he let out a quiet sigh of relief. Crisis averted.But, damn, he missed her. He missed her so much it hurt.He went back to staring at his phone, refreshing his messages every ten seconds like a desperate ex-boyfriend waiting for a drunk text at 3 a.m. Heck, he'd been through this before—thanks, Siryn. Then, a small ping.Deadpool's heart skipped a beat. It was Kate.
Alive. East sucks. See you soon.
Deadpool's grin stretched across his face. Short. Sweet. Angry. Just how he liked it."Alive," he muttered to himself. "Well, that's good news."God, he hoped she stayed that way.He quickly typed back, fingers moving faster than his mouth usually did:
Of course, you're alive. Only thing tougher than a T-90 is you, babe.
He hit send, leaning back in his seat, feeling a wave of relief wash over him. Kate was still out there.But there it was, that overwhelming urge to just see her. To be near her. To-Oh God, not again.
Okay, Wade, think of sad stuff. Quick!
Nothing.
Goddammit.
His brain was too deep in the gutter to stop now. He couldn't help it. She had that effect on him, like a goddamn addiction he couldn't quit.Then his phone rang again. This time it wasn't Kate.Actually, it wasn't his phone at all.A Ukrainian soldier across the room waved him over. "Wilson! Come! Secure line."Deadpool blinked, grateful for the distraction. He quickly grabbed a map off the table, holding it in front of him and doing his best to play it cool as he strolled over to the soldier, who held out a secure phone connected to a makeshift communication hub."Who's on the line? My agent? Because I gotta tell you, I need better gigs than this," he quipped, taking the receiver.It was Budanov."The big one is about to go down."Finally.All thoughts of Kate momentarily pushed aside. The mission was on.The Moskva awaited.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
The Nissan X-Trail roared through the muddy wasteland, wheels spinning uselessly in the thick, dark sludge that stretched for miles. Rasputitsa. The spring thaw. It wasn't just mud—it was a nightmare of liquid earth that swallowed everything. The roads were gone. If you didn't have the wheels to make it, you walked—or waded. And if you were bleeding out in the back seat? Well, you bled faster.Kate sat in the back, her fingers pressing down on a piece of S.H.I.E.L.D. tech—a high-tech patch that was supposed to stop the bleeding. But here they were, and the soldier beneath her hands wasn't going to survive without a miracle."Just hold it, Kate!" Damian, the Polish medic, growled from the front seat, his hands gripping the steering wheel with white-knuckled force. "We're almost there!"They both knew the truth. The soldier in the back wasn't 'almost' anything. The patch was cutting-edge, a miracle of S.H.I.E.L.D.'s research division. It should've been enough. But the soldier—he was too far gone.Blood poured from the gaping wound in his leg, seeping through the high-tech dressing faster than it could clot. His breathing was shallow, rattling in his chest, the pale sheen of death creeping up his face."Live, you fucker, live!" she spat through clenched teeth, as if she could will him back to life. She could hear his breath getting fainter, could feel the pulse weakening beneath her fingers.Damian slammed the steering wheel, trying to drive the X-Trail through the sea of mud, but it was a losing battle. The vehicle lurched again, wheels spinning helplessly. "Come on, you bastard!" he shouted, the frustration palpable as the car sank deeper into the muck.The X-Trail groaned, engine roaring as it struggled against the mud. The stabilization point was just ahead, but it didn't matter if they couldn't make it in time. And they weren't going to.Kate knew it. Damian knew it.Just when it seemed like the car would be swallowed whole by the sludge, the tires finally caught some traction. With a violent jolt, the X-Trail surged forward, mud spraying in all directions. Damian let out a grunt of relief as they powered through the quagmire, the vehicle struggling but moving."Hold on!" he yelled, his voice filled with the desperation neither of them wanted to acknowledge.Finally, after what felt like an eternity of mud and blood, the stabilization point came into view. A makeshift building barely standing under the constant shelling. Damian slammed the brakes as they skidded to a halt, the X-Trail sinking deep into the muck again just as they reached the entrance.But it was too late."Fuck. Fuck. FUCK!" Kate slammed her fist against the seat, the patch still in her hand, slick with blood that was no longer pumping. Everything they could wasn't enough. It never was.Damian turned slowly, his eyes meeting hers in the rearview mirror. Neither of them said anything. There was nothing to say.They had lost him. The S.H.I.E.L.D.'s tech had failed. For all its advanced engineering, it couldn't save a man who was already half-dead when they strapped him in.S.H.I.E.L.D.'s tech had failed also when they reached the forward position. The boys there looked like they were sleeping, rifles still in hand, bodies lying in place as if they had just closed their eyes for a moment. But they weren't sleeping. A thermobaric bomb had hit them. The blast wave had crushed their lungs, boiled their blood, and left them as hollow shells, looking whole but utterly destroyed.S.H.I.E.L.D.'s best gear couldn't stop the phosphorus either. Falling at night, lighting up the sky like fireworks, the kind of display that, for a second, made you forget it was killing everything beneath it. The burning was slow, agonizing. You didn't just die—you burned alive, your flesh melting off as you screamed into the darkness. Beautiful and horrifying, the last fireworks you'd ever see.And S.H.I.E.L.D.'s tech wasn't enough for those who hadn't been killed by bullets and didn't have the courage to pull the pin on a grenade or turn a gun on themselves. Instead, they fell into enemy hands. Their bodies were hacked apart, mutilated, filmed, and shared on Telegram—left to be found, left as a warning, or maybe just for sport.You could have ten, twenty years in the field, or be fresh off the bus. It didn't make a difference when a cluster bomb dropped. Experience didn't matter here. The shrapnel didn't care about rank or skill—it shredded everything in its path. Soldier's luck? That was the cruelest joke. It didn't exist when death fell from the sky in a thousand pieces. And S.H.I.E.L.D.'s tech couldn't do a damn thing to stop it.Looking at the body of the young soldier they'd just lost, Kate felt her energy drain away. She wanted to collapse, to just let the dirt swallow her whole. The idea of sleep felt like a distant memory. Hell, she'd almost forgotten what it felt like to be rested. No rotations to pull you off the front line, no breaks—just the endless grind.If she had thought, even for a second, that she had her PTSD under control, she knew now how wrong she was. She could see it in the others—their blank stares, the haunted look in their eyes, the way their hands shook when they thought no one was watching. Shell shock, full force. It was only a matter of time before it hit her, too.But there wasn't time to dwell on it, to brace herself for the inevitable collapse. There was no time for anything. Just a brief pause, a quick breath between the chaos, enough to pull out her phone and send a message to Wade."Alive. East sucks. See you soon."Short. Direct. No emotional baggage, no weakness. She couldn't afford for him to think she was breaking, that the war was getting to her. She didn't have the luxury of being vulnerable. All she could afford to let him know was that she was still breathing.For now.The cross patch on her uniform marked her as a medic, someone who was supposed to be off-limits. But here, there were no rules. No boundaries. If anything, the patch made her a target. It was a mark that said, "Come for me. I'm important."Part of her just wanted to rip off the damn medic armband and dive into the chaos. Screw patching people up, screw holding it together. Maybe she'd catch a bullet, maybe she'd die, but she'd sure as hell drag a few of those bastards down with her. A messy, glorious finish. She even wondered if that wasn't the point. If Fury hadn't sent her here knowing full well she might not come back. Or maybe he hadn't expected things to get this bad. Maybe no one did. But war wasn't about plans or expectations. The war didn't follow rules. It was just raw, savage survival. But no, S.H.I.E.L.D. hadn't given her all their gear just to play medic. They wanted someone on the inside. Someone to keep an eye on the real situation.And the real situation? Nothing like she'd ever seen before. All the blood, guts, and horror she'd faced in the past suddenly felt like some twisted war game—a warm-up round for the main event. She'd ripped people apart, spilled more blood than she could count, with Wade or without him. Hell, sometimes she even found it funny. It was easy when you were detached, when all the violence was just background noise.But watching your guys die? That hit differently. It was like Mark's death on repeat, only worse. She didn't even see Mark die—Wade did. She just saw the body afterward, all the life drained out. This time, though, she had front-row seats. Mark's death was quick, brutal—but this? This was slow, drawn-out carnage, and it didn't matter if you knew these people for days or just hours. Watching someone bleed out while you did everything you could, and it still wasn't enough? That hit somewhere deep inside her.**They were back at the zero line—the deadliest part of the frontline, where one wrong move could end you, and every breath felt like a borrowed one.They'd holed up in a half-collapsed house, one of the last structures still standing in the wasteland. The wounded kept pouring in, dragging themselves or being hauled in by someone else. Kate moved on autopilot, her hands working without thought, just muscle memory now.She tightened another tourniquet around a soldier's leg, the blood already soaking through his uniform.The air in the room reeked of death—thick with blood, sweat, and that sharp, metallic tang of fear. Gunpowder clung to the walls like bad wallpaper, a constant reminder the battle was just a step away."Breathe, you son of a bitch!" Kate yelled, slapping the boy's face as his eyes fluttered shut. His body jolted, dragging in ragged gasps of air. Alive, for now. But she knew what was next—prosthetics if he got lucky, a coffin if he didn't.Medics barked orders, a jumble of Polish and Ukrainian, moving like shadows in the dim light of what used to be a kitchen. The counters were piled with bloody bandages, and the floor served as the triage zone. No surgeries here—just quick work to stop the bleeding, slap on a tourniquet, and get them stable enough for transport. They moved from one wounded soldier to the next, an endless cycle of blood, bandages, and pain. Time blurred. Kate couldn't even guess how long it had been. Didn't matter. The fight never stopped, and neither did they.She glanced at Damian. He'd been at the front for 8 years—long before the full-scale invasion started—and how he was still standing? No clue. Once, he might have looked like a sweet, bearded bear—a man with warm, brown eyes. But now? Now he was covered in dirt, his uniform soaked through with someone else's blood. His eyes, those once soft eyes, had moments where they stared into nothingness, hollow and distant. And she knew the truth: stare into the void long enough, and it starts staring right back."We have to move them, or they'll die," Damian said, his voice still carrying a determination that Kate envied, even as she felt it slipping from her own grasp.MEDEVAC. Give us a fucking medevac, Kate thought bitterly.But she knew better. There was no medevac coming. Damian had been the first to drill that into her head. Expect nothing, hope for less.S.H.I.E.L.D. wasn't swooping in to save anyone, not here. Even if they could, this was Ukraine—not some covert operation where the wounded could be quietly evacuated under the cover of darkness. Here, the Russians would shoot them out of the sky before they even had a chance to escape. And if they didn't, the bureaucratic mess on the ground would strangle any attempt at rescue long before help could arrive.**And then there was the fucking basement. Bodies—some alive, some not—were scattered across the floor, packed into the cramped space like sardines in a rusted tin. Kate crouched by the far wall, her back pressed against the cold concrete, listening.The problem with war wasn't the fighting—it was the waiting. The silence before the storm.Every sound—every groan, every breath—felt louder in the stillness of the war outside. The artillery had stopped, the gunfire had dulled to nothing. And that silence? That's what had her on edge."Trapped like rats," one of the Ukrainian medics muttered. "We won't make it through the night.""Hey," Damian chimed in, voice dry but laced with that grim humor of his, "Could be worse. At least we're not the ones on the floor yet." He nodded toward the bodies scattered around. "They've already punched their tickets. We're just waiting for our turn in line."Kate didn't respond, but she appreciated Damian's attempt to lighten the mood. Her focus was on the flickering shadows dancing across the walls, knowing one wrong move could turn this basement into their tomb. The wounded weren't going anywhere, and even if they could, where the hell would they go?Someone was supposed to be on watch, flashlight in hand, but exhaustion had won. A few medics were already slumped against the walls, heads nodding off into half-sleep. Maybe that was the better way to go, Kate thought—slip into death without even noticing, like the bodies already beside them.Kate's mind drifted, and for a fleeting moment, she thought of Wade. If he were here, he wouldn't be crouched in silence, calculating the odds. No, he'd probably be cracking jokes, loudly asking the Russians if they wanted to "talk it out" or challenging them to a game of rock-paper-scissors to see who got to die first. That was Wade's way—turn everything into a punchline, even death itself. But he wasn't here.Then she heard it. A faint shuffle, barely audible.Kate's instincts flared.Her eyes snapped to the basement door at the far end of the room. That soft rustling outside confirmed it—trouble was coming. She motioned to the medic next to her, cutting the flashlight. The room plunged into darkness, the groans of the wounded mixing with the creeping sound of footsteps getting closer.Her fingers curled around her knife. Guns down here? Bad idea. Too loud, too messy. But a blade? That was her kind of language."Stay quiet," she whispered, eyes locked on the door.The door creaked open, shadows oozing into the basement. Russian recon. A thin slice of moonlight cut through the dark, throwing creepy shapes on the walls. They probably expected easy pickings—worn-out soldiers, medics too tired to put up a fight. But Kate was here, and she was nobody's prey.They were cautious but without the advantage of night vision. Early in the war, they weren't equipped for this. They were feeling their way through the darkness, rifles up, ready to fire at the first sign of movement.The first one fired a round into a body on the floor—already dead. He couldn't see much in the pitch black, and that was her advantage. He barely had time to step over the body before she was behind him. One hand clamped over his mouth, and her knife sliced clean across his throat. He gurgled once before collapsing, blood pooling quietly on the floor.The second one didn't stand a chance. Kate moved like a shadow, slipping up beside him and driving her knife under his armpit—where the armor was weakest. A quick twist, and he crumpled, breathless, his lungs filling with blood. Two down.The third one turned, eyes wide. He saw her—but she was faster. She drove her knife into his thigh, severing the artery. His eyes bulged, fear mixing with shock, but he never got to react. Blood sprayed, and he hit the ground hard, already gone.The last one? He barely had time to process that something was very wrong. He stood at the bottom of the stairs, and that brief moment of hesitation cost him everything. Kate's knife spun through the air, straight into his exposed neck. He gasped, eyes wide in disbelief, then collapsed.She stood for a moment, listening to the silence that followed. No more footsteps. No more threats. Kate yanked the knife from his thigh, wiped the blood on her pants, and turned toward the medics, who had been frozen in place. Their wide eyes gleamed in the dim light from outside."Keep quiet. More could come," she said, sliding the knife back into its sheath with a practiced flick.Damian swallowed hard, his voice barely a whisper. "Who... are you?"Kate's lips twitched into a cold, humorless grin. "Just a combat medic."**And then came April.By the early hours of the 14th, rumors started trickling in—the Moskva had sunk. At first, no one believed it. How could they? Then the celebration started. Quiet at first, but growing—laughter breaking through the tension, smiles cracking through the grime. Even in the middle of war, sinking a Russian flagship? That was something to cheer for.Kate, still covered in mud and blood from the front, didn't get to celebrate for long. She was suddenly pulled back—recalled without explanation, without a moment's notice.It didn't make sense. Not to her. Not to anyone. Especially not to Damian.There was no time to argue, no time to protest. Before she knew it, she was being escorted into a bunker, where a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent approached her. He didn't say much. Didn't need to. The needle was quick, too quick. A flash of cold metal, then a sharp sting in her arm. She barely had time to register it before everything went dark.When she woke, the stillness hit her first. The memories of the past few weeks came flooding back, sharp and jagged like broken glass—every face, every wound, every soldier who'd died in her arms. But something was off.No pain. No rage. No sorrow.Nothing.It was like the blood, the screams, the stench of burning flesh—none of it belonged to her. It might as well have been someone else's story. Like watching a war movie you've seen a thousand times, where the explosions don't even make you flinch anymore.She blinked, her eyes focusing on the bunker's ceiling. Then she thought of Wade.Her chest tightened for a second, a flicker of something real, familiar. And with that, she let out a slow breath. Relief.She chuckled, the sound a little too bitter but still real. Wade Wilson: the guy who could make her feel something even when S.H.I.E.L.D. pumped her full of whatever emotion-killing cocktail this was.For once, their damn tech did what it was probably supposed to.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
The hotel room, overlooking Katerynska Square, had been hastily converted into a military planning hub, complete with maps strewn across the table and monitors flickering with live intel. Not exactly top-secret bunker material, but Deadpool wasn’t one to nitpick. Especially not when there was a statue of Catherine the Great staring straight back at him from outside the window.He leaned against the window, tilting his head at the monument. “Well, this is... cozy. Got the big Russian mama herself keeping watch over Odesa like some kind of weird cosmic joke. What, are they planning to yank her down any day now, or is this some ‘let’s see how long we can piss off the locals’ challenge?”He had no idea how they’d managed to keep this location under wraps, or how no traitor had leaked the intel yet, but he wasn’t about to question the decisions of the Ukrainian military.The statue loomed large over the square, Catherine standing tall with one arm raised, a scroll clutched in her other hand. Her stern expression practically screamed, I’m judging all of you, peasants. A relic of another time—one that felt like it really overstayed its welcome.Wade’s eyes narrowed as he took in the scene. “Seriously though, this thing’s gotta be next on the hit list, right? Keeping her here is like leaving a statue of Jeffrey Epstein outside an all-girls school. Just a little bit off, y’know?”He turned back to the room, a grin spreading under his mask. “Anyway, they say she had quite the... appetite for life,” he waved his hand toward the monument. “Allegedly hooked up with some very lucky dudes and—rumor has it—one very unlucky horse. Which, by the way, is the reason I never play leapfrog with farm animals.”Budanov glanced up at the statue through the window, then back at Wade. His face remained stoic, but there was a hint of amusement in his voice. “Yes, a tragic loss... for the horse, I’d imagine.”Wade pointed a finger at him. “See, that’s why I like you, Budanov. You get it. Everyone here thinks they’re all ‘serious military types,’ and then there’s you, dropping deadpan horse necrophilia jokes. You’re alright.” He paused for a second. “Now, on to sink a Russian warship... no time for horsing around!”Budanov’s lips barely twitched as he spread out the blueprint of the Moskva on the table, the crinkling paper drowning out the soft hum of monitors behind him, which showed the ship’s location floating out there like a sitting duck. He tapped the blueprint."You’ve got two options, Wilson," Budanov started. "You can sneak in, take out their communications, disable their defenses, and neutralize Karpov – as agreed. Quietly. Or..." His eyes flicked up, meeting Wade’s gaze, the challenge unspoken but clear. "Do the same thing, but kill the whole crew while you’re at it. About five hundred men."Budanov let that number hang in the air for a moment before shrugging. "The result’s the same—either way, the missiles will take care of the rest. It only depends how much fun you’re looking for... and who else might be on board."Wade caught that glint of mischief in Budanov’s otherwise serious face. The room was silent, the Ukrainian military keeping their poker faces on, though Wade could feel their tension. They weren’t used to this kind of planning session."Alright, so you’re asking me to pull a ninja move, take out comms, neutralize their defenses, and pop Karpov. Easy as pie." He drummed his fingers on the table, smirking beneath his mask. "But, hear me out—what if I just take out the antenna? Soviet-era crap, right? You could blow on it, and it’d fall over. Bada-bing, bada-boom. Problem solved. I’ve taken down more of those tin-can systems than I can count, and they’re as reliable as a blind sniper at a carnival."Budanov gave the faintest nod, acknowledging Wade’s point without breaking his steady demeanor. Wade leaned closer to the blueprint, eyes scanning the details. The labels were in Russian, naturally—Cyrillic scrawled over compartments and control rooms. Wade’s eyes stopped on one spot in particular."Komandnyy punkt… kontrol’nyy zal... ah, here we go." His finger tapped an officer's cabin, but not the regular one. This one was much bigger. Perfect for containing Karpov's ego. And Wade assumed his ego was huge. "Kayuta ofitsera — this one is a VIP asshole section. Karpov’s probably shacked up here, enjoying his last cup of Russian tea."Budanov’s eyebrow twitched upward, just enough for Wade to notice. The rest of the room remained quiet, but Zinchenko—the coastal defense officer sitting closest, about Wade’s age, and practically dripping with the kind of cocky arrogance that screamed I’m full of it—shot him a mocking glance.He leaned in closer to Zinchenko, whispering just loud enough for everyone to hear. “What’s the look for, buddy? You’re surprised I can read Russian? Sure, I might sound like a malfunctioning GPS when I try to speak it. Except for that one time. But hey, I prepped for weeks for that performance. Even begged Black Widow for a crash course in pronunciation. Totally worth it. But reading? I could nail a STANAG 3 on a bad day.”Turning back to the blueprint, Wade’s finger hovered over the officer’s cabin again. “So, this is where our friend Karpov’s most likely hanging out. Maybe stroking a kitten like some budget Bond villain. You know the type.”Budanov didn’t flinch. "Karpov’s dangerous. Don’t underestimate him."“Oh, I’m not underestimating Karpov. But let’s get one thing straight—I’m not here for a casual meet-and-greet. This isn’t some ‘crash his tea party and blow up the room’ job. This one is personal, Budanov. I’m here to make that smug son of a bitch wish he’d never crawled out of his Kremlin hole. And trust me, I’m not showing up with a welcome mat—I’m showing up with a very personalized, very explosive ‘F-you.’”He tapped the blueprint one more time, then leaned back, crossing his arms over his chest. “But before we get all caught up in my grand entrance, let’s talk about those fancy mobile launchers of yours. You sure you want to keep them this far away?”Budanov’s brow twitched, signaling Wade had his attention."Because if this shit takes longer than expected, or if something goes wrong—and let’s be honest, something always goes wrong—the Moskva could haul ass and be halfway to Istanbul before you even get the chance to blow her out of the water."Wade spun his finger lazily over the map, landing near the outskirts of where the Ukrainian forces were stationed. “Look, I get that you’ve got these missiles with their shiny 280-kilometer range. They’re like the Beyoncé of missile systems—everyone says they’re perfect. Well, not so perfect anymore according to half of the internet, but you get the point. We all know that in real life, that range is a best-case scenario on a good day with a tailwind. Shit takes longer—your golden moment—poof—gone.”Wade paused, milking the moment just enough to make everyone squirm. "You don’t want to blow it ‘cause you were too busy high-fiving yourselves before the game even starts. What I’m saying isn’t ‘let’s shuffle the pieces for giggles.’ I’m talking backup plans—so we don’t end up with egg on our faces when this thing goes sideways, as it always does. Let’s make sure we’re not the morons standing around saying, ‘Oops, missed our chance!’"Budanov exchanged glances with Zinchenko, then looked back at Wade."You have a point," Budanov said, but out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Zinchenko turning red, practically choking on his own frustration—it was Zinchenko who had planned the positioning of the missile launchers. He shut him down with a single, cold glance, as if to say, not now. "We’ll make adjustments if needed."Wade smirked to himself, savoring the small victory. Zinchenko’s mouth twitched again, like he was ready to throw in some self-righteous comment, but Wade cut him off. “Hey, buddy, I can already see you’re about to get defensive. Just a heads up—this is my show. Save the speeches for after we send the Moskva to Davy Jones’ locker, okay?”Zinchenko shifted uncomfortably in his seat, his face flushing a deeper red, and for a split second, Wade almost felt bad. Almost."So, now we’re talking. A little flexibility, that’s the key to any healthy relationship. Whether it’s between a man and his missiles or… well, you don’t need me to finish that metaphor."Budanov and the others—aside from a clearly ego-bruised Zinchenko—already knew Wade wasn’t just some trigger-happy lunatic in red spandex; he was a tactical pro when he had to be. He could plan an operation that’d make most senior officers jealous. Not that he loved using that particular skill—chaos was more fun when it wasn’t so calculated. But when push came to shove, he didn’t just thrive in it—he owned it. Well, most of the time."Alright then," Wade said, straightening up and adjusting the katanas strapped to his back. "We’ve got our targets, our timing, and our firepower. Now, wish me luck—and don’t light a cigarette from a candle.* Or, actually, scratch that—light up a few cartons. You know, just to make sure."Budanov watched Wade with a calm gaze, smirking inwardly. For all the madness and unpredictable energy Deadpool brought into the room, there was no denying the truth Fury had laid out earlier: We both know he’ll pull it off. And now, as Wade geared up for the mission, Budanov couldn’t help but agree. The plan was in capable hands—wild, reckless, but undeniably capable. He felt a sense of quiet contentment. The storm was coming, but this time, it had a commander.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
Deadpool's arrival on the Moskva wasn’t exactly subtle. He appeared with a flash and a pop, instantly drenched as the storm’s fury welcomed him like an aggressive, soggy handshake. The wind was screaming, howling through the ship's metal frames, whipping him around like a loose kite string. Sure, the Ukrainians had mentioned something about a storm, but those weather maps? They were misleading, like those fast-food ads where the burger actually looks edible. Spoiler alert: it was worse than he expected. Way worse.The deck was a nightmare—a slick, wet deathtrap where every step felt like a new opportunity to break a bone or two. Or ten. And it was practically a ghost town. No alarms, no sounds of rushing footsteps—just the crash of waves, not even distant rumble of the ship’s engines. Most of the sailors were probably asleep, huddled down below, riding out the storm in their little bunks, because why would anyone sane be out here?Each time he moved forward, the wind shoved him back. The ship pitched and rolled underfoot, sending waves crashing over the sides, soaking him again, as if the universe just wanted to make sure he was as miserable as possible. Deadpool staggered, gripping the nearest railing for dear life. “Perfect. I could be home, pants off, feet up, but nooo, I’m here, getting waterboarded by Mother Nature. Thanks, Ukraine.”He squinted through the darkness, eyes locking above the bridge onto the main mast, where the radar systems sat perched like a giant, hulking spider, bristling with antennas and sensors. At least the storm would buy him some time; even if he did something flashy, it wasn’t like the Russians would instantly figure out he was there. They’d probably just blame the weather, or a stray seagull, or NATO. That last one was always a solid guess.He shifted his focus back to the bridge area, where smaller radar systems and navigation sensors blinked quietly. It seemed deserted, just as he'd thought. But then, something metallic caught his eye—a faint blinking right next to the glass windows. “Eh, it’s probably nothing,” he muttered. Yet it pulsed steadily, like a tiny, mechanical heartbeat, almost hidden behind the reflection of the storm.His gaze swept across the ship, from the towering main mast to the bridge, and then further back to the aft superstructure. “Ah, the cherry on top of this overcompensating metal sundae,” he muttered.He did a quick mental check. Main mast, bridge, aft section—three stops, three chances to slip, fall, and make a messy red stain on the deck. He cast a look at the stormy sky, grinning beneath his mask. “Climb, plant, run. And if it all goes south, at least I’ll get a hell of a view.”Deadpool adjusted the charges on his belt, squinting through the downpour as he made his way toward the mast. Each step felt like walking on an oil-slicked treadmill, his boots slipping against the rain-soaked deck. Seriously, who thought it was a good idea to have a mission on a stormy night? Oh, right. Me. Genius move, Wilson. He caught himself on a metal railing, barely stopping a full faceplant onto the deck, and pushed onward, leaning into the wind.He glanced up at the radar dishes. Something felt off. They weren’t moving. “Hold up. These things are supposed to be rotating, right? Detecting stuff, making sure the ship doesn’t get blown to bits?”He smirked, wiping the rain from his mask, trying to steady himself as the ship rocked beneath him. Blind, deaf, and stuck in a storm. This is almost too easy... which means something’s about to go horribly, horribly wrong.For a split second, he thought about just walking away from the radars, heading straight to Karpov, and dealing with the rest of the crew on the way. Besides, he came all this way, might as well leave a little present. “Through storm and sleet, Wade delivers. Just call me your personal USPS package of pain,” he said, pulling out small electromagnetic charges from his belt. He slapped it onto a junction box at the base of the radar array, the magnet snapping it into place.The pulses would scramble radar and comms, blinding and deafening the ship—quiet sabotage without a single boom. "These little beauties are gonna pulse so hard they'll make your granddaddy's pacemaker dance. Neat, huh? And if by some miracle the radar starts working again, those pulses will just keep crumbling it back down. This is why I get the big bucks. Or at least, the medium-sized bucks. Okay, sometimes just lunch money, but still."He moved to the smaller systems near the bridge, slipping but catching himself on a metal pipe. Reaching the bridge area, he slapped another charge onto a blinking sensor, the magnet snapping with a satisfying click. “There you go, sweetheart. Maybe you’ll short-circuit and spark a little—make things interesting.”After programming the pulse, he pushed himself back up and moved quickly toward the aft superstructure, where the storm seemed even worse. The missile launchers loomed, shadowy and menacing, flanked by more radar arrays. Great, this spot has ‘important and hard to reach’ written all over it. He sidled up to the radar system, fingers trembling slightly from the cold as he slapped the last charge in place. “That’s right, baby. You’re getting an upgrade, courtesy of your friendly neighborhood chaos agent.” The magnet snapped it against the casing, and Deadpool took a step back to admire his handiwork. Despite the storm, despite the absurd conditions, he had to admit, it felt good.“And done,” he whispered to himself, straightening up, blinking through the rain. He took a final look around the storm-lashed deck, then grinned under his mask. “Alright, inside we go."**He burst through the watertight door, glad to be out of the storm’s wrath, even if the air inside was thick with the musty scent of old sweat and cheap disinfectant. The corridor was dimly lit, just enough light to make sure he didn’t trip over anything inconveniently sharp. As he moved deeper, he realized it was quiet—eerily quiet.He was about to move on when a sudden urge hit him. A bathroom break. “Seriously, Wade? Now?” he muttered to himself. But hey, a guy’s gotta take care of business. So, he detoured down a narrow hallway, stopping at the metal door with a scratched-out sign.He pushed open it, expecting the usual grimy, fluorescent nightmare of a military bathroom. What he didn’t expect were two conscripts hunched over, scrubbing the floor with toothbrushes. They looked up, startled, as if caught in the middle of a dirty little secret—or, in this case, a puddle of puke. The stench hit him almost immediately, a mix of stomach acid and what smelled like canned fish. Yup, definitely puke. Guess some rookies couldn’t handle the storm—or maybe the expired Russian rations.“Well, look at this,” Deadpool said, letting the door swing shut behind him. “Somebody drew the short straw tonight, huh? What, did you insult the captain’s mom or something?”The boys froze, their eyes darting to each other, then back to him. The one on the left, barely old enough to shave, had a name patch that read Vakhrushev. The other looked just as green, a look that said this wasn’t what they’d signed up for when they were handed those crisp, ill-fitting uniforms. They were just kids, really. Fresh out of whatever Russian village they’d been plucked from, thinking they'd signed up for a little military glory. And here they were, elbow-deep in soap and humiliation. Deadpool almost felt sorry for them. Almost.“Listen, fellas,” Deadpool said, pulling a silencer from his belt and screwing it onto the end of his pistol. “I get it. You’re young, you’re scared, and you’re probably wondering why the hell this is happening to you. But hey, life’s full of surprises, right? Like, who would’ve guessed you’d end up in a bathroom with a guy in a red and black jumpsuit who’s about to—”They both made a break for it, darting toward the door. They didn’t get far. Before they could even process what was happening, he fired. Two soft thwip sounds, and they slumped forward, toothbrushes still clutched in their hands, a slow trickle of red pooling on the tiles.He stepped over to Vakhrushev’s still body and tilted his head, eyes narrowing as he read the name patch again. “Your dear old papa’s gonna raise a big stink when you don't come home. That is, until the FSB makes a house call and then—poof— he’ll be back to waving flags and praising Mother Russia like a good little drone.”He slid the pistol back into its holster, stepping over the bodies without a second glance.“Hell, this might actually rank up there on my list of the worst things I've done. But, you know, compared to burning alive in a steel coffin before sinking to the bottom of the Black Sea... yeah, let's call this a mercy killing.”Weirdly, the urge to pee vanished. Funny how murder does that.**Then, back to business. Deadpool slipped out of the bathroom, moving down the narrow corridor like a shadow. He didn’t need to check the walls for directions—the ship’s blueprint was seared into his brain from the planning session. Not something he bragged about, but when it came to planting explosives, dodging cameras, or finding some poor schmuck’s cabin, he could be a pro. If he wanted to be.The silence was deceiving; behind every door, there was the potential for chaos, but he had a mission, and that meant clearing a path. As he turned the corner, three sailors were heading his way, still half-asleep and grumbling about their night shift. Perfect.He lunged forward, grabbing the first one by the collar and slamming him face-first into the bulkhead. The others couldn’t even react – his silencer whispered twice, and the two sailors dropped.“Just like Old Boy, except I don’t need a hammer,” he muttered, twirling his pistol like a gunslinger.Another sailor rounded the corner, and Deadpool pounced, twisting the guy’s arm until it snapped with a sound like a celery stalk, then jammed a knife through his throat, quick and clean. The sailor’s eyes bulged as he dropped, but Deadpool was already moving. Two more stumbled into view, blinking like they’d just woken up from a bad dream, only to realize they were still stuck in it. Their eyes went wide with horror, but Deadpool didn’t give them the luxury of screaming.Two pops from the silenced pistol, and they crumpled. One tried to stay on his feet, like some stubborn action hero. Cute. Deadpool closed the gap, smashing the pistol grip into his temple. The guy folded, and Deadpool spun, driving his elbow into the second sailor’s face, the satisfying crunch of cartilage spraying blood across the dull gray walls. “Look at me, getting the hang of this stealth thing,” he muttered, stepping over the bodies, careful not to slip on the blood-slicked floor. “And to think they said subtlety was lost on me. Guess they were wrong. Again.”More sailors, more quick deaths. His movements were fluid, almost elegant, like a ballet dancer who’d swapped tutus for body counts. Each shot a whisper, each hit a quick, clinical execution. No flashy kills, no unnecessary theatrics. Just cold, efficient murder.As he neared the officer’s cabin, he wiped a streak of blood off his mask with the back of his hand, then paused to throw a quick, mocking salute at the bodies scattered down the hallway. “Thanks for playing, boys. Tell Satan I’ll bring snacks to poker night. Maybe something gluten-free; I’m watching my figure.”**Deadpool shoved the door to the officer's cabin open, half-expecting Karpov to be lounging on a plush chair, sipping vodka, and doing his best Bond villain impression. Instead, the room was empty, tidy, like nobody had been there in hours. It was cramped but had the usual officer-level touches—an actual bed instead of a cot, a small desk with neatly arranged papers, and a bottle of liquor on a shelf, unopened. “Either he’s a neat freak or someone’s been expecting company.”He shuffled through the papers, his eyes scanning quickly, until they stopped on a folder with a bold Russian title: "Perun." Of course, there was no way Karpov just happened to leave these documents out. This was either arrogance or some twisted form of bait.Wade flipped it open, glancing at the text laid out in dense, mechanical Cyrillic. A project dossier on a new weapon system. " Alright, Wade, this is your STANAG 3 reading comprehension moment. Don’t screw this up. " But there was no time for an in-depth translation; the storm outside and the ticking clock didn’t care about language barriers.He whipped out a phone—no, don’t ask where he kept it—and started snapping pictures of the documents. The documentation was thorough, detailing the ERW/EMP capabilities of Project Perun. Some hybrid weapon designed to fry electronics, mess with comms, and leave any enemy with their pants around their ankles. The more he rifled through the pages, the more it hit him—this wasn't just a new toy for some military parade.If this thing went active, it could’ve knocked out half the Ukrainian coastline before anyone could say 'missile lock.' It was tactical, precise, a scalpel for the digital age, designed to cripple without obliterating. Smart, terrifyingly smart. Leave 'em scrambling, but not blown to bits. “Budanov, you slippery bastard, you knew this was here all along. Why the hell didn’t you mention it?” He could practically see that smug Ukrainian’s smirk, probably thinking it was better to keep Wade in the dark, just in case things got too messy. But Wade was already in the mess, neck-deep, like a pig in the mud and loving it.As he thumbed through more pages, it all clicked. This was why they’d gone for Snake Island first. Perun wasn't just a weapon; it was a territorial claim, a way to set up an invisible fence in the Black Sea. Control the airwaves, jam everything that wasn’t supposed to be there, and make sure nothing came or went without Karpov’s approval. Like staking out a neighborhood, but instead of a rottweiler on a leash, you’ve got a giant electromagnetic death ray. He went back to the first pages and his eyes caught another name, scrawled in bold Cyrillic— "Al-Sukhnah." Wade's eyes darkened. This was the missing piece of the puzzle, a big, fat 'why' stamped across the unanswered question he’d had about that mission. "So, it wasn’t just about the oil fields. They were testing Perun, weren’t they? And the squad... we were just in the way.” He felt the anger bubble up. “You slimy, nationalist prick."The more Wade read, the clearer it became. Karpov wasn’t just some pencil-pushing bureaucrat. He noticed something that screamed ‘personal touch’—Karpov’s scrawled, erratic handwriting in the margins, diagrams squeezed into every spare bit of space. Like a mad scientist's doodle pad, only instead of ‘how to make a monster,’ it was ‘how to weaponize the airwaves and ruin your day.’ He’d drawn crude schematics, arrows pointing out flaws, little notes in Cyrillic that Wade could decipher as, “Enhance this,” “Optimize,” or, his personal favorite, “Terminate.”It wasn’t just a project to Karpov; it was a passion, a twisted, dark love affair with control and chaos. And those notes? They were the breadcrumbs leading straight to the mind of a guy who saw himself as a maestro, conducting an orchestra of destruction. This guy was a rare breed—a spymaster with the brain of an engineer and the soul of a nationalist zealot.Budanov had painted a picture, but even he couldn’t capture just how twisted Karpov’s playbook truly was. This guy had a mind that could design a kill-switch for an entire country’s power grid over breakfast, then schmooze diplomats over caviar by lunch. And, of course, he’d be smiling the whole time.Karpov wasn’t just pushing Russian interests; he was building them, wiring them into every circuit board, missile, and dirty little secret he could get his hands on. The GRU adored him because he was a ghost with a PhD—tech-savvy, ruthless, and clever enough to spin any military blunder into a "planned maneuver." For Karpov, it wasn’t just about safeguarding the Motherland; it was about expanding its influence, securing dominance through stealth, sabotage, and the occasional backroom deal.His expertise lay in control—subtle, relentless, and always with the same goal: plant the Russian flag a little further, no matter what it took. But his greatest skill was his ability to charm the Kremlin, skim funds and tech, and build his own empire quietly, all while keeping his salute sharp. In a way, he operated much like Prigozhin—mixing patriotism with profit—but Karpov was smarter, subtler. Where Prigozhin might charge in loud and brash, Karpov would slip through the cracks.Wade snapped the last picture and slipped the phone back, a grin spreading across his face. “Alright, Karpov, you wanted to play? Let’s make this messy. ” He paused, then muttered under his breath, “And don’t worry, Kate, I’ll bring you a souvenir. I’ll make sure his cranium gets gift-wrapped.”The stealth mode had officially overstayed its welcome. It was time to let the hell loose.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
Deadpool leaned against the cold metal wall, the storm raging outside, his mind racing through numbers. He was mentally calculating the number of warm bodies he’d need to drop before he could finally get to Karpov. The ship had a crew of about 500, but Wade figured maybe 150, 200 tops were combat-ready. The rest? Easy pickings.So thirty bodies, give or take—marines by the bridge, patrollers in the corridors, a few hiding in the dark, waiting to play hero. “Alright, Wilson, focus. Thirty to slice, dice, and blow to bits before Karpov gets his special one-on-one.” He grinned, cracking his knuckles. “I’m thinking a grenade starter, a couple of headshot entrées, and maybe a knife fight for dessert. Quick, messy, fun.”He opened the door, expecting the same dim, flickering lights. Instead, he was met with a wall of darkness—pitch black, like the power had been yanked. Wade's eyes adjusted, searching for any sign of life, but there was nothing.Nothing except two red pinpricks, glowing in the dark like the eyes of a hungry predator. Further down, tiny blinking lights began to dance, just like he’d seen through the window on the bridge. Before he could step out, the ship lurched, tossing him backward. Wade skidded, catching himself on the edge of the doorway. As he righted himself, he saw it: a glint of metal slicing through the dark. Tentacles.A low hum, and the backup generators kicked in, bathing the corridor in a sickly yellow light. Wade could see Omega Red now, his crimson eyes glowing like demonic traffic lights, carbonadium tendrils slithering and curling.“Oh, fuck me sideways with a hockey stick," Wade groaned. "Hentai on a Russian battleship. I've officially seen everything. And here I thought you’d be off somewhere creeping around playgrounds, given your track record.”Red sneered. “You… will die slowly, Deadpool. I will drain every last breath.”Wade’s eyes widened with mock terror. “Oooh, ‘drain me slowly!’ Sounds familiar! Did your old army buddies teach you that line? What was it? Back when you were hunting down kids, kidnapping, raping, and killing them like the true hero of Russia that you are? Real role model stuff. Guess it explains why your army's so into repeating history in Ukraine.”Omega Red surged forward, tentacles stretching down the hallway. Wade ducked, rolling as one swept over his head, lashing out with his katanas. The blades barely scratched a tentacle. “Sorry, not into foreplay, and definitely not with rusty Soviet BDSM toys.”Red didn’t flinch, his tentacles snapping back before launching forward, faster and harder. Wade heard boots pounding behind him. Marines, rifles raised, faces tense, closing in. "Oh, look! More guests! I was starting to feel like this was getting a little too intimate." Wade ducked behind a support column as bullets ricocheted off the walls.The marines opened fire, and Wade darted behind a bulkhead, one hand firing back, the other twirling a katana. “Seriously, you guys need hobbies—crochet, stamp collecting, LARPing. Something less deadly.”Omega Red’s tentacles paused, then lashed out. The tendrils wrapped around two marines, hoisting them like rag dolls. They struggled, but Red’s grip tightened, the red glow intensifying, draining their life force.“What the—are you feeding on them? That’s some next-level messed up. I’ve seen a lot of things, but ‘self-cannibalizing army’ is a new one.” Wade’s eyes narrowed. “Also, super rude. You don’t just start snacking mid-fight.”The soldiers sagged, lifeless, as Omega Red drained their energy, leaving them pale and empty. The other marines hesitated, unsure whether to fire at Wade or the guy who was literally sucking the life out of their comrades.More of them flooded the hallway. Wade grabbed a grenade off a dead guy’s belt. “Hey, catch!” He lobbed it, the explosion rocking the ship, sending bodies flying. “There we go! Now it’s a real party.”Red’s tentacles lashed out, driving Wade back toward the bridge entrance. He stumbled, nearly tripping over a corpse. The doors to the bridge loomed behind him, half-open, with sailors scrambling to barricade the entrance. “Oh, for the love of… really? I’m trying to stick to my thirty-body quota here! Quit messing up my math.”Bullets whizzed by, and Wade dashed through into utter chaos. The bridge was a mess of shouts, gunfire, and sailors trying to keep control. Omega Red’s tentacles lashed through, smashing consoles. One impaled a sailor, lifting him before slamming him down, leaving a crimson smear.Waves pounded the hull, tilting the floor, making it hard to keep footing. Wade charged at Red, slicing his shoulder, but he barely flinched. Deadpool glanced at the broken window, storm raging outside, waves crashing over the deck. “Hmmm, nice view,” he thought. Another tentacle whipped toward his face. “Not that nice.”“Okay, let’s think. Option one: keep getting thrown around by tentacles until I’m a smear on the floor. Option two: throw myself out a window and hope I don’t get impaled on a stray antenna.” He dove headfirst towards the window, crashing onto the deck outside.Omega Red followed, smashing through the window, tentacles writhing like serpents. One lashed out, coiling around Wade’s right arm, and with a vicious snap, it tore it clean off.“Aw, fuck! That was my favorite arm!” Wade yelled, watching his severed limb flop uselessly onto the deck. “Now how am I supposed to... you know what, never mind.” He raised his pistol with the remaining hand, firing off a few shots.The storm was relentless, rain pouring down, waves crashing over the deck. Wade stumbled, trying to keep his footing. Omega Red loomed over him, tentacles snapping, ready to strike. “You know, you’re a real buzzkill,” Wade said, rolling to avoid another swipe. “And I’m saying that as someone who literally kills people for fun.”But as he dodged and weaved, Wade noticed something out of the corner of his eye. A massive wave, towering in the distance, ready to crash down. “Oh, come on. Seriously? This is what I get for trying to clean up my act?”
This is it. This is how I die. Drowned by a killer wave after losing an arm to a tentacle-wielding psychopath. And they say comics are unrealistic.
He scrambled across the deck, searching for something—anything—to hold onto. The massive wave drew closer, and Wade could feel the ship tilting beneath him, the deck slick with rain and blood.“Alright, Red, it’s been fun, but I think it’s time for a dramatic exit,” Wade said, diving toward a support rail, clutching it tightly. Omega Red's eyes narrowed, realizing too late what was happening.The wave hit with the force of a sledgehammer, crashing over the deck, swallowing everything in its path. Wade clung to the rail, water rushing past him, while Omega Red was swept off his feet, his tentacles flailing as the wave dragged him into the churning sea.Wade pulled himself up, coughing up seawater, and looked out at the dark, stormy waters where Omega Red had vanished. “Well, that was… wet. And what a waste of a perfectly good serial killer. Guess it’s just me and the minibar now.”**Moving with one arm on a deck that felt more like a funhouse floor turned out to be a challenge. Opening doors, getting inside—less fun. Wade leaned against the cold steel frame, panting like an asthmatic bulldog.And then there was the other part—slicing his way through another wave of marines and armed sailors. Less challenging, sure, but it was definitely starting to piss him off. The pile of bodies left in his wake could probably be turned into a mid-budget horror movie. All that gore for what? Deadpool didn't even have Karpov in his sights yet.But he had a guess. Omega Red was meant to be Karpov’s guard dog, protecting the Perun. And if Red was now playing “sea monster,” then Karpov would be doing what any obsessive control freak would—securing his precious masterpiece. The cargo hold was the most logical place.Of course. Where else would the guy hide his magnum opus?The cargo hold was big, echoing with the sounds of the ship creaking and groaning under the weight of the storm. Massive crates were stacked in haphazard rows, some labeled with Cyrillic warnings that probably translated to “DO NOT TOUCH—EXPLOSIVE SHIT INSIDE.”The stench of saltwater mixed with the copper tang of blood, and everything reeked of damp, stale air. There was something huge at the center. Perun. Wade didn’t have to be a rocket scientist to figure out that much. Its sleek, angular frame barely hidden beneath a taut, heavy tarp. Cables lay coiled around, their ends plugged into dark, silent power nodes. This wasn’t some prototype; it was a polished, high-tech weapon.Exposed panels gleamed under the dim lights, etched with crisp Cyrillic warnings. Aerodynamic vents lined the sides, ready to cool a surge of energy that hadn’t yet been unleashed. The digital control panel was dark, its screens blank, just waiting for someone to push the big red button.“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me,” Wade muttered, squinting at the figure standing near the machine. He’d expected an old, balding KGB relic in a wrinkled uniform, maybe with glasses thick enough to double as sniper scopes.But no, standing there was a guy who looked like Weasel’s long-lost, buff, Botoxed twin. Seriously, same wiry frame, same beady little eyes, and same smug expression. It was almost uncanny. Wade half-expected Karpov to pull out a janky cell phone and start offering him discount tech.Deadpool’s brain short-circuited for a moment, trying to process it. “Hold up. Did Weasel’s mom drop an extra one on the floor during childbirth, and nobody noticed?” he said, almost disappointed. “Or did she just misplace you in a Russian dumpster and hope for the best?”Karpov’s face was smooth—too smooth, like he’d injected all the Botox in the world straight into his forehead and cheeks. Not a wrinkle in sight. And beneath his BDU, muscles flexed, more defined than Wade’s sense of sarcasm. That’s when Deadpool realized."Well, well, well," Wade started, waving his one remaining hand in Karpov’s direction. "Someone’s been hitting the reject super soldier serum. Seriously though, you should fire whoever did your Botox. You were going for ‘villain chic,’ but you ended up looking like a mutant with a thyroid problem. "Karpov didn’t even blink. His steps were slow, almost lazy, like he was bored. “You know, Wilson, you’re a lot like those stray dogs that wander around Russian military bases. Scrappy, loud, covered in scars. But they all have one thing in common—they don’t last long. Sooner or later, they get put down.”He stopped, tilting his head, a flicker of amusement in his eyes. “I’ve watched you for years. All those little suicide missions, the cheap one-liners, like some sad clown who forgot he’s not funny anymore. You think it makes you clever, unpredictable. But it’s just pathetic.”Then he reached into his pocket, pulling out a strange device—part syringe, part cattle prod. “Even you can be switched off, Wilson.” He stepped forward, the device glinting under the lights. “It’s about precision.”He moved closer, still eerily calm. “Standard assassination techniques don’t work on you. Bullets, blades, poisons… they’re too slow. But your healing factor can’t regenerate if your cells are locked down at a molecular level. It’s simple chemistry.”Deadpool lunged at Karpov, but the bastard was faster than expected. Sidestepping with almost ballerina-like grace, Karpov jabbed the device into Wade's side. For a second, Wade felt a wave of heat, then a strange numbness. He staggered back, his legs heavy, vision blurring. His healing factor, the usual comforting buzz, sputtered and went completely silent.He glanced at his stump—still a stump. New arm stopped regrowing.“Well, look at you! Tell me, did Madame B teach you those moves? Or wait—didn’t she only train the ladies?” His voice dropped to a playful whisper, eyes gleaming mischievously. “Unless... you were the exception? Maybe she liked you for... other reasons.”Karpov’s face twitched, anger flaring in his cold eyes. “Keep talking, Wilson. You’ll be quiet soon enough.”Wade grinned, despite the numbness. “Ahh, hit a nerve, huh? You know how it is with those rumors... Russians get so sensitive about this stuff.” But beneath the banter, his mind was racing. He could feel the panic creeping in, the realization that this wasn’t just another hit-and-heal situation.For a guy who’d spent so much time flirting with death, Wade was shocked to find out he didn’t want it now. Not like this, not yet. The ridiculous idea of starting a family? The bizarre fantasy of a threesome with Mark’s ghost? That was the future he had in mind—chaotic, messy, impossible. But this? This wasn’t part of the script.“What the hell did you do to me?” he blurted, stumbling backward as he tried to shake off the feeling. “Seriously, did you just put my healing factor on airplane mode or something?”Karpov took a step forward, his cold gaze fixed on Wade. “Unlike you, I am not some half-baked mercenary playing hero. I am the result of generations of discipline, refinement, power.” He said it with pride, as though the initials themselves carried the weight of an empire. “I do not need costumes or quips. I simply get results.”“Yeah, no,” Wade grunted, clutching his sword tighter with his good hand. "Sorry, pal. You might’ve slowed down my Wi-Fi, but I’m still running on pure skill."But Karpov wasn’t just any juiced-up idiot. The guy could fight. Every strike Wade made was either parried or dodged. And with his missing arm, it wasn’t like Wade was at his best.Blood trickled from his stump, pooling on the floor. If he didn’t think of something fast, it would be Karpov going to have his head on a platter.Karpov circled, then lunged, driving a fist hard into Wade’s gut. The hit knocked the wind out of him, sending him reeling. Wade barely had time to recover before Karpov followed up with a sharp kick to his knee. He stumbled, almost falling, but managed to keep his balance.Wade’s mind spun, struggling to stay focused. Then came another brutal punch to his ribs, and he felt something crack, a sharp pain stabbing at his side. “Well, there goes my weekend,” he groaned, staggering back, trying to catch his breath. “Hope you’re planning to send flowers for that.”Karpov’s smirk widened as he pulled a handgun from his belt. “Don’t worry, Wilson, I’ll send a wreath.” He fired, the first bullet tearing through Wade’s thigh, dropping him to one knee. Another shot hit Wade in the side, close to where his ribs had already been cracked. Wade hissed in pain, but he gritted his teeth and forced himself back up, swaying slightly.“Jesus, you’re really not letting this be a fair fight, huh?” Wade tried to laugh, but the sound caught in his throat, turning into a strained gasp. “Next time, just send a strongly worded email.”As Karpov circled him, he started talking again. "You know, I thought you were smarter, Wilson. But you’re as predictable as you are reckless. Bringing your girlfriend onto the frontlines? "Deadpool’s grip tightened on his katana. “Really, Weasel 2.0? You know, I thought we were bonding here,” Wade wheezed, forcing a grin. “But if you're gonna keep bringing up my life choices, this is starting to feel like therapy. And I don’t need that. I get all my therapy from TikTok now.”He circled Karpov, watching as the Russian mirrored his movements, both of them prowling around the massive, tarp-covered weapon. The thing looked like something out of a bad sci-fi movie—tubes, wires, a hulking mass of technology that probably shouldn’t exist. Crates of supplies and experimental weapons were scattered around."Don’t worry, Wilson," Karpov sneered, "I’m not in a rush. You’re bleeding out slowly. I can wait."Karpov struck, punching Wade hard in the gut again, and Wade felt the wind leave him. The inhibitor was messing him up bad; every move felt like he was fighting underwater. He could feel himself getting weaker. He glanced at the weapon system. Perun was big, and frankly, it looked like it had a lot of dangerous buttons and switches. The kind that you should never press but always want to press.That’s when it hit him. He needed a way to end this fight. He was out of time, and Karpov was getting cockier by the second. But if Wade could use the tech against him...As they moved, Wade’s legs wobbled, and he stumbled, genuinely struggling to stay upright. Karpov closed in, a smirk forming on his face, seeing Wade’s weakened state as an opportunity. But Deadpool wasn’t done yet. With a last-ditch effort, he kicked a nearby crate into Karpov’s path.It wasn’t much of a distraction, but it gave Wade just enough time to dive toward Perun and slam his hand onto the nearest switch.There was a loud hum. The machine shuddered, lights blinking on and off like a goddamn Christmas tree. Oh, shit.Karpov’s face twisted in shock, realizing what Wade had done. But it was too late. The machine roared to life, electricity sparking and arcing through the air."Say hello to Mr. Perun!" Wade yelled and leaped forward with his katana. He thrust the blade through Karpov’s chest, pinning him against one of the machine’s massive resistors.The electricity surged through Karpov’s body. He screamed, his muscles convulsing as the voltage fried him from the inside out. The irony was almost too delicious—Karpov, fried to death by the very machine he was supposed to protect. Struck down by Perun, the god of thunder, like some mortal fool who thought he could control a storm.Wade watched as Karpov’s body twitched, his smooth face distorting in agony. "What’s wrong, Karpov? You’re looking a little shocked," Wade quipped, grinning behind his mask.With one final, violent jolt, Karpov’s head snapped back, mouth open in a silent scream, and the machine’s hum died out, leaving the cargo hold silent except for the faint crackle of burning flesh.Deadpool staggered back, breathing hard, his grin fading. He looked down at the corpse, then at his own missing arm. “That’s it? Seriously?” he muttered, a twinge of disappointment creeping into his voice. “No epic last words, no dramatic monologue, not even a good ‘I’ll be back?’”He glanced around the cargo hold, almost like he was expecting something more. “Guess I thought it’d be... bigger. Flashier. Instead, I’m down an arm, and you’re just a crispy critter. This feels like the worst prize at the carnival.”He shook his head, exhaling sharply. “Well, that’s one way to wrap things up. Not exactly a blockbuster finale, but hey, I’m used to disappointment.”He eyed the Perun. His mind drifted to the schematics he’d seen earlier—whether they were legit or just another one of Karpov's tricks. They looked convincing, but something nagged at him, like there could be tiny, deliberate flaws hidden in the details. He couldn’t be sure, but at least it was something."Oh, almost forgot," he said, pulling out his phone. He snapped a selfie with Karpov’s corpse, making sure to get a good angle. "Still gotta commemorate the moment.”And then he hacked off Karpov’s head, hoisting it up by the hair. “You’re coming with me, Karpov. You know, for closure. Maybe even a little redecorating back home.”Dragging Karpov’s head along, Wade limped back toward the bridge, his body screaming at him to stop. The ship was eerily quiet now, the sailors who were still alive probably huddled in whatever dark corners they could find, praying they’d make it out. Omega Red was somewhere at the bottom of the Black Sea, and Karpov... well, Karpov wouldn’t be making any more plans.Wade glanced around at the scattered bodies and smirked. “Didn’t quite hit the full 500, but still... I’d say the kill ratio was pretty solid.”“Alright, it’s showtime. Let’s see those fireworks. Zinchenko, this is your big moment!” Wade barked into the radio. “Don’t screw it up. Launch the damn missiles!”Through the crackling radio, he heard Zinchenko’s voice. “Neptun missiles locked on target. Firing in three… two…”Wade could see the faint glint of the missiles approaching on the horizon, their trails slicing through the stormy sky. His vision blurred, and he felt his legs start to give out, the adrenaline finally fading.He leaned back, sinking against the console, and sighed dramatically. “Hey, want to hear a joke? It’s a good joke. You will laugh. Knock, knock.” He paused, as if expecting an answer from the darkness, but then continued. “Who there? No one. Everyone die in spring.”*With the last ounce of strength, his hand fumbled for the teleport button on his belt. “See? Good joke,” he mumbled, pressing it just before his consciousness faded.In a flash, he was gone, leaving the bridge empty as the missiles closed in, the final sound drowned out by the distant roar of explosions.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
Deadpool hit the ground with a solid splat, rolling to a stop near the mobile Neptun launchers. The Ukrainian soldiers, already prepping to move them, froze at the sight of him sprawled out like a ragdoll, Karpov’s severed head still gripped in his hand. It was almost comedic—the kind of grim punchline Wade would appreciate if he wasn’t, you know, bleeding out.His left arm was still gone, a messy stump with bone poking out like a cheap Halloween prop, and his body looked like it had been used as a human piñata. The soldiers quickly realized this was not a situation they’d prepared for. Zinchenko, that smug bastard who always looked like he had something to prove, was somehow the first to react. Whatever bluster he had earlier evaporated as he barked out orders for medical evac."Medyk! Potrebna dopomoha!" he shouted, dropping to his knees to check Deadpool’s vitals. Others joined, calling out in a mix of Ukrainian, some English, mostly chaos. But they knew one thing for sure—if this freakshow survived, they owed him.**Wade woke up to the gentle, salty breeze of the Black Sea wafting through an open window. He groaned, his head spinning as he squinted at the sunlight cutting through the curtains. The room was... odd. Somewhere between a military dorm and a forgotten Soviet spa retreat. The kind of place you expect to find an old man in a Speedo glaring at you for using "his" bench.There was a mini beverage fridge on the sideboard across from his bed, slightly ajar. He blinked several times before it finally registered—Karpov’s head was staring back at him from inside, crammed in like someone’s forgotten leftovers. “Well, at least it’s chillin’,” he muttered, grimacing as he tried to shift. Pain radiated from everywhere, but it was the absence of his left arm that hurt the most. The stump was tightly bandaged, a dull throb reminding him of the mission he’d survived… barely.Next to the bed was a wheelchair, like a not-so-subtle hint that he wasn’t going to be sprinting anytime soon. Everything screamed "recovery mode," but this wasn’t exactly the five-star convalescence he imagined. He was still trying to piece together how he got here when he realized he wasn’t alone.Sitting in an old, creaky armchair was Fury, watching him with the focused intensity of a scientist observing an experiment. The eye patch didn’t lessen the effect; if anything, it made his stare sharper, as though his single eye saw with 20/20 precision and then some.“You did good, Deadpool. Better than good,” Fury said, his voice gruff but steady.Wade raised an eyebrow. “Nick, that sounds like you’re talking to a dog. Good boy! Do I get a treat? Maybe a cybernetic arm? Ooooh, can I be like Cable? Super buff and moody?”Fury’s expression didn’t change. “Not quite. That inhibitor they used wasn’t their original invention. They stole the tech a while back but didn’t know an ‘antidote’ even existed.” He leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “It’ll take a few days, but you’ll be back to your obnoxious, fully-limbed self soon enough. Just rest. You’ll want to be in top shape for when Kate gets here.”Wade felt a dull ache pulse through his body, but just at the mention of her name, there it was—a subtle, unexpected twitch under the sheets. Even now, she could get a reaction out of him, battered and down an arm as he was. Morning wood, poking its stubborn head up despite everything else feeling like it had been through a blender. “Well, what do you know,” he muttered, glancing down with a mix of surprise and mild pride. “Still got some fight in me.”Fury raised a hand to his face, dragging it down in a long, deliberate facepalm. “Christ, Wilson. You’re half-dead, and your priorities are still completely screwed.”Wade chuckled. “Where is she?” He winced as he shifted in bed to sit up straighter. “And don’t tell me she’s in another castle, Fury, ‘cause I’m in no mood for side quests.”“She’s on her way. We’re bringing her in. You focus on healing.”Wade’s eyes narrowed suddenly, a thought crossing his mind. “Wait a sec… nobody snapped any pics of me like this, right? Because I swear, if some soldier uploaded a shot of my one-armed, semi-conscious ass bleeding out on the beach, my engagement rate is gonna plummet. And that’s not good, Nick.”“Some tried,” Fury admitted, a hint of a smirk playing on his lips. “CI handled it. We’re trying to keep your followers clueless... or at least entertained.”“Thank God,” Wade sighed, a dramatic wave of relief washing over his face. “I can’t be trending as a hashtag if I look like roadkill. ‘#OneArmedDeadpool’ isn’t the kind of clout I’m aiming for.”Fury’s lips twitched, almost a smile. “Trust me, we’re all trying to avoid that.”Wade’s eyes lingered on Nick for a beat, then he gave a knowing, exaggerated nod. “I see what this is. You’re protecting the brand. You know, for a guy who was all ‘Stop posting your kills on the internet, Wade! You’re jeopardizing missions, Wade!’ a while back, this feels like a real character arc for you, Nick.That’s almost... sweet.”“Don’t make it weird. Just rest.”Wade chuckled. “Oh, it’s already weird, Nick. But you know what would really speed up my recovery, right?” His voice dropped to a lecherous whisper. “And it’s not chicken soup.”Fury rolled his eye. “Judging by your photo gallery, either ponies, clown porn, or interpretive dance.”“Hey, that was purely for educational purposes,” Wade shot back, mock-indignant. “And a little privacy, huh? You actually went through my fap folder?”“We needed to check what intel you managed to snag on the Moskva,” Fury said, suddenly stone-faced again.“Yeah, yeah, ‘intel.’ That’s what they all say. Just admit it, Nick, you’re curious about my... aesthetic. But seriously, tell Budanov when I’m back on my feet, he’s getting his ass kicked. I don’t know, maybe you too. Real classy, that heads-up before the mission. It’s like, ‘Hey, Wade, go on a suicide run. By the way, here’s nothing useful.’”Fury’s gaze didn’t waver. “Rest up, Wade.”“Oh, I plan to. But just so we’re clear, next time I see Budanov, I’m making sure he gets a personal demonstration of how it feels to have a grenade shoved somewhere anatomically improbable.”“Duly noted.” Fury stood up, smoothing out his coat. “And Wade?”“Yeah?”“You really did good,” Fury said, his tone almost, almost softening. Then he turned, walking out of the room, leaving Wade to his thoughts.Wade watched him go, then glanced at the fridge. “Guess it’s just you and me, Karpov,” he muttered, wincing as he settled back against the pillows. “Hope they at least restocked you with some ice.”**By evening, it was clear Fury had gotten it wrong—this regeneration wasn’t going to take days. Wade’s stump was already itching like mad, like a swarm of ants throwing a rave under his skin, and the bandage felt tighter than a noose. His body was doing what it did best—repairing itself, piece by bloody piece. Cuts were sealing up, bruises fading, bones knitting back together. He’d spent most of the time drifting in and out of sleep, reality blurring into a fever dream.At one point, he could’ve sworn Kate was there, her fingers tracing lazy circles on his face, brushing over his new, regrowing hand. Maybe she whispered something, something that made his pulse quicken even in his groggy state. Or maybe she’d gone further—hiked up his hospital gown and decided to play Sleeping Beauty with him as the unconscious prince. He smirked at the thought, half-conscious and more than half-delirious. “Would that count as non-consensual?” he muttered, grinning. “Or just... hands-on therapy?”By the next day, noon-ish, he was back on his feet—literally. Fresh arm, no holes, and a whole lot of sass. But walking into a briefing like a normal person? Not his style. No, this demanded an entrance.Wade planned to roll in on a wheelchair, channeling his best Charles Xavier impression. He was still wearing nothing but the hospital gown—the kind that didn’t just show a bit of cheek, it gave everyone a full moon every time he stood up. And there, in his lap, was Karpov’s severed head. Fresh from the fridge, dripping a little bit onto his thighs.He had it all rehearsed in his head.“Gentlemen,” he’d say, standing up with a flourish, the hospital gown flaring dramatically behind him like a cape of shame. “I hope you’re ready for the most electrifying PowerPoint presentation this side of the Black Sea. And by PowerPoint, I mean I’ve got a head in my lap and no shame. Let’s get this shitshow started, because I’m dying to see which one of you is going to make eye contact first.”But as the doors to the conference room—sorry, mess hall with a few too many folding chairs—open, all thoughts of his grand entrance evaporated. The moment his wheels rolled inside, Wade’s eyes locked on something, someone, way more interesting than Budanov, Fury, or the handful of Ukrainian officers and S.H.I.E.L.D. agents he was about to traumatize with Karpov’s head.Kate.But then he saw it. Saw him.He was standing beside her, a little too cozy, a little too familiar. Wade’s grin wavered, his momentum stalled. Kate wasn’t looking at him. She was talking to the guy—that guy—like they were old pals catching up over coffee.Wade froze. The smile plastered on his face faltered, and before his brain could fully register what was happening, the head of Karpov, his grim little party favor, slipped out of his lap and hit the floor with a sad, wet plop on the cracked tiles.“Ah, crap,” Wade muttered, staring down at the decapitated head as it rolled a little to the side, leaving a slight smear on the floor. “Karpov, buddy, I’m gonna need you to stay in your lane.”He straightened up and tried to assess the situation. Kate was smiling, but not at him. No, her smile was directed at the hairy, cigar-chomping Canadian nightmare standing next to her.Logan. Freakin’ Wolverine.Wade’s eye twitched. The wheelchair squeaked as he gripped the sides a little too hard. “Really? Him?” Was this it? The answer to the mystery of her tattoo?Kate had spotted Wade and was just about to head his way, but Logan grabbed her hand, stopping her in her tracks. Wade felt a sharp pang of jealousy twist inside him.He stood up, abandoning the wheelchair altogether, and immediately strode over to them, ignoring everyone else in the room. Instantly, every eye turned his way, staring as if they’d just witnessed Jesus himself perform a miracle.“Oi, Logan!” he called out. “What, they send you here to play the role of ‘short, angry dude with an inferiority complex’?” He gestured to the head on the floor. “I mean, I already brought a head, so your contribution is... uh, redundant.”Logan finally turned, that usual scowl deepening. “Wilson.”Kate knew exactly where this was headed. She looked at Wade, raising an eyebrow, but that amused look she usually saved for him wasn’t there. “Wade, don’t.”He blinked. “Don’t what? I wasn’t going to throw the head at him.”“Just... be cool,” she said softly, and something about the way she said it—cool—made Wade’s stomach twist.„So it wasn’t just a joke, huh? You actually fucked? How could you do this with him?! I mean, look at him! It’s like you hooked up with some lumberjack garden gnome! Really, Kate? The guy’s a cigar-smoking hobbit! You couldn’t pick someone taller?!"Kate’s head snapped up, her eyes narrowing into a sharp glare. “Wade, stop—”Wolverine was trying to ignore him, just chewing on his cigar like it was the most natural thing in the world to get verbally mauled by a half-dressed, ranting mercenary."Seriously, a fling with a guy who’s what? Five-foot-three? How did you even—did you pick him up and carry him around like a human backpack?"Logan’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t move. Wade, however, was oblivious to the warning signs.Kate stepped forward, clearly trying to defuse the situation. “Wade, seriously, enough—”Logan exhaled a cloud of smoke.“You—" He pointed dramatically at Wolverine, "—you think you can just puff your cigar and look all cool when you’re basically her height. It’s messing with my head!"
SNIKT!
Logan’s claws sliced through the air, plunging directly into Wade’s skull. The impact was swift, brutal, and... somehow expected. Wade’s body crumpled to the floor.He lay there, a dark, sticky pool of blood spreading around his head, soaking into the cracks. The room was dead silent.“For fuck’s sake, Logan!” Kate’s voice cut through the stillness. She was at Wade’s side in an instant, pushing past Wolverine. She grabbed Wade’s face, pulling him close. His head lolled, limp, and it seemed like this was it—like that was the final act.Minutes dragged on, everyone waiting for that familiar twitch, the sudden spark that meant his healing factor was kicking in. But... nothing. No sudden jerk, no miraculous recovery.Ukrainian officers shifted uncomfortably, one of them whispering, “This is... not how I imagined our briefing.” The agents, always with their poker faces, looked on but there was a faint hint of ‘what the hell?’ in their eyes.Logan just stood there, claws still out, but his usual scowl had faded into something close to disbelief. He didn’t move, didn’t even breathe—just stared, like he was trying to process the fact that Wade, of all people, might actually be down for the count. Fury’s jaw clenched, his stoic mask cracking slightly as he glanced between Kate and Wade’s blood-soaked form. Budanov’s smirk evaporated.It was like Wade’s body was on strike, the healing factor burnt out after stitching him back together after the Moskva, and now it was refusing to clock in.And then it happened. The corner of Wade’s mouth twitched—so slight, so quick, that no one caught it.He had seen the perfect opening, and he wasn’t about to let it pass. With a sudden, sharp movement, he grabbed Kate around the waist, flipped her over, and rolled on top of her.She barely had time to gasp before Wade’s mouth was on hers, kissing her with every ounce of energy his suddenly-not-so-lifeless body could muster. It was all tongue, all desperate, like he was trying to check her tonsils for contraband. The hospital gown flapped open, ass out for the world to see. He pulled back just enough to speak. “Miss me, babe?”The whole room just... gawked. Fury, Budanov, the soldiers—every single one of them staring, slack-jawed. Logan’s claws retracted with a soft snakt, the shock finally giving way to sheer disbelief. Wade’s pale, scarred cheeks were on full display, and if anyone had expected a serious briefing or a somber moment, well, this wasn’t it.Fury just groaned, rubbing his temples. “Jesus, Wilson, would you cover your damn ass? This was supposed to be a briefing, not a soft-core porn.”Wade flashed a grin. “I dunno, Nick. I’m feeling... liberated.” He finally rolled off Kate, springing to his feet.Kate, still flat on the floor, wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and shot Wade a deadly glare. “You ever pull a stunt like that again, and I’ll make sure the next thing I shove up your ass isn’t my tongue.”Wade’s grin widened. “Now that’s just mean, bringing rimming into it. Not everyone’s ready to have their fantasies stirred up like that.”Kate whizzed, pushing herself to her feet and adjusting her clothes, clearly trying to regain some semblance of dignity. “God, Wade, I swear, I’m going to do what Logan’s claws couldn’t.”“Promises, promises.” He clapped his hands and darted around the room. “Now, where were we?”Budanov cleared his throat, stepping forward, hands clasped behind his back like he was about to present some grandiose award ceremony. “Well, actually, we had planned to present you with the highest Ukrainian honor from the president himself, but…” His gaze dropped for a second to Wade's bare ass. “...I think that might have to wait.”Wade raised an eyebrow. “Oh yeah? You can shove that medal straight up your ass, Budanov, you tiny prick. Funny how you ‘forgot’ to mention Omega Red was onboard, or that Karpov was juiced up on super soldier serum! Oh, and let’s not forget about that freakin' Perun system. You conveniently left that out too, didn’t ya?”Before Budanov could snap back, Logan’s voice cut through the room. “Wait. Omega Red? That can’t be right. He’s dead.”Wade’s eyes lit up. “Well, turns out he’s very much alive, with a few upgrades. Seems like the Russians decided to defrost him like one of those old-ass singers they dig up for New Year’s Eve specials. You know, like Barry Manilow. Just rolled him out of the freezer, dusted him off, and set him loose.” He paused, scratching the back of his neck. “And, to be honest, they might do it again. I’m not exactly sure if he’s chilling at the bottom of the Black Sea or if he’s gonna pop up like a bad sequel no one asked for.”Logan narrowed his eyes, clearly trying to process the news. “So we’re dealing with two popsicles, then.”Fury shot him a sharp look. “Who’s the other one? We’ll talk with Wilson later—brief us on what went down.”Logan took a deep breath. "Vanguard’s leading the charge now. Azovstal’s about to fall.”Budanov’s eyes flickered with recognition, but he remained silent. Fury, however, didn’t. “Vanguard? Krylenko? That’s who they sent?”Logan nodded grimly. “He’s there to finish it. The defenders don’t have a chance. He’s bouncing everything they throw at him—bullets, mortars, you name it. They’re running on fumes, and he’s just standing there, reflecting every hit right back at ‘em. He’s there to wipe ‘em out, and he won’t stop until he does.”Fury’s jaw clenched, but his voice remained steady. "And you’re going back in?"Logan nodded. "I’ll hold the line as long as I can. Buy the defenders some time. But Vanguard’s got enough power to level that whole place if he wants to."Wade, alert again, leaned. "So let me get this straight—you’re going to fight a guy who literally bounces everything back at you, and I’m supposed to just sit here?"Logan didn’t even look at him. "Yeah."Wade threw his hands up. "Classic. You get the fun, and I get benched."Fury slammed a folder down on the table. "Enough. Logan will take point on this. Once he’s done, we’ll assess the situation and decide our next steps. Wade, you’re on standby.""Standby? Oh, I’ll be standing by, alright. Standing by to watch the shortest superhero battle in history. But just so we’re clear, if he doesn’t come back, I’m taking his cigars. And you know what? I might even keep one of his little shoes as a souvenir."Logan grunted, throwing him a furious glare. "Vanguard’s not walking out of Azovstal. I’ll make sure of that. And I’ll find what you’re looking for, Budanov.”Budanov smirked.Wade raised an eyebrow, feigning hurt. “Seriously? Is it another secret weapon or what? You’re really gonna leave me out of the field trip to Funland?”Fury’s expression didn’t change. “You’ve done enough for now. There’s another mission coming up, and it’s got your name all over it. But we’ll get to that when the time’s right.” He turned his gaze to Logan. “As for you, you’re dismissed. Go cool off, or sharpen your claws, or whatever it is you do.”Logan gave a curt nod and headed for the exit. As he walked out, Kate’s eyes followed him, lingering just a little too long. Wade, of course, caught it immediately. Oh, we’re so talking about this later, he thought, right after I remind her that Wolverine’s just a pint-sized mascot for leather jackets.He drummed his fingers on the table. “So, now that Captain Hairball’s done stealing my spotlight, who’s next on my hit list? Give me something spicy—I’m feeling generous.”Fury glanced at Budanov, who gave a single, sharp nod, and then turned back to Wade.“It’s the big one, Wilson,” Fury said, his tone flat as a concrete wall. “We’re talking Putin.”“Putin? Really? Nick, why dont’t you just let me time-travel and take care of him back when he was a pipsqueak in Leningrad? Could’ve saved everyone a lot of trouble!”Fury raised an eyebrow, deadpan. “Because we’ve been over this, Wilson. You’re not allowed to mess with the timeline.”Wade threw his hands up in mock outrage. “You and your damn rules! I told you we should’ve let me go back and deal with baby Hitler, but nooo, ‘We can’t change history, Wade!’ You ever think maybe history needs a little changing? No WWII, no bad 1930s haircuts, no terrible History Channel reenactments.”Budanov suddenly stepped in. “I admire your... enthusiasm, Wilson, but we’re sticking to the present. We have to deal with Putin as he is.”Deadpool flopped into a chair, sighing dramatically. “Fine, fine. We’ll do it your boring way. But just know, if this turns into a ‘the bad guy escapes and screws everyone over’ situation, I’m gonna be ‘I told you so’-ing till you wish I’d been your baby-Putin solution.”His gaze dropped to Karpov’s head, still lying on the floor, and he nudged it with his foot. “Ivan, what do you say? Back me up here, buddy. I’m right, aren’t I?”Before the head could even pretend to respond—because, obviously, it couldn’t—Kate turned to Fury, cutting in. “Fury, I need to ask a favor. Damian and his team need supplies—the same kind of gear you gave me when I was at the front. Their situation is desperate.”Fury looked at her, reluctant. “S.H.I.E.L.D. doesn’t do charity work, Kate. We’re not in the business of playing supplier to—”“Wade’s already agreed to wire funds from his Cayman account,” she interrupted smoothly, eyes flicking to Wade. “It’d look pretty cheap if S.H.I.E.L.D. didn’t chip in too, don’t you think?”A sweet little bit of payback for Wade’s earlier stunt, though she had planned to ask him for the money and Fury for the tech anyway.Wade raised his eyebrows. “Oh, I agreed, did I? Right, I agreed. Yes, my totally-legal offshore stash is here to save lives. Hero of the year, right here, folks. Let’s get those Band-Aids flying.”Fury sighed, then nodded. “Fine. I’m not thrilled about throwing our tech out the door, but we will provide it—on Wilson’s wallet, at least partially. And,” he added, glancing at Kate, “let’s call this extra for your...remarkable service, Turner. And don’t forget, once we’re back on U.S. soil, you and I have a meeting.”Fury shot Wade a sidelong glance. “And you—don’t make me regret this, Wilson.”Kate took the cue, giving a brisk nod. “You won’t. I’ll take care of that.” She shifted to Wade, whispering, “Thanks for that,” and then, she made sure to pitch her voice just loud enough for the whole room to hear. “And thanks for bringing Karpov to us. Ivan will be thrilled to watch you and Ghost-Mark going at it.”Wade’s eyes twinkled with a wicked glee. “THAT! See, that’s the kind of motivation I was talking about, folks. You deliver, you get rewarded. And don’t worry, I’ll give everyone a full play-by-play of our supernatural threesome.”Fury just groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose like he could feel a headache forming. “You really don’t have to, Wilson.”“Oh, but I want to, Nick,” Wade said, leaning back in his chair with a shit-eating grin. “You can’t stop the wave of passion that’s about to hit. I’m talking explicit details, diagrams, maybe even a presentation. Hell, I’ll send it straight to your inbox, marked ‘urgent.’”Fury’s face twitched, caught somewhere between exasperation and defeat. “Just... get out of here, Wilson. We’ll talk later.”Wade sprang up, stretching his arms like he was finishing a particularly satisfying stretch of nonsense. “You heard the man! Showtime’s over. But mark my words, next time I’m back, I’ll have stories. And you’ll be begging for more.”As Wade started making his way out, Budanov, who had been watching the whole exchange, leaned forward, arms still clasped behind his back. “You know, Wilson, if you do end up delivering this... ‘threesome report,’ make sure it’s got your usual flair. Wouldn’t want it to be boring.”Wade turned, his grin stretching wider. “See, that’s the spirit, Budanov! You’re already thinking about entertainment value. For that kind of enthusiasm, I might just forgive you for the... incomplete intel.”Budanov’s smirk barely shifted. “Predictability bores you, Wilson. I’d hate to ruin your fun. You thrive on surprises.”Wade snorted, rolling his eyes. “Surprises? Oh, sure, it was like a surprise colonoscopy. But hey, I’ll let it slide this time. Just don’t make it a habit, okay? I might start charging extra for every ‘oh, by the way’ moment.”Fury, half-buried in his hands, groaned louder. “For the love of God, Wilson, just leave.”“Yeah, yeah, Nick, I’m leaving. But consider this a teaser trailer. Don’t say I didn’t warn you!” Wade turned on his heel, and shot a quick glance at Kate, nodding towards the door.“C’mon, babe, time to make our grand exit.” He bent down and scooped up Karpov’s head like he was grabbing a soccer ball.“Almost forgot my plus-one,” Wade quipped, giving the decapitated head a little shake. "Wouldn't want to leave him behind—poor Ivan’s already been through enough."Kate rolled her eyes but followed him, still trying to hide the hint of a smirk tugging at her lips. Wade made sure his hospital gown fluttered behind him, giving everyone a final glimpse. "And that, folks, is how you leave a lasting impression... whether you want it or not.”
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
As they made their way down the hall, Wade’s arm stayed wrapped around Kate’s waist, his free hand still clutching Karpov's severed head as if it were just another accessory. They moved in silence, the air between them charged with something unspoken. She could almost sense the Wolverine remark brewing.But just when she braced herself for some ridiculous jealousy-ridden question, Wade, true to form, pivoted. “So, this top-floor room—genius idea, right? Like, yeah, let’s put all the important people where they’ll get absolutely obliterated if the Russians decide it’s shelling time. Real strategic move.”Kate rolled her eyes but nodded. “I know. But honestly, the ground floor is no better, and don’t get me started on the basement.”Her mind suddenly flickered back, each explosion, every jolt of the walls, the tang of smoke thick in the air. She could remember how she should have felt, what it should have stirred in her, but there was nothing—no burn of adrenaline, no pulse of fear. Just hollow snapshots.Kate’s thoughts had drifted, anchored in memories that felt strangely weightless, when Wade’s head dipped toward her neck. He started sniffing with exaggerated focus, trailing his nose along her shoulder.Her irritation flared. “Jesus, Wade, stop sniffing me like some rabid dog. Just ask your damn question.”Wade gave a faux-hurt expression, then shrugged. “So? What’s the deal? How much hair did you leave on his pillow?”“Zero,” she deadpanned, giving him a stare. “We met. He saved my ass. End of story.”Wade squinted suspiciously. “Could’ve fooled me. You two looked awfully cozy back there. Like, let’s just say if this was an Instagram feed, I’d be hitting the ‘unfollow’ button right about now.”Kate rolled her eyes. “Maybe we did—in that overactive mind of yours. Stop trying to make me out to be some sort of… slut.”“Oh yeah? Funny, though. First Daredevil saving you, then Wolverine… Next you’re gonna tell me Hulk stopped by to carry your groceries.” Wade tapped his chin, his expression theatrically pensive. “Also, I was not the one swiping right on half of Tinder. Alright, so I maybe tried the app myself. Even tried out a few guys. Turns out, I’m a guy who needs a little emotional connection to… y’know.”“Wade, cut the crap.”“I will—if you give me a real reason why Wolverine didn’t make the cut.”Kate’s expression didn’t waver. “For starters, a man starts at six feet.”Wade raised an eyebrow, pretending to be shocked. “Oh, so now we’re just admitting it—short kings don’t stand a chance, huh? What happened to fair treatment for all the vertically challenged guys out there? Wow, the anti-short-dude agenda is real.”“You’re so lucky you made the cut, height-wise, Wade. Otherwise, I might’ve gone for someone… let’s just say, a bit closer to the ground.”Wade feigned relief, patting his chest. “Right? And that’s why I’m the logical choice. Walking Dead look and all—but I tower above the, uh, competition.”“It’s not just about that,” she said. “Though, fine, maybe height’s part of it. So spare me your insecurities, yeah?”At that, Wade’s face softened a touch, a hint of genuine vulnerability. But the moment quickly passed, replaced by his usual antics as he leaned in close, sniffing her again as they crossed into her room. He placed Karpov’s head onto a nearby shelf, freeing his hands, and continued his little scent investigation.“God, stop! Why are you doing that?”“Because you smell... different.”She blinked, bemused. “Different how?”“Different as in, if I don’t bend you over every piece of furniture in this room, I’ll regret it for the rest of my life.” He pulled her closer. “Totally consensual, no creepy vibes intended, of course. And now I’m starting to wonder if Logan was standing that close because he wanted a hit of whatever you’re wearing. What is it? New shampoo, or just in the mood?”“What are you even talking about?”Wade didn’t need to answer. He tossed her onto the bed, his hands already working her boots off, then her pants, and finally her underwear. He lowered his head between her legs, and she made no move to stop him.“There’s... I don’t know. A vibe. Like a ‘come-and-devour-me’ vibe.” His lips traced a line up her inner thighs. “Could just be from near-death celibacy... or maybe you’re ovulating?”“Oh for the love of— Wade! Are you serious? You think bringing up my biological calendar is seductive?”He looked up at her, feigning innocence. “Hey, you say biology; I say nature’s horny alarm clock. I’m just here to answer the call, babe. Just doin’ my duty.”She sighed, pushing his head back down with a firm hand. “If you’re already down there, could you actually shut up and get to work?”Wade smirked. “Oh, you’d like that, wouldn’t you? But just imagine if I did that to you—started moving your head around. It’d be, like, scandal of the year. Double standards much?”“You took my pants off, Wade; you don’t get to play victim here. Also—you do that all the time.”“Touché.” He winked. “Okay, consider this mouth officially on mute.”A beat passed—then, of course, he couldn’t resist. “Actually, quick thought. What do you think of a little rendezvous on the beach? Sure, the first few yards are probably mined, but wouldn’t it be exciting? Right under the big ‘Danger, Mines’ sign? Imagine it… the thrill, the waves, the breeze—”“Or imagine the sand,” she interrupted dryly, her hand pressing his head again, “and where it might end up. Jesus, Wade. Do something, anything, that doesn’t involve talking.”He chuckled. “Alright, no more talking. Diving in…”And he dove right in, no preamble, working her over with an intensity only weeks of abstinence could bring. Just as she was melting into it, he popped up enough to say, “And here it is... the fun finger,” wiggling it for emphasis.“Wade, for God’s sake, shut up and —“.Her body arched, hand flying to her mouth to stifle a too-loud gasp as her toes curled. A barely-muffled “you’re welcome” slipped out from below, and she finally let herself give in, breathless and thoroughly undone. At the very last second, he shifted and slid into her. A few frenzied thrusts, and he finished, looking just a little sheepish.“Alright, maybe I went in a little fast there. Been a while since I had anything but my own hand for company.” He leaned in and kissed her deeply, catching her off guard. “Consider that... the official taste transfer. And don’t worry though, babe. This is just round one.”The afternoon turned into a marathon, each round leaving her panting and sore until even her calf muscles started cramping. Finally, they collapsed together on the bed, completely spent. Wade’s gaze drifted over to the shelf where Karpov’s head sat, staring back at them with lifeless eyes.“So, what’s your plan for that thing?” Wade asked. “He’s gonna start smelling pretty ripe soon.”Kate’s mouth quirked in a wry smile. “Looking back, maybe I just didn’t think through the logistics of having a severed head as a souvenir. Got any bright ideas?”“Oh, don’t worry; I’ll think of something. I could always FedEx it to Putin. Consider it handled,” he replied smoothly, then added, “But first… what was Fury’s deal? He seemed awfully interested in talking to you back there.”Kate sighed, glancing at the ceiling. “They want to recruit me.”Wade let out a low whistle. “Well, should I be giving my congratulations or hiding under the bed?”Kate shot him a sidelong glance, a small smirk tugging at her lips. “A bit of both, I think.”Wade tilted his head, tapping his fingers on his chin. “So… You’ve given this a thought already?”“Just preliminary,” she replied. “Nothing’s final.”“Uh-huh,” his tone stretched into mock-serious territory. “And you’re aware they’re probably doing this as some elaborate way to get, y’know, a leash on yours truly, since the world has clearly noticed I’m only on my best behavior for you.”Kate arched an eyebrow. “Are you actually implying that I don’t have all the high-stakes, kick-ass skills they look for?”“N-no, not at all!” Wade backpedaled quickly, waving his hands in the air. “I mean, if anything, you’re probably overqualified! But…” Wade managed to keep his grin intact, but his mind was drifting to S.H.I.E.L.D.’s bag of tricks. And at the very top of that bag? Agent Emily Preston.Oh, yeah—he could practically see her bringing Kate in for “training” and, surprise! Ellie’s there too, as part of some “bonding package.” He can almost hear her: “This isn’t just S.H.I.E.L.D., Wade. This is S.H.I.E.L.D.-family-approved—now with 30% more dad guilt!”Lost in thought, Wade barely noticed Kate’s eyes narrowing. “But what?” she asked.He snapped back to her, forced an even wider grin, and gave her a cheeky wink. “Nothing. Just thinking we’re diving headfirst into Mr. and Mrs. Smith territory here, aren’t we, Brad?”**Deadpool never would’ve guessed that territory like this could exist in another universe. The Prime Tower loomed in the skyline, a steel-and-glass fortress reaching into the clouds, filled with secrets and fortified enough to keep even the wildest nightmares out. The building radiated power, the kind that didn’t need to shout.Inside, the room was bathed in an artificial glow, casting long, sterile shadows across the metal walls and reflecting off the multitude of machines around Monty Burns. It felt like an echo chamber for his misery. Months of it now—stuck here, trapped in this high-tech prison, veins laced with machines keeping him barely alive, his own body more a cage than a living, breathing thing.And then, like clockwork, he arrived. His footsteps rang out in the cold, empty silence.He didn’t look at Monty right away. No, he took his time. He moved around the room with calculated steps, eyes sweeping over the machinery, the monitors, everything set up to keep Monty on the edge of life and death, ensuring he was well enough to be useful but never comfortable enough to forget he was a prisoner.Monty, helpless to move, watched him from his chair that seemed less like furniture and more like a throne meant for some decrepit alien emperor. In the reflection of one of the polished metal panels, he saw him pause and pull off his mask. It was the face Monty imagined Wade might have had without the ravages of cancer, the horrors of Weapon X —a face that would have been comforting if it didn’t belong to a monster.
Primepool.
The Precog gritted his teeth. He’d take Wade’s disfigured face a thousand times over this chilling perfection. Primepool’s face wasn’t Wade’s; it was some sculpted monstrosity, a god-complex wrapped in flawless skin. The colors of his suit stroke against the room’s icy tone, yet somehow his presence drained the remains warmth from the space. The red was vivid, almost too clean, a sharp contrast to Wade’s battered, blood-streaked version.Primepool caught Monty’s gaze in the reflection and gave him that slight smirk, the one he wore whenever he was about to launch into his twisted, holier-than-thou reasoning. He knew that Monty hated him—he fed off it. And Monty knew by now that Primepool’s vanity wasn’t skin-deep.“Feeling inspired, Monty?” Primepool’s voice dripped with that detached charisma. He barely looked at Monty as he adjusted the fit of his gloves, like he was speaking to a subordinate who barely deserved his attention. “Because you should be. After all, you’re assisting in something monumental.” He paused, letting the words settle, a smirk creeping into his tone. “And remember… Zoe’s waiting. Just finish the mission.”Prime had known exactly how to reach into Monty’s mind and rip out every ounce of resistance. Zoe, the one person Monty would sacrifice anything for. He wished he hadn’t tasted those fleeting, beautiful moments with her. The idea of happiness lingered now like an infection, a twisted joke. He had once wished for an end, a release. Now he ached for it, body and mind screaming for the mercy of darkness, the quiet freedom of oblivion.And Monty, skinless and nerve-stripped, had walked into that trap willingly, chaining himself to the work, to the visions, to the pain, all in the hope that it would keep her safe. Every agonizing prediction, every ounce of mental strength he poured into that grand ambush—it was all to protect her, to buy her one more day beyond Primepool’s clutches. That was the deal, the twisted promise he clung to.And every time Monty hesitated, when his visions blurred or Wade’s fate stayed murky, Primepool twisted the knife. He fed Monty images of Zoe, each new frame was worse than the last. Monty tried to pierce the veil, to see through the lie, to confirm if she was even alive. But the visions slipped away every time, eluding him like smoke.For all he knew, she could’ve been dead for months. And yet, the tiniest flicker of hope—Primepool knew that was all it took.Monty had no choice but to obey. He didn’t want to find out what disobedience would cost him. So he worked. Every day, every hour, twisting his clairvoyance until his mind felt like it was tearing apart, pushing deeper, further, forcing the visions to sharpen. All of it for Prime’s sick vendetta.Primepool’s gaze slid over Monty, that smirk stretching wider as he drank in Monty’s discomfort, the silent hatred bubbling just beneath Monty’s skinless, nerve-ravaged frame.“So, when’s the big day, Monty?” he said. “We’re halfway through April, and I’m not waiting forever. The boys are getting impatient, and frankly, I’m not raising the bounty again just because you can’t deliver.” He leaned in, eyes narrowing. “If you keep stalling, they might just bail—or, God forbid, go off on their own without my say-so. We wouldn’t want that, would we?”Monty’s eyes flickered, a moment’s hesitation, and then he whispered, voice hoarse and scraped, “Tuesday. May 24. Late evening.”Primepool’s smug, perfect face tightened just slightly, enough to hint at the paranoia lurking beneath. “I really hope you’re not screwing me over, Monty.”Monty clenched his lipless mouth shut, the words of defiance he’d once dreamed of hurling long gone, ground down by months of pain, of watching images of Zoe tortured and bound.Primepool straightened, his face flickering with that intense, narcissistic pride that always made Monty’s stomach churn. “See, this is bigger than some petty feud, Monty. Oh no. This isn’t just a hit. This is an act of redemption—for the multiverse.”
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
Wade was pretty damn sure that when Kate had given that public thumbs-up for Karpov’s head joining their “esoteric triangle” with Mark, she’d been lying straight through her teeth. Not that he’d complain—she played her part like a true sidekick, backing his little shitshow.It didn’t hurt that she’d somehow maneuvered him into signing over a hefty sum for the Ukrainian medics. That sly move had blended right into his “totally-humble-hero” act, all because he’d pulled his “fake death, reverse-necrophilic-grope” stunt right in front of a crowd. She hadn’t even broken a sweat—she’d made it look like she was playing along the whole time.Since then their whole dynamic had softened, way less violence, and bedroom antics that leaned into just the right amount of kink without blowing the top off total insanity. Whatever was going on with Kate, Wade was reaping all the benefits of her new “mellowed-out” mode, with the added bonus that her inner control freak was MIA. Although he couldn’t help but notice Kate was suddenly big on him wearing BDU—just his luck she didn’t insist on dress uniform. Wade figured it was one of those “trauma outlet” things, given she hadn’t mentioned that serum S.H.I.E.L.D. had slipped her.And hey, no T-Ray. No Ajax lurking around to stir things up. Even Weasel had eventually shrugged it off as some kind of nonsense. And Karpov? In the end, he’d come home with them, his skull now a semi-permanent living room fixture, topped with a potted plant sprouting out like some grotesque garden.Every glance at it made Wade itch—he’d promised a little something, after all. Wouldn’t his newfound bestie Budanov be crushed if Wade didn’t deliver? And let’s be real—Fury’s lone, judgmental eye would probably twitch with anticipation too.Finally, Wade snapped. He couldn’t hold back any longer. He figured he’d swing by Michael’s, not bothering to ask Kate for the hundredth time if she was cool with it. Besides, if she was cool with their ‘plant friend,’ she’d roll with this adventure.**Wade grinned to himself, standing outside Michael Hawthorne’s door. Mike was the best—hands down. Because honestly, who else could he ask to summon his buddy's ghost? Black Talon? Sure, because nothing says "stable reunion" like some voodoo chicken-worshipper who might summon Ted Bundy instead of Mark. No, Mike was made for this job.The door creaked open, practically inviting Wade in with a wave of stale air and… something else. The room smelled like incense and stale ramen noodles. Wade gave a dramatic sniff. “Man, is that a new sage-ramen-ghost combo? Perfect for conjuring the dearly departed?”Mike was hunched over an ancient tome, not even sparing Wade a glance or a comeback. Wade shrugged, taking the lack of reaction as a quiet green light.He stepped further, eyes darting around the dimly lit room like he’d just stumbled into a haunted thrift shop. “Let’s skip the chitchat and get to the magic, shall we? And by magic, I mean the kind that probably has a fifty-fifty chance of blowing up in our faces.”Michael, caught mid-incantation—or maybe he was just trying to ignore the fact that he'd once reanimated George Washington only for the guy to start plotting WWIII—finally looked up, visibly deflating. “Wade,” he sighed. “If you’re here with another brain-melting request, I swear—”Wade threw up his hands. “Whoa, whoa, whoa! Relax. This isn’t brain-melting. More like soul-stirring. I need a favor, Mikey. I want my best buddy Mark back. Easy stuff. You know, just dipping a toe back into the dark arts without diving headfirst into another apocalyptic clusterfuck. Plus, you owe me from that time I didn’t let zombie Teddy Roosevelt rip your face off.”Michael pinched the bridge of his nose, already regretting not throwing a 'No Wade' ward on his door. "I’m listening, but only because I know you’re going to do something monumentally stupid regardless. What exactly are you planning?”“Nothing controversial. I figured we could have a little… reunion.”Hawthorne’s eyes narrowed. “Reunion? Is this another one of your perverted schemes—”“Mike, you wound me. I just need to borrow Mark’s ghost for a bit. Think of it as a friendly haunting with benefits. So, are you in or are you out? ‘Cause I’ve got a plan B, and it involves a Ouija board and some YouTube tutorials.”Mike sighed, his expression one of intense suffering. “Wade, this is necromancy, not some twisted sex hotline! And do you even know how unpredictable ghosts can be? You can’t just summon your dead buddy and expect him to chill out. Ghosts don’t work that way.”“I know one way to find out. Come on, Mikey, don’t be a wet blanket. We’ve got a ghost to summon. Besides, what’s life without a little risk?”Michael sighed, glancing at the pile of cursed books on his desk. “Alright. Fine. But if this goes wrong—and it will—I’m pinning all the blame on you.”Wade grinned, clapping him on the shoulder. “Atta boy! We both know this is gonna go sideways. But that’s what makes it fun! Now, let’s get this ghost train rolling!”**The ritual was quick—thank God, because Wade’s attention span was shorter than the time it takes for a tweet to become a PR nightmare. Michael muttered some Latin that, for all Wade knew, could’ve translated to anything from “Let’s do this” to “We’re all going to die,” and bam—there was Mark. A little paler than before, a little more see-through, with a neck wound that looked like he’d attempted to deep-throat a grenade.“Holy hell, Mark! Is that you, buddy?” Wade grinned, taking in the gruesome hole in Mark’s throat. “By the way, those assholes who punched your one-way ticket? I turned ‘em into bottom-feeder chow. You’re welcome.’”Mark blinked, his ghostly eyes going wide as he took in Wade’s horror-show face and that ridiculous red suit. “Wade? Holy hell, what happened to you? You look like a burnt Hot Pocket stuffed into a spandex suit! What’s with this red onesie? You raid Spider-Man’s rejects?”“Long story, my spectral amigo. I graduated from cannon fodder to full-on shatterproof nutjob. The face? Eh, cancer meets mad science, and poof—my very own DIY horror mask. This is how you become the world’s most lovable, indestructible mercenary.”Mark let out a raspy laugh that sounded like nails scraping a chalkboard. “You? A merc? Missed a lot, apparently. Damn good to see you, though—even if it looks like you were put through a meat grinder set to ‘extra crispy.’”“Oh, flatter away, ghost buddy,” Wade smirked, swatting at Mark’s shoulder—and coming up with a handful of ectoplasm. “And guess what? You’ll never guess who I’m shacking up with.”Mark raised a ghostly brow. “Knowing you? It’s probably something twisted. Please don’t tell me it’s one of those weird inflatable dolls. I know your standards are… ‘flexible.’”“Nah, man. Better. Kate.”Mark’s jaw practically unhinged. “Kate? My Kate?”“Yep. Apparently, she finds ‘murderous clown’ vibes irresistible. Still got that edge, same as we used to. Only this time, it’s rated R.”Mark was silent for a moment, then burst out laughing. “Damn, I must be double-dead. You, with my Kate—the same guy who thought socks and sandals was a good idea? Now this I gotta see.”Wade clapped his hands together, barely containing himself. “Oh, you will. But first—I’ve got a little ‘proposition’ in mind. You, me, Kate. What do you say?”Michael raised his hands in surrender. “I’m leaving. You two do… whatever this is. But if you break anything in the universe—again—don’t blame me.” And with that, he dipped into the shadows, looking very done with life.Mark blinked, disbelief splashed across his ghostly face. “Are you seriously suggesting… what I think you’re suggesting? Wade, that’s—well, that’s fucking nuts.”Wade’s grin stretched wider. “Bingo! One last ‘adventure’ before you go back to haunting Grandma Betty in Cleveland. Come on, Mark, for old times’ sake.”Mark hesitated, then a smirk crept onto his face. “Screw it, why not? Beats floating around, spooking strangers for kicks. Besides, who’s gonna top this story in the great beyond?”Wade laughed, giving him a slap on the back—well, trying to. “Now you’re talking! Let’s go make a memory Kate won’t forget—uh, ever.”As they floated out, Mark threw one last jab over his shoulder. “And Wade, just a heads up—if she starts talking about ‘upgrading,’ try not to cry too hard. Dead, alive, or whatever, I still look better than you.”Wade cackled. “Touché, my undead compadre. Now let’s go rewrite some afterlife history.”**As soon as they got back to Kate’s place, Wade was buzzing with excitement. But then, a realization hit him like a badly-timed plot twist. Normal people don’t see ghosts, but then again, Wade was hardly normal. After all, when you’ve flirted with death as many times as he has—when you’ve danced on that razor-thin edge between life and the hereafter—seeing ghosts wasn’t exactly a shocker.“Tiny hiccup here, Mark. You’re a bit... under-equipped in the flesh department for this whole ghostly ménage-à-trois. Kinda complicates things. Unless, of course, we’re pioneering a new genre of ghost porn. I mean, Netflix would probably pick it up.”Mark looked down at his semi-transparent self and shrugged. “Oh, trust me, Wade, being a trash-talking Casper was never on my vision board. And no, I can’t just ‘manifest’ myself solid. Not how it works.”“Eh, details. I’ve gotten out of stickier situations. Can’t you, like, possess something? A blender? A Roomba? Hell, me—imagine the possibilities! It’s like the ultimate bro-bonding experience!”Mark was clearly unimpressed. “Possess you? That’s your big plan? Look, I might be dead, but even I have standards. But then again, beggars can’t be choosers, right?”As Wade kicked open the door with his usual flair, he plastered on his widest grin and announced, “Honey, I’m home! And guess what? Tonight’s special: the Ghostpool Experience!”Kate barely glanced up from the book she was reading on the couch. She raised an eyebrow, exuding a level of disinterest that could turn even the most manic of Wade’s antics into background noise. But the slight shift in her expression as he approached caught his eye, and he noticed a flicker of goosebumps on her arm as Mark’s ghost drifted closer behind him.He chuckled, feeling Mark’s ghostly presence right behind him. Mark seemed to be taking in the room—and Kate—with a look of longing that only a dead guy could pull off. Wade noticed Mark’s gaze land on a photo on the sideboard: him and Kate, together, years before. Karpov’s skull was perched next to it, a twisted little tableau of past and present.Wade leaned in with a conspiratorial whisper meant for Mark but loud enough for Kate to overhear. “See that skull? That’s Karpov, the puppet master behind the whole mess in Syria. Turned him into a decorative houseplant. I think it really brings the room together, don’t you?”Kate’s eyebrow shot up as she lowered her book, unimpressed. "Wade, if you're aiming for funny, you missed. Big time. This is creepy as hell. And if this is your grand attempt at dodging dish duty again, just know there’s a loaded Glock under my pillow."Wade held his hands up in mock innocence. “Who’s avoiding anything? I’m enhancing our evening! Mark’s here—ready to turn tonight into a real haunting memory.” He extended his arm in the direction of Mark like he was unveiling a magician’s trick. “Right, Mark?”Kate arched an eyebrow, putting her book aside entirely. “Oh, really? Where’s this ghostly wingman, Wade? Because all I see is you, looking like you’ve lost what little sanity you had left. If this is some elaborate prank, you’ll be the one haunting me when I’m done with you.”Mark, floating inches from her, started to flicker—his expression shifting between nostalgia and frustration. He reached out, his ghostly hand passing through her face. Kate shivered as if hit by a chill wind, pulling back slightly, her face shifting to an annoyed yet intrigued expression.“She’s as sharp as ever. Too bad I’m all spectral now, because she’s got that look... makes a dead guy wonder what it’d be like to come back for one last mission.”Wade ignored her glare, nudging Mark with a wink. “She’s just playing hard to get. Give it a minute; I’ll warm her up to the idea.”“Uh, Wade? She can’t see or hear me. Might wanna fill her in before she starts thinking you’re auditioning for American Psycho,” Mark muttered.“Kate, believe me, he’s right here. I didn’t drag him back from the afterlife just to have you thinking I’m talking to thin air. Look, if you’re not buying it, we can just pretend it’s Halloween and—”She raised an eyebrow, crossing her arms. “Wade, it’s May. Your timing is terrible.”“Fine, fair point.” Wade shrugged. “But think about it, Kate. You were into some of my… unconventional ideas before. This one’s just got a little extra.”She gave him a long, scrutinizing look. Wade held his breath, the flicker of a grin just starting at the corners of his mouth.Finally, with a smirk, she sighed. “Alright. If we’re taking this crazy road, I might as well enjoy the view.” And before Wade could even add anything, she pulled him close and reached deftly for his suit’s zipper.As she slipped his boxers down, Mark leaned in for a closer look, his voice a low whisper in Wade’s mind, “Wow, Wade. Gotta say, I forgot ‘Little Wade’ was... fun-sized. Guess the rumors about size not mattering hold some truth, huh?”Wade grunted, narrowing his eyes in Mark’s direction. “Jealous much? Just because you’re stuck in ghost mode doesn’t mean you get to downplay the goods.”Kate, meanwhile, was clearly distracted with her own focus, and Mark flickered brighter, his ghostly form pulsing with a strange energy as she took Wade fully in. Mark snickered, leaning in closer, whispering into Wade’s mind with a smug tone. “She must really love you, man, going all in with those... economy-sized offerings.”“Alright, alright, enough!” Wade shot back internally. “We get it—you’re the original, the prototype, the master. But can we not discuss my junk while it’s actively in use?”“Oh, sorry—am I interrupting the mood?” Mark teased, grinning as he watched. “Didn’t mean to cockblock you. So how’s it feel to know you’re getting all the moves I taught her? You should be thanking me for this privilege.”Wade’s eyes rolled back slightly as he struggled to keep a straight face. “Yes, eternally grateful for your... instructional expertise. But can we save the commentary for later? Trying to concentrate here.”With a ghostly sigh, Mark drifted even closer, his form swirling around Wade, casting strange shadows that flickered across the room. “You know what? Fuck it. I’m not going to lurk in the background while you two get freaky.”Suddenly, Wade’s body jerked, his head snapping back as Mark’s spirit entered him in a cold rush. Kate barely noticed, interpreting it as Wade’s reaction to her, while Wade’s posture shifted, loosening, a new, familiar smirk pulling at his lips.“Well, hell,” Mark’s voice drawled out of Wade’s mouth. “Feels like driving a clown car—but I guess this’ll do.”Wade felt a bizarre, cold rush, like a slushie being poured directly into his skull. The sensation was downright creepy—like his brain had just gotten a very pushy new roommate with a penchant for rearranging the furniture. This was different, though, way different than sharing his body with agent Preston. With her, there’d been a strange kind of balance, a give-and-take like two hands on the same wheel.Aw, hell, this is what it feels like to have a co-pilot, Wade thought. Hey, Mark, no scratching the paint, okay?Wade felt his limbs moving on their own, his mouth curling into a grin that wasn’t entirely his. It was like being in a virtual reality game where someone else was controlling the character—you could watch, but the real fun was happening just out of reach.Sit back, Wilson, Mark’s voice echoed in Wade’s mind, laced with that familiar bravado, I’ve got the wheel. Just enjoy the ride and try not to wet yourself.Kate’s hands paused for just a moment as she felt a subtle but unmistakable shift in Wade’s vibe—the smirk, the way his shoulders squared up. Something was different. Something that screamed Mark. Her eyes narrowed, and she tilted her head slightly, trying to piece it together.Inside Wade’s head, things were getting downright rowdy. Alright, Wade, Mark’s voice crackled with that familiar, cocky, grenade-juggling swagger. You wanted me in the game? Well, here I am. Ready to remind Kate why she liked me better in the first place?Wait— Wade interjected. You knew she liked me? Was I just walking around blind here?
Dude, you were too busy seeing me as your better-looking reflection to catch on.
Right, just… don’t hog the spotlight. And for god’s sake, don’t blow anything up unless I get a front-row seat.Mark’s chuckled. No promises. Remember that dive bar in Buttfuck, Nowhere, Canada? Where we tried to one-up each other chugging Molson and ended up starting a brawl over it? Yeah, I’m channeling that energy.Wade felt himself slipping further back, but he wasn’t fighting it—he was practically cheering. Oh, I remember, alright. Just leave me some action, you bastard.“Wade?” Kate’s voice pulled him—or rather, both of them—back. She looked at him, catching that uncanny flicker in his gaze, and Wade felt Mark mentally lean into the moment.“Let’s just hope tonight doesn’t end like that Paris trip,” Mark’s voice came through Wade’s mouth. “Montmartre, those fancy mussels, the ten-euro beer—then me, making a ‘donation’ over the side of the boat. Thought you’d throw me in after it. And hey, didn’t I even propose that night?” His tone softened, almost wistful. “Sure, the ring was plastic and straight from a cheap toy machine, but hey—moment’s a moment, right?”Wade couldn’t help but mentally snort. “Of course it’d be you, Mark. Only you could turn the ‘City of Love’ into a public health hazard and still think a ring from a candy machine was romantic. If she’s not convinced now, she never will be.”“Miss me, babe?” Mark murmured, his voice dripped with that devilish charm she hadn’t heard in years. It was equal parts eerie and intoxicating, like a bottle of bourbon found in a haunted house—too tempting to ignore, even if it might be cursed.A chill crept up her spine—not fear, but that unmistakable sting of recognition, an echo of memories she’d buried. She could almost feel that plastic ring against her finger, the goofy grin on his face as he slipped it on. But those memories felt faded and far away, as if she were seeing them through a fogged-up window. The last time she’d seen him was through glass too, in the morgue, his face just a lifeless shell under the harsh fluorescent lights.Her hand tightened just slightly, her eyes narrowing as she tried to understand what she was feeling. The warmth, the sense of adventure she’d once known, were absent. Just hollowed-out memories peeking back at her through Wade’s eyes.Kate didn’t answer. Hell, she couldn’t. Before she could talk herself out of it, Mark’s hands—no, Wade’s hands, driven by Mark’s old, familiar grip—had her pinned, moving over her. She barely fought it. Finally, she gave in.**Hours later, Kate lay sprawled across the bed, staring up at the ceiling like it might have answers. Every muscle screamed, every nerve was raw. It was like she’d been through a twisted paranormal bootcamp. What the hell even happened? She felt as if two warring forces had fought a battle inside her own bed, and she’d somehow been collateral damage.She shot Wade—or at least the version of him lying there—a look. He was grinning like he’d just won an award for “Most Inappropriate Event of the Year.”“If you ever pull this Ghostpool crap again, I swear I’ll make ‘haunting your ass’ sound like a summer vacation.”Unable to resist, Wade’s grin widened, smugness written across every inch of his face. “Come on, babe. Admit it—Ghostpool rocked your world. Two psychos, one body. Zero regrets, right?”Kate groaned and pulled the sheet over her head as if hiding could block out the whole demented experience. “Wade, this wasn’t just messed up. This was a dozen layers of twisted. I don’t know if I need a therapist or an exorcist, but one of us is definitely calling somebody tomorrow. Just... wake me when you’re back to being you.”Wade laughed. “You heard her, Mark. Guess we’re giving her a breather… until morning, anyway.” He grinned, happy to actually feel his limbs entirely under his own control. But then, he felt a small nudge from the inside—Mark wasn’t quite done.“See you ‘round, Kate,” Mark murmured, his smirk as cocky as ever. “And do me a favor, yeah? Keep this clown from tripping over his own ego.” Then, with Wade’s lips, he mouthed a silent “Love you.”Kate’s expression softened, a quiet, almost wistful smile playing at her lips as she met his gaze. She gave a small, gentle nod, acknowledging the words without needing to say anything back.Inside Wade’s head, Mark’s voice came through. “Wade, you son of a bitch… thanks for pulling me into this circus again. But next time, I get to pick the body—maybe one with a ‘shut-up-and-get-it-done’ feature.”Wade rolled his eyes, leaning back, the smirk on his face more satisfied than ever. “Oh, come on, you love it. Besides, who else would tolerate your ghostly ass? Just don’t go soft on me, Mark. We’re not gonna be holding hands, singing ‘Kumbaya’.”Mark’s laughter echoed in Wade’s head. “Not a chance, Wilson. But if you need a ghostly hand to bail you out of your next mess, you know where to reach me. And Wade… if you ever screw this up, I’ll haunt your sorry ass until you beg for mercy.”Wade chuckled, feeling that rare, twisted camaraderie as he shot back. “Wouldn’t have it any other way, pal. Drop by anytimeyou feel like busting my balls.”“Semper fi, Wade. But remember: don’t go getting yourself killed… unless you can make it the most epically idiotic death possible.”Wade smirked, giving a lazy salute. “You got it, you spectral son of a bitch. Now go scare the crap out of some Jehovah’s Witnesses for me.”He felt the final shiver as Mark’s presence slipped out of his body. A wave of strange, comforting emptiness washed over him. It was good to be fully back in the driver’s seat. Kate looked up at him with an arched eyebrow.“So, what’s the report to Budanov gonna say? ‘Dear Budanov, had a threesome with my ghost buddy and my girlfriend. Mission... accomplished?’” She tossed a grin his way, half-laughing, half-groaning. “Oh, it’s all going in there. I’ll dress it up classy for him,” he drawled, tapping his temple as if imagining the words coming together. “I was thinking more along the lines of, ‘Operation Ghostly Recon—Target successfully engaged in cross-dimensional partnership. Budanov will just enjoy a good bedtime story. And Fury? He’s gonna need an extra eyepatch.”
**
Michael slumped back on his couch, remote in hand, and flicked on the TV, craving the kind of mindless background noise that’d let him forget he’d just helped Deadpool unleash a ghost. But as the screen flashed to life, he was greeted not by the warm numbness of an infomercial, but by a newscaster barely keeping it together. The headline scrolling across the bottom read: “CLEVELAND CARNAGE: BLOODBATH AT KINGDOM HALL.”The shaky, grainy footage from a bystander’s phone cut in, panning over what looked like a war zone of pamphlets scattered, blood smearing the concrete, and bodies twisted like some cosmic joke gone way too far. And in the middle of it all? A guy holding a blood-splattered Bible, practically waving it like a trophy.Michael’s gut sank as the audio picked up the possessed guy’s voice, cold and deadpan as he sneered into the camera, “Knock, knock! Who’s there? Certainly not your salvation.” The poor sucker’s face contorted as Mark’s voice rumbled out again. “Back in the day, we called this ‘Knock and Clear.’ Looks like I haven’t lost my touch.”“Oh, for fuck’s sake... So you went rogue… You goddamn son of a bitch. Of all the places... it had to be Cleveland.” Michael groaned, feeling the weight of yet another supernatural disaster settling on his already burdened shoulders.Just before stepping out the door, he muttered under his breath, “If I make it through this, I’m charging Deadpool triple. And next time? I’m throwing in a ‘no returns, no exchanges’ policy. Assholes.”
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
Wade found himself in a strange rhythm post-Ukraine—bouncing between internet deep dives, ceiling-staring contests, and… boredom. The thrill of dodging death had been replaced with, well, sitting on the couch, working his way through The Witcher 3. Nights weren’t the brutal mess anymore; suddenly, there were evenings—spent sipping wine and getting Geralt through quests in Toussaint. He’d even caught himself considering a sommelier course.He'd stretch out on the couch, feet propped up on the coffee table next to a half-empty wine glass, controller in hand, eyes fixed on the screen as the Butcher of Blaviken deftly sliced through a pack of scurvers. “Oh sure, you’ve got a continent to save but wine tastings in Toussaint are the real mission, eh Geralt?” he muttered, raising his own glass in tribute to his monster slayer’s avatar.Kate’d been acting off since they got back. She was quieter than usual, more intense when she trained, but somehow more laid-back in other ways. And sure, the whole “avenging Mark” mission was satisfying, but he couldn’t help but feel like she’d hit some sort of reset button. For a moment, he was actually glad things were calming down. But then that quiet, familiar dread set in—like any second, something bad was about to drop out of the sky. Yet somehow, nothing was happening. T-Ray? Ajax? Still MIA.The only thing keeping him grounded was that he and Kate shared an undying hatred of all things vanilla. Still, even that line was getting blurry. Sure, they had their fun with the occasional tactical vest or some combat-ready get-up, which was Kate’s new kink—she seemed to have a thing for guys decked out like SOF operators. Not that he minded, considering he had a thing for Kate in SOF mode. But they were skirting dangerously close to full-blown domestication.Since Fury had invited her to go through a S.H.I.E.L.D. assessment, she’d been working for it, laser-focused and the intensity was contagious. So contagious, she’d insisted on full cover during all “personal missions,” and they’d mutually agreed that “family planning” was getting shelved for the time being. Fury’s influence was everywhere, and Wade wasn’t going to admit it, but he really felt the shift.She’d swapped her nightly justice-fueled escapades with something that Wade could only describe as... jogging. Like, actual, no-knives, no-blood, evening runs. A few random guys here and there might get the crap kicked out of them if they dared to catcall, but otherwise, she was just getting in her steps.And it didn’t end there—she’d started filling her days with reading, more running, and, to his endless annoyance, DuoLingo. Every spare moment, she was obsessively tapping through lessons, perfecting French, German, and who-knew-what-else.She did it so often that Wade could practically hear the app’s obnoxious chime in his sleep. He’d even started having bizarre dreams where Black Talon wasn’t some oversized chicken with necromantic powers, but rather that smug DuoLingo owl, forcing him to repeat ridiculous sentences like Dein Großvater hatte eine Uniform von Hugo Boss.Wade had never thought he’d be competing with a tiny, animated green owl for attention, yet here he was. At some point he decided to intervene the only way he knew how: through sheer, unfiltered seduction. After all, what could a cartoon owl offer that he couldn’t?She was nestled into the couch, eyes locked on her phone as she breezed through yet another language lesson. He sidled up beside her, sliding his arm around her shoulders, his grin practically dripping with charm.“Come on, babe, you don’t need that little feathered freak. I’m right here, and I’ve got all the phrases you need.”She kept scrolling, barely looking up. “Not now, Wade.”“Not now?” he repeated, feigning offense. “Clearly, you haven’t heard my lesson plan.” He upped his game, scooting closer and giving his belt a tug, shimmying his hips until his pants slipped down just enough to make his intentions clear. “Lesson one: I’m bringing in the heavy guns. Schwere Artillerie, baby. Say hello to Gustav!” He gave her his most exaggerated eyebrow wiggle, hoping for a laugh or at least a smirk.“Uh-huh, later,” Kate replied, still completely engrossed in her screen.Wade blinked, looking down at himself, then back at her. Undeterred, he leaned in again, voice low and coaxing. “Okay, what about this one? This mission requires… full penetration.”Nothing.“Come on, babe. Tactical maneuvers, live-fire exercises… We’re talkin’ top-level language learning here. I mean, I’m in position, ready for live action. All I need is your command.”Kate tapped her phone, completely unfazed. “Mmm, hold that thought.”Wade let out an exaggerated groan and stood up, determined to grab her attention by any means necessary. With a wicked grin, he started waving himself in front of her face like some absurd one-man helicopter. “Schatz, schau,” he announced in smooth German, “Kampfhubschrauber!”She still didn’t take her eyes off the screen, though he caught the faintest twitch at the corner of her mouth. Finally, with a dramatic sigh, he yanked his pants back up and crossed his arms, looking down at himself. “Great,” he muttered. “You’ve officially left me with a UXO, courtesy of Duo-freakin’-Lingo.”Finally, she glanced over, a sly smirk playing on her lips. “UXO, huh? Guess you’ll just have to defuse that yourself, soldier.” “Fine! I’ll handle it myself,” he snorted, glaring back at her phone. “But that owl? He’s getting court-martialed next time I see him. War crimes against romance, Turner. And I’m filing charges.”**Wade knew this day was coming. Kate’s nerves had been simmering all week, like a low-grade tension she couldn’t shake, spilling over into her nightly jogs and extra-long stretches in front of her open suitcase. She’d given him only the bare minimum on the details—just enough to know she’d be gone for a few days and that S.H.I.E.L.D. would be throwing its usual “assessment” at her.That was enough to set his nerves tingling. They weren’t the type to do casual background checks and friendly team-building sessions; they put their people through the wringer, mentally and physically, to see who would crack. It made him uneasy, though he kept that to himself.The door creaked open, snapping him out of his thoughts. Kate breezed in, sneakers muddy, her cheeks flushed from her nighttime run. Wade looked up from his throne on the couch, controller in hand, and smirked.“Hey, Jogging Queen,” he called, eyeing her with a grin. “Did you manage to flatten anyone tonight? Please tell me you at least knocked over a street sign or tripped some guy doing jumping jacks.”She tossed her keys on the counter and shot him a weary look. “Wade, you know what tomorrow is. I’m trying to mentally prepare.”He raised an eyebrow, letting the words hang in the air. “Oh, right—the grand S.H.I.E.L.D. ‘assessment.’” He put on his best Fury impression, deepening his voice dramatically. “We’ve gotta see if she’s good enough for the big leagues. Can she pass the ultimate test? Does she own any shoes that aren’t covered in someone else’s blood?”He dropped the voice, leaning back with a smirk. “So, this is Fury’s new angle, huh? First, he grabs the loose cannons, then he polishes ’em up like vintage sports cars. Turn dangerous people into fitness buffs and model citizens.” He gave her a once-over, eyebrow raised. “Next thing I know, you’ll be leading group stretches for S.H.I.E.L.D. rookies. Didn’t you get enough of his rah-rah speeches in Ukraine?”She rolled her eyes, brushing past him to grab a bottle of water. “It’s a chance, Wade. A real shot at something new. Clean slate.”Wade raised his hands in mock horror. “Whoa, whoa, a clean slate? Babe, you and I are the definition of pre-owned, dented, and sloppily refurbished. Clean slates are for suckers who don’t know where the bodies are buried. Or who think their fingerprints aren’t on the shovel.”Kate sighed, shaking her head as she took a sip of water. “Look, it’s just a test. Nothing’s decided yet.”“Just a test?” Wade scoffed. “Last time I took a ‘test,’ I was in a back alley with a guy named Louie ‘Three Fingers’ and his ‘assessment’ involved a knife, a stopwatch, and a high tolerance for pain. Trust me, this Fury-approved tour of duty? It’s not just a test. It’s the red carpet to the S.H.I.E.L.D. buffet line.”He tilted his head, smirking. “Not that they ever offered me that deal. No hoops, no forms, no commitment. They just look at my rap sheet and go, ‘Yeah, he’ll do.’ But you? You’re getting the deluxe treatment.”Kate shrugged. “They don’t exactly need you to fill out a personality survey, Wade. You’re like… special-order. They get what they want when they call, and when they don’t need you, they just put you back in the box.”“Charming,” he muttered, more to himself than her. “Good to know I’m the emergency option they keep on ice. So, just to be clear here,” he drawled, trying to sound casual, “this isn’t the kind of assessment that ends with you chained to a desk, right?”Kate just rolled her eyes. “It’s an opportunity to prove I’ve got something to offer.”“An opportunity, huh?” Wade raised a brow. “Sounds suspiciously like the beginning of a horror movie. Girl gets job offer, heads to mysterious government agency, never seen again. You’ve heard that one, right?”Kate laughed, then turned serious as she made her way into the bedroom, opening her closet and pulling out gear to pack. Wade followed her, watching her lay things out with more care than usual.“But seriously, what are we talking about here? A classic psych eval? A marathon fitness test? Or is Fury planning to toss you into the wild with nothing but a paperclip and a not-so-encouraging thumbs-up?”She smirked, tossing some clothes into the suitcase. “A bit of all three, I’d imagine. Standard tests. A few psych evaluations. They’ll test my reactions, throw me into scenarios, see if I can handle myself on my own.”“On your own, huh?” He stepped closer, looking down at her with that twisted grin. “Are you implying you’re signing up to follow Fury’s sacred S.H.I.E.L.D. code? Anyway, they’re gonna find out real quick that you treat every ‘negotiation’ like a demolition derby. You think Fury’s ready for that?”“Let’s just say I’m saving my best moves for round two.”“Oh, smart girl,” he said, nodding in mock approval. “Lure ‘em in with a bit of ‘I’m a sane, well-adjusted human being,’ then hit ‘em with the real résumé: Here’s that time I turned someone’s face into my personal dartboard. Trust me, nothing says ‘team player’ like a casual recount of ‘the time I almost redecorated a warehouse with body parts.’ By the time they realize you’re a wild card, they’ll already have you signed up.”She laughed, shoving him lightly. But Wade noticed the way her brow creased as she zipped up her suitcase, that look of determination settling over her face like armor.“So what’s the plan, Kate? You gonna come back all vanilla, freshly dipped in that sweet S.H.I.E.L.D. polish? Because, personally, I don’t know if I can handle you wearing a high-and-tight and saluting every Tuesday.”Kate rolled her eyes. “I’m not planning to join their Boy Scouts for Killers, if that’s what you’re worried about. This is something I’m doing for me. People change, Wade. Maybe it’s time I did too.”He let out a dry laugh, though it was half to keep the nerves down. “People can change, sure. But in case you forgot, S.H.I.E.L.D. doesn’t just bring people in—they collect them. Like fine china. And they’re real picky about return policies.They see a shiny new toy and they slap a serial number on it. Don’t think you’re the first stray they tried to collar.”Kate gave him a softer look, her eyes narrowing as she tried to read whatever he wasn’t saying. “Wade, it’s just a few days. Give me some space. You’ll survive.”He crossed his arms, letting his smirk falter for a moment. “Fine. Go on, go play with the government types. Just promise me one thing: if they start going on about ‘self-improvement,’ you’re out. No seminars. No personal growth retreats. And if they try to chain you to a desk, run. I mean, what’s next? You wanna do paperwork? File a report? Do you even own a pen?”She just shrugged. “I’m pretty sure Fury’s never seen my ‘highlight reel’ with you. We’ll see if he’s got the stomach for it.”Wade leaned closer, his tone dropping. “Speaking of highlight reels… you gonna tell him about your unique interest in tactical vests? Y’know, that weird obsession you’ve developed with my loadout?”She raised an eyebrow, narrowing her gaze. “Don’t you dare.”“Oh, don’t worry. I wouldn’t dream of it. I mean, why would I ever embarrass you in front of Fury by revealing that the only reason you got so good at tactical maneuvers is ‘cause you like the Kevlar aesthetic?” He raised his hands in mock surrender, backing off with a smirk. “Relax, I’ll keep it on the down-low. But seriously, you’d better come back with your spine intact, Turner. If you show up with any less edge, I’m staging an intervention.”“Just try to keep yourself entertained, alright? It’s only a few days.”Wade nodded. “Oh, don’t worry about me. But hey, don’t be surprised if I’ve found a classy new sidekick by the time you’re back. Maybe that cursed owl. Suivez-moi, mon amour,” he deliberately purred in the worst French accent imaginable.**Kate was out the door at sunrise, her suitcase rolling behind her, gaze steely as she turned to him one last time.“See you in a few days,” she murmured, leaning in for a quick kiss on his forehead.“Hey!” he called out as she slipped into the black SUV parked out front. “Remember, if they even think about giving you a desk job, bust out! I’ll be here with an escape route ready.”She rolled her eyes as she climbed into the car, though a faint smirk played on her lips as the door shut. Wade watched as the car pulled away, leaving him alone on the doorstep, a scowl creeping onto his face.But just as he was about to turn back inside, he heard it—the unmistakable yapping of Mrs. Buschetti's Chihuahua, yodeling away like it was getting paid by the decibel.Sure enough, there she was, Mrs. Buschetti herself, standing with that look of mild curiosity and complete oblivion. Her gnarled hand clutched a cane as steady as a battering ram, and her Chihuahua, squirming under her arm, eyed Wade like he was single-handedly responsible for every wrong in the world.She looked him over, then gave a polite nod. “Did I just see her drive off in a government car, dear? Is that one of those witness protection deals? ‘Cause I’ve got some advice if it is.”“Nah, Mrs. B, she’s not ditching me just yet. Just off to do some S.H.I.E.L.D. business.” He paused, realizing the alphabet soup was probably meaningless to her. “Government stuff. Top-secret, hush-hush... you know how it is.”She pursed her lips, unimpressed, and scratched her Chihuahua under the chin. “Well, government or not, she’d better not leave you unsupervised for too long.”She patted the Chihuahua, who squirmed and growled in his direction, teeth bared like it wanted a piece of him. “Oh, and don’t mind Butchie. He just thinks you’re a bad influence. If you ever go missing, I’ll let him sniff out your trail.”“Fantastic,” Wade muttered, leaning against the doorframe. “Just what I need—tiny Cujo on my scent. I’ll keep him busy with some snacks. What do you say, Butchie? Squeaky toy or a new bone?”The Chihuahua bared its teeth, and Mrs. Buschetti clucked her tongue, shifting her cane. “He’s a good judge of character, you know. He’s just got his mother’s instincts.”Wade snorted. “If you say so, Mrs. B. And if you ever need help training him, just let me know. I can teach him to fetch a grenade… you know, just the once.”“Careful now, dear. Butchie’s got a way of surprising people who underestimate him,” she said with a wink. “And please keep the noise down while she’s gone, alright? Some of us need our beauty sleep.”“Roger that, Mrs. B.”With a final wave, she turned and ambled back toward her door, muttering something to the Chihuahua, who continued its furious glare in Wade’s direction.He jammed his hands into his pockets, giving a resigned sigh as he turned back into the apartment. “Alright, Wilson,” he muttered, eyeing the paused game like it was the only company he’d have for a while. “Solo mission time. Let’s see how many bottles go with Gwent.”**Nine days. That’s how long Wade had managed to survive on his own, bouncing between late-night gaming marathons and draining his dwindling beer and wine stash. Nine days without a single text, call, or even a half-assed voicemail from Kate. Not that he was surprised—S.H.I.E.L.D. probably confiscated her phone, maybe even ran it through some top-secret, government-grade sterilizer. But each silent day felt heavier, and the creeping dread had started whispering ugly thoughts. What if she came back as someone else? Or, worse yet, what if she didn’t come back at all?He was four hours deep into a Gwent match with a Nilfgaardian who looked suspiciously like Putin when his phone buzzed. A message. He picked it up, expecting Kate—who, let’s face it, probably wouldn’t be texting from Fury’s fortress. Instead, he saw Siryn’s name flash across the screen.They’d been exchanging texts for months now—mostly platonic, though every so often, a hint of something more slipped through. A playful tease here, a double entendre there. Just enough to leave Wade with a twinge of guilt each time, like he was toeing a line he shouldn’t cross.Tonight, though, Siryn broke through that delicate balance, asking the one thing she’d never asked before: Mind if I drop by? Clear as day, no dodging around it.Wade’s common sense told him this wasn’t the brightest idea. Inviting someone else in didn’t feel quite right. But curiosity won out. After all, it had been years since he’d seen her. A friendly face wouldn’t hurt, right?After a minute of hesitation and about five internal debates, he typed back the address.It didn’t take long before Siryn was at his door. She wasn't in her suit—no green and yellow spandex, no heroic “let’s save the world” vibe. Instead, she wore tight jeans, a low-cut top, a slight sway to her stance that told him she’d had a drink or two. Her red hair was slightly tousled, eyes a little glassy. She wasn’t exactly the sweet, innocent girl with a quite solid moral compass he remembered.He’d heard the whispers—how Jamie Madrox, in one terrible mistake, had absorbed their baby boy, killing him instantly. Siryn had been through hell ever since, and from the look in her eyes, she was still clawing her way through it.“Long time, Wade.”“Yeah, Therry. Guess it has been.” He stepped aside, letting her in, noting the faint shadows under her eyes. She looked… different.He was sort of glad she came by… but not entirely. The whole thing suddenly felt weird, awkward as hell. He could feel Karpov’s skull planter giving him a judgmental side-eye. And, of course, Siryn’s gaze was drifting around the room, picking up on every clue that screamed “not single.” Wade didn’t have to say a word—Kate’s stuff was sprawled out like a neon “occupied” sign.He caught the flicker of surprise in Siryn’s eyes, like she’d just walked into a scene she hadn’t signed up for. He knew how this looked to Siryn. After all these flirty texts and crossed signals, here he was, letting her into his life like he was open to… something. When, in truth, he wasn’t open to anything. Not like that.Then he felt a sudden pang of embarrassment when he noticed where her gaze had landed—right on Kate’s lace underwear, draped over the couch. And not just any underwear. No, it was that pair—stiff from dried evidence of his own, uh, coping mechanisms. A hot flush crept up his neck as he watched her raise an eyebrow, clearly putting two and two together.She took a slow swig from the wine bottle she’d snagged from the counter, not even bothering with a glass. “So, Wade… when exactly were you planning to mention you were, you know… seeing someone?”“Uh, well, you see… that’s the thing about life, Therry. Sometimes, you’re on your own, just you and your very private sock drawer. And then, boom, next thing you know, you’re sharing closet space and talking about ‘maybe, potentially, sorta-kinda adding a mini-me to the equation.’” He gave her a shrug that was somehow both apologetic and completely useless. “Kinda just happened?”And then it hit him—he’d just blurted out baby plans in front of Siryn, even though those “plans” were currently shoved way, way to the back of the line. He mentally cringed, the weight of his own stupidity sinking in. You emotionally bankrupt, tone-deaf dipstick. Way to be a walking wound-salt dispenser, Wade.Siryn took another long pull from the bottle, her gaze unreadable as she looked at him. “I’m… happy for you, Wade. It’s… nice, you know, having someone. Someone who’s there, who makes you think about things like… the future. Plans. All that ‘together’ stuff.” She gave him a half-smile. “Not everyone gets that shot.”Wade was completely at a loss for words, a rare feeling for him. Siryn took the bottle, casting one last look at Kate’s lace underwear—like it was taunting her, an undeniable symbol that she’d stumbled into territory she hadn’t been invited into. Then she sank down beside him, exhaling a deep, shaky breath.“You know,” she began, her voice softened, tinged with a bitterness that cut right through him, “sometimes I think about what he’d look like now… our kid.”She let out a hollow laugh, more of a broken sound than anything else. “Not that it matters. Jamie took care of that, didn’t he? One little screw-up, and… poof. Just like that.”“The little lectures are the worst, you know? Like somehow hearing ‘it’ll be okay’ magically erases it.” She scoffed, looking at him. “It doesn’t go away, Wade. It never goes away.”Wade reached out, awkwardly patting her shoulder. “I’m… sorry, Therry. Really. I can’t pretend to know what that’s like.”“Don’t feel sorry for me, Wade. I don’t need pity. I need—” She cut herself off, her eyes darkening as a slow, reckless smile spread across her face. “I need to forget.”They sat there in silence, marinating in their own misery. Siryn polished off the wine, then fished out something stronger from her bag—like she was aiming for total amnesia tonight. Wade took another sip of his beer, but it might as well have been concrete, sinking in his gut.He noticed that, despite the silence—or maybe because of it—Siryn was inching closer with each drink. And then, out of nowhere, he felt her hand land dangerously close to HQ, settling on his thigh with a possessive weight. His thoughts ping-ponged between Is this happening? and This shouldn’t be happening.He looked at her hand, then back at her, his brain scrambling for words. “Therry, this… uh, I don’t think—”“Come on, Wade.” She pressed herself against him, her hand drifted over his shoulder and around his neck. “I know you want me,” she murmured, her voice a mix of sadness and seduction. “Just tonight. I don’t need love—I just need… you.”He tried to pull back, laughing it off. “Uh, Therry, maybe this booze is hitting a little hard. Let’s just—”She silenced him with a finger to his lips, leaning forward until her face was inches from his. “Don’t pretend you don’t still want this. I remember how you used to look at me. The way your eyes would… wander.”Wade blinked. Oh boy. Danger, Wilson. Mayday.He felt the color rise to his cheeks. “Yeah, well, uh… I’ve got a wandering eye, but it’s more like a wandering… history book now.”“Oh, don’t play coy. I know you’ve thought about it. About me.”Next thing he knew, her top mysteriously vanished, her hands were in places he hadn’t authorized, and then—smack—he was face-deep in a very unexpected, very immersive motorboating experience.
Abort mission, Wilson, abort!
“Whoa, hey—Theresa—” he stammered. Part of him screaming to push her off, the other part frozen, unsure if he could make her stop without hurting her. But Siryn had her own agenda. Her hands went south, fumbling with his belt, when—The door creaked open.Standing in the doorway, suitcase still in hand, was Kate. She took one look at Siryn, topless on Wade’s lap, her hand on his belt, and her expression shifted from shock to seething rage in a heartbeat.Time slowed down. Wade’s mind screamed, “Oh, crap”. Out loud, all he could manage was, “Kate, this isn’t—okay, it kind of is exactly what it looks like, but it’s not my fault—”He didn’t get to finish. Kate crossed the room, grabbed Siryn by the arm, and yanked her off him. She delivered a swift, brutal kick to her throat, sending her sprawling across the floor.“Hey!” Wade protested, scrambling to his feet. “Take it easy, okay? She’s just… she’s going through some stuff!”Kate stared at him, eyes full of fury, pain, and a kind of disappointment that made Wade wish he could teleport to another galaxy. Her words finally came, low and deadly.“You piece of shit.”Siryn coughed, struggling to catch her breath, wheezing. Still disoriented, she tried to retaliate, unleashing a weak sonic scream that barely had the force of a cat’s meow.Kate didn’t even flinch.“Get. The. Fuck. Out.”She shoved Siryn toward the door, kicking her in the back to propel her out into the hallway.Wade was frozen, feeling like he’d just walked into the worst rerun of his life. Is this Vanessa all over again? For a split second, his mind wandered to the image of an old-school wrestling match—girls in a pool of Jell-O, hair-pulling, nails out. But the ridiculous comparison vanished as fast as it came when Kate turned to face him.“Kate, I—this isn’t what you think,” he started. “She just… showed up.”
Liar. Liar. Liar.
“Save it.” Her voice was icy. “I can’t even look at you right now.”Without another word, she stormed out, slamming the door behind her. Wade stood there in stunned silence, running a hand over his face. The faint sounds of a scuffle echoed down the hallway—grunts, a thud, something glass shattering.Should he intervene? Maybe. But he was too busy replaying the last thirty seconds on loop. Late evening, May 24th. That was the moment he’d epically screwed up.
Of all the ways this could’ve gone down… why the hell did it have to go down like this?
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
Siryn lay crumpled at the bottom of the stairs, twisted like a broken doll, clutching her ribs and moaning, her arm bent at an angle that practically screamed, You fucked with the wrong woman. Kate barely registered it, though; the sight did nothing to calm the storm inside her. Blood smeared her lip—she didn’t feel it. Didn’t feel much of anything except the blistering urge to rip Wade’s skull off.Every part of it was wrong. Completely, fucking wrong. Wade betraying her? It shouldn’t even be in the realm of possibility. But she’d seen it. Right there, in their space. Her fingers curled into fists as she stormed out, barely holding back the blistering words she wanted to shout into the void.She felt like one of those tragic saps from every trashy soap ever, the ones who stumble on their partner’s betrayal—except those poor idiots usually found a stray hair on the pillow, a smudge of lipstick, maybe an earring left in the shower. Not her. Oh no. She’d walked right into the room —front row, full show. Mid-fucking-action. The jackpot. All that was missing was a laugh track and a neon sign flashing, Congratulations, You’ve Been Screwed.“What the fuck, Wade?” The words tore through her head as she hit the last step. “You reckless, dick-for-brains, slack-jawed fuckwit. Was your brain on a goddamn holiday? Yeah, it had to be. No other explanation, right?”It was the memory of his face that twisted the knife deeper: that blank, wide-eyed, caught-with-your-hand-in-the-panties-drawer look he’d given her. Just sitting there, not moving an inch, while she yanked that red-headed disaster off him. He looked like a kicked puppy who’d just pissed on the rug—lost, pathetic, as if he couldn’t even process the shitstorm he’d just invited in.Outside, the slap of the cold night air barely registered. She wasn’t running—hell no. She was just moving, fast, not looking back. The noise of the city buzzed around her, distant, fading into a static hum. All she could feel was the fiery pulse of rage under her skin, beating out a brutal rhythm she couldn’t shake.“If he wanted to fix it, he’d be here by now,” she muttered, biting back the sting of it. Wade was probably still standing there, confused and blinking like his one functioning neuron had finally caught fire. Well, fuck him.Goddamn it, Wade. You reckless, shortsighted, faithless piece of shit.Her breath came in short bursts as she turned a corner, leaning against a lamppost, willing herself to calm down.This wasn’t over. Not even close.She knew that much. She’d see him again, whether she wanted to or not. She’d confront him. She wanted to force him to make sense of it, to watch him squirm until he gave her something that resembled a reason.But another part of her was too tired—too exhausted from all of it. She’d been pushing herself non-stop for that damn S.H.I.E.L.D. assessment, and now? Now she had this shitshow to deal with.She didn’t even know how long she’d been walking. By the time she looked around, she realized she was in Hell’s Kitchen. She’d drifted here without even thinking about it, her feet guiding her like some instinct she didn’t fully understand. Shadows clung to the narrow streets, and the distant sirens blended into the urban symphony she'd known so well.This was his territory. Matt’s.She let out a breath, forcing herself to keep walking, knowing exactly what she was doing but too damn tired to fight it.Kate stood on the sidewalk, staring up at the dark brick building like it was some kind of omen. She’d been here before—years ago, clutching the crumpled piece of paper with Matt Murdock’s address scrawled in Logan’s rough, practically illegible handwriting.* Back then, she’d been a mess: angry, hunted, the taste of betrayal still sharp in her mouth.For a moment, she was right back in that hallway, the first time she’d stumbled into Matt Murdock’s life. The night he’d opened his door, shirt bloodied from whatever crusade he’d been on, and just… let her in. The Matt she’d heard about—the clean-cut lawyer, the moral compass of Hell’s Kitchen, soldier of the light—didn’t match the man standing there. He wasn’t a saint. Not even close. And it didn’t take long for her to figure out what a war he was waging inside himself.Not that that had stopped her from crossing lines with him. She hadn’t really cared about the good-boy front once they’d hit the kind of chemistry that left her mouth bruised and her back against the wall.They weren’t a match—never would be. Her anger, the kind that boiled over when least expected, couldn’t be tamed. His need to save everyone, even himself, came with a guilt so massive it could swallow them both whole. But somehow, they made it work, if only for a time.He let her patch herself up. Body and soul, though the latter was a hell of a harder fix. And in return, she stitched him back together when Hell’s Kitchen tried to chew him up. Somewhere in the chaos, he brought her into his world—the rooftop stalking, the late-night training sessions, the vigilante boot camp where she learned to move in the shadows and hit harder than most men twice her size.But Matt, poor, sweet Matt, thought he could keep her on a leash. She learned fast—too fast. By the time she was running Hell’s Kitchen’s back alleys on her own, he started losing his grip on her.Then the night came when it all fell apart. She’d gone out alone, and Manning’s people found her. When Matt got to her, she was barely breathing, blood pooling beneath her. And when one of them moved to finish her off, Matt Murdock—Daredevil—did what he swore he’d never do.The world narrowed to her blood on the ground, and for once, his rules didn’t matter. He killed. Broke the man like it was nothing, like his principles hadn’t just shattered along with that thug’s neck. The guilt ate him alive. Every night, he replayed it, the sound of bones breaking, the wet, final gasp.She didn’t lose sleep over it. No, she leaned into it. The anger that had always simmered just below the surface, the lessons she’d learned in the military—kill or be killed—they came roaring back. Only now, she wasn’t just trying to survive. She was taking back control. Not only of her life—no, Matt would’ve loved that tidy little redemption arc. She was taking control of others’ lives, judging who deserved to keep breathing.She’d taken his lessons and turned them into something darker. And when he looked at her, all he could see was blood on her hands—and his.And slowly, that same fire that drew them together burned them apart. When she’d finally left, there was no yelling, no last-ditch ‘let’s talk about this’ crap. Just the unspoken truth: she’d never fit into his world, and she wasn’t going to try.Now, she didn’t even know if Matt would want to see her after all this time. She could almost hear Foggy’s voice in her head, telling Matt he was better off, that she was a storm no one should try to weather.Her fingers itched to pull out her phone, to call him. But what was she going to say? Hey, Matt. I know we didn’t end on the best terms, but mind if I crash on your couch?She could almost hear Wade’s voice in her head, low and biting, spitting some jealous comment about her crawling back to him. Daredevil. He’d have a field day with this if he ever found out. Her lips twitched. Screw it—she had nowhere else to go, and right now, Wade’s opinion meant less than nothing.After a moment’s hesitation, she tapped Matt’s name. Each ring felt like a countdown, and with each second, she could feel herself wondering if she’d made a mistake. But then she heard the click, and his voice, steady and calm, like he hadn’t been expecting her but wasn’t surprised, either.**Matt’s phone buzzed, the vibration almost an intrusion as he sat with Foggy, decompressing over some takeout. They’d finally laughed off their work stress for the evening, the ridiculous court stories giving Matt a momentary escape. But as he reached for his phone, the name on the screen made his stomach drop—Kate.Foggy’s eyebrows shot up when he glanced at the caller ID. “Whoa, whoa, Kate Kate?” he asked, instantly putting down his beer. “Matt, seriously, you’re not thinking of answering, are you? Man, let it go. Last time she waltzed into your life, you were in full-blown existential crisis mode for months.”Matt didn’t answer immediately, his fingers hovering just above the phone. He could almost feel the weight of her presence just from her name on the screen, like an old wound flaring up. He hadn’t seen her in ages. And yet, here she was, calling him out of the blue. Why now?“Foggy, I have to know,” Matt said, his voice barely a murmur. “She wouldn’t just call out of nowhere. If she’s reaching out… there’s a reason.”“Or she’s bored, Matt, and you’re her safety net. Look, she might’ve meant something once, but it’s in the past, remember? She’s—she’s not exactly an easy mark, man. You said that yourself. It’s not like you’re gonna pick up the phone, hear some magic apology, and—poof—it’s all healed.” Foggy leaned in, giving him a knowing look. “You’re setting yourself up to get gutted, Matt.”Ignoring Foggy’s warning, Matt exhaled sharply and hit Answer.“Kate?” he managed, his voice coming out a notch rougher than he’d meant.For a second, there was only silence.“Matt.” Her voice was flat but edged with something he couldn’t quite place. “Look, I know it’s been a while, but… can I crash at your place? Just for a bit. I need to figure some things out.”He took a beat, processing the request. His instinct was to help, to give her whatever support she needed—but he knew the complexities, the weight of letting her back in, even for a night. He glanced at Foggy, whose face was already a mask of disapproval.Matt swallowed, already on his feet. “Yeah, I’ll be down in a sec. Just—” But before he’d finished, the line went dead.Foggy threw up his hands, exasperated. “Are you out of your mind? She calls out of the blue, looking to ‘figure things out’ at your place, and you’re just gonna say yes? Matt, come on—she put you through hell. You don’t see the red flags waving right in your face?”Matt shrugged Foggy off. “She wouldn’t ask if she didn’t need to, Foggy. Just stay here, alright? I’ll be back up soon.”“Oh, like hell I’m staying up here,” Foggy muttered, grabbing his jacket. “I'm coming with you. And if she tries to tear you apart this time, I get to say I told you so.Matt chuckled, but it was tight, humorless, the kind of sound that betrayed more nerves than he’d ever admit. Together, they made their way downstairs, Foggy trailing behind with an endless stream of grumbles about poor life choices and second chances that nobody deserved. Matt wasn’t listening, though. His mind was already a few steps ahead, wondering what could’ve driven her to reach out.They stepped outside, scanning the darkened street. It was empty.Matt’s senses flared. Something wasn’t right. The air felt off—heavy, laced with an acrid undercurrent. He took a slow inhale, sorting through the layers of scent: asphalt, faint grease from a nearby deli, but then… something else. Something darker. It smelled like rot, old and damp, like moldy wood in a forgotten basement. A staleness that clung to the back of his throat.He couldn’t place it, but it sent a ripple of unease through him.“Something…” Matt murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. He tilted his head slightly, catching the faintest hum from an unlocked phone lying face-up on the ground. It buzzed weakly, its screen casting a dim glow in the dark.Foggy followed his gaze and immediately bent down to scoop it up. “Great. So now we’re doing scavenger hunts? Oh, look—it’s hers.” He tapped the phone, squinting at the notifications. “No wallet? No keys? Just a phone lying here in the middle of Gotham’s creepier cousin?”The stench was stronger now, lingering just where the phone lay. He tried to follow it, but it seemed to dissipate into nothingness. His gut twisted—there was something familiar about it, something wrong.“She didn’t leave this here on purpose.”Foggy frowned, scrolling through the phone. “Her last calls and messages were over a week ago. All to this guy named Wade. Just Wade. Nothing recent—well, except you,” he said pointedly. “And oh, look—gallery time. Let’s see what our mystery dame’s been up to.”“Don’t,” Matt started, but Foggy was already swiping through.“Whoa,” he muttered, his voice dropping into something between sarcastic awe and genuine concern. “This is... something. War zones, bandaged-up dudes, literal body parts in some of these photos. Jesus Christ, Matt, this isn’t just a scrapbook; it’s a trauma slideshow.”“What else?”“Well,” Foggy continued, his voice dipping into something sarcastic but uneasy, “oh, look—she’s got selfies. And… oh my God. She’s… she’s with him. Mr. I-Can’t-Decide-If-I’m-Hero-or-Homicidal.”Matt’s jaw clenched.“There are some photos of them back here, looking… cozy. Oh, and this—yep, that’s her and Deadpool, locked and loaded. Literally.” Foggy groaned, holding the phone up like it was radioactive. “Now I can’t unsee that.”He scrolled further, then paused, letting out a low whistle. “Alright, well, looks like it’s not all Deadpool,” he muttered. “She kept a photo of you two in here, too. You and her, from… I don’t know, years ago? Buried near the end of the gallery, but it’s there. And she looks… happy.” Foggy sighed, his usual sarcasm fading as he took in the weight of the moment. “Doesn’t make any of this easier, but maybe… I don’t know, man. Maybe she hasn’t forgotten all of it.”Matt’s face was unreadable, but Foggy could tell there was a storm beneath. He cleared his throat, breaking the silence. “You, uh, okay there, Matt? Or should I prepare for some rooftop brooding tonight?”Matt ignored the jab, forcing himself to focus. “Check the messages. See if there’s anything else.”Foggy navigated back to the message inbox, scrolling past dozens of texts. “She hasn’t been exactly chatty with anyone except… oh, son of a bitch. It’s all him. Maybe she just needed someone who could… I don’t know, keep up with her?”“She called me,” Matt said quietly, almost to himself. “Not him.”“Yeah, and now she’s gone,” Foggy shot back. “Matt, don’t take this the wrong way, but are you sure this Deadpool guy isn’t responsible? I mean, if half the stories about him are true…”Matt inhaled slowly, the sour stench still clinging to his senses. “He didn’t take her.”“And you know this how?” Foggy challenged.“Because whatever took her, it wasn’t him. But he knows something. I’m sure of it.”Foggy sighed, raking a hand through his hair. “Alright, fine. Go ahead. What’s the worst that could happen? Besides, y’know, dismemberment.Matt didn’t answer, instead reaching out toward Kate’s phone, his hand hovering awkwardly.“Seriously?” Foggy said, eyebrows shooting up. “You’re gonna make me do this? You can’t just call Deadpool—there’s no reasonably sane scenario where that’s a good idea.”Matt’s jaw tightened. “Foggy, just… help me. Dial his number.”**Wade finally trudged down the stairs, every step weighted with a crushing blend of regret, shame, and bone-deep weariness. The air in the building smelled like calamity in a pot. The scent wafting from the open door of Mrs. Buschetti’s apartment—a mix of simmered fish, garlic, and herbs—practically punched Wade in the face. Perfect ambiance for this particular walk of shame.And there she was—Mrs. B herself, the eternal warden of this building and the unofficial mayor of “Why is this my problem?” Her left hand gripped her ever-present cane—brand-new just a couple of months back, courtesy of Wade—and now sporting a dent that likely had someone’s kneecap to thank for its existence.She stood over Siryn’s half-dressed body with the kind of look that suggested she’d seen this scene a hundred times and wasn’t impressed by any of them. Butchie wriggled under her arm, letting out a tiny, growling yap as Mrs. Buschetti’s glared at Wade.“Well, well,” she said, her voice dry and gravelly, like an old jazz record left in the sun. “Tell me, Wade, is this one supposed to be dead, or is she just bad at faking it?”Wade froze mid-step, searching for the right quip but coming up short. “Mrs. B,” he started, throwing on his best disarming grin, “lovely evening for a neighborly intervention, huh?”Mrs. Buschetti’s gaze flicked between him and Theresa’s half-clothed state. “Let me guess,” she said, titling her head. “Your guest here decided to test Kate’s patience, didn’t she?”Wade cleared his throat, scratching the back of his neck. “Something like that. You know how it is—misunderstandings, poorly timed entrances, and maybe a little... overreaction.”Mrs. Buschetti’s lips twitched, almost forming a smile. “Kate doesn’t overreact, Wade. She reacts just fine. This one”—she nodded toward Theresa—“probably had it coming.”Of course she’d say that, Wade thought. She’d said the same thing about Johnny back when she’d casually dropped the fact that she’d thrown him under a bus. Sure, Kate wasn’t technically overreacting this time, but Mrs. B didn’t know about the countless times Wade had been left to mop up the aftermath of Kate’s “just fine” reactions.“Consistent as ever, Mrs. B,” Wade said, crouching to hoist Theresa off the floor. She groaned faintly as he slung her over his shoulder. “Always rooting for the morally justified side of violence, huh?”Mrs. Buschetti shrugged, her cane tapping against the floor with a deliberate rhythm. “Some people deserve what they get, Wade. And you’re lucky I didn’t call the cops. This one was wailing louder than Butchie’s squeak toy. Then I get here, and she’s passed out like she’s been through twenty rounds with Joe Louis.”“Yeah, well, she’s, uh, got a strong Irish temper. And maybe a strong Irish whiskey habit. She’ll be fine. Definitely doesn’t need cops, though.”Mrs. Buschetti’s sharp, knowing glance pinned him. “But you, Wade, need better instincts. At least you’re picking her up instead of leaving her to rot. That’s worth something.”Wade smirked. “You’re really piling on the compliments tonight, Mrs. B. Keep this up, and I’ll start thinking you like me.”She raised an eyebrow. “Don’t push it. Just don’t make a mess in the hallway.”“Mess?” Wade asked, mock-offended. “Mrs. B, I’m a professional. I once alphabetized my kills by blood type. I practically invented the clean getaway.”Butchie barked sharply, the sound so derisive it might as well have been a verbal bullshit.Wade sighed. “Your dog thinks I’m full of it.”Mrs. Buschetti shrugged again, her expression softening just a fraction. “I told you Butchie was a good judge of character. And right now, he’s barking at you, isn’t he?”“Yeah, well,” Wade muttered, adjusting his grip on Theresa. “Maybe next time he can give me a heads-up before someone gets throat-kicked.”Mrs. Buschetti smirked, leaning on her cane as Wade started back up the stairs. “Remember, if Kate didn’t kill you yet, maybe you’re worth keeping around.”“Thanks, Mrs. B,” Wade called over his shoulder. “I’ll put that glowing endorsement on my résumé. Real career booster.”Back in the apartment, Wade lowered Theresa onto the couch. She groaned faintly, rolling onto her side, and his eyes landed on the faint bruising on her neck—a stark reminder of how far things had spiraled.He let out a breath, his hand hovering near his face before dropping back to his side. No hair to rake through, no clever quip to soften the edges of the guilt pressing on him. Sure, he hadn’t thrown the punch, but he’d practically gift-wrapped the opportunity. He was the idiot who didn’t send Siryn packing the second things went too far. Now he was stuck in the aftermath, wondering if he’d ever stop being the guy who set everything on fire just to watch the glow.“Alright, T,” he muttered, grabbing a throw blanket to toss over her. “You’re alive, not entirely naked, and still breathing. That’s a win in my book.”Theresa mumbled something incomprehensible.“Yeah, yeah,” Wade replied, sinking into the armchair. “We’ll talk when you’re sober. Or never. Never works too.”
What now, Wilson? Do you sober her up? Call an ambulance? Google ‘how to deal with drunk mutants?’ Or just go full sitcom and pretend this never happened?
He slumped into the armchair across from her, his mind a whirlwind of half-formed ideas. None of them were good. Most involved fire.His gaze drifted to the skull planter, Karpov’s empty eye sockets staring back at him like some grim spectator. He pointed at it. “Don’t you start. I don’t need commentary from the peanut gallery.”He glanced at Siryn again, then back at the planter.“You know,” he said, “this is the part where someone smarter would call a therapist. Or a priest. Or maybe just light the whole place up and start over.”Before he could sink further into his existential crisis, his phone buzzed on the coffee table. His eyes snapped to the screen.Kate.He stared at it, the little glowing letters burning into his brain. After the nuclear-level shitstorm that had just gone down, he’d expected radio silence, maybe a flaming bag of dog crap on his doorstep. But a call?His thumb hovered over the screen, hesitation knotting his stomach. Did he even deserve to answer? Would she even care what he had to say?But he couldn’t ignore it. Not her.He hit the green button and brought the phone to his ear.Finally,” he started, trying to sound sarcastic. “If you’re calling to tell me how epic the throat kick was, I’ll give it a solid nine-point-five. Needs a little more ‘fatality’ to get full marks, though.”His voice came out lighter than he felt, like a clown cracking jokes at his own funeral. Every part of him screamed to drop the sarcasm, but what else did he have left? Vulnerability? Yeah, right. That was a one-way ticket to getting your heart stomped on—and for sure Kate had already laced up her boots. But the voice on the other end wasn’t hers.“Wade,” came the calm, steady, too-familiar voice.For a moment, Wade’s brain short-circuited. The silence stretched, tension climbing like a bad horror soundtrack. His face twisted in confusion, and then, with all the grace of a chainsaw through drywall, he snapped.“Well, if it isn’t Daredevil,” Wade drawled. “She’s doing the whole ‘tragic rebound’ thing, right? C’mon, it’s classic. She stormed off, grabbed some pity booze, and now she’s with you. Bet you’re shirtless too. All rugged and tragic, preaching about redemption while she patches up your latest boo-boo. Tell me, do you wear cologne, or is the whole tortured Catholic thing just pheromones?" He hated the venom in his own voice, but what was he supposed to do? Let Matt hear how hard it hit? Like hell. “What’s next, huh? Gonna write me a breakup haiku? Oh wait, I’ve got one: ‘Blind man calls me / Tells me it’s over, asshole / Also, she’s mine now.’ There, nailed it. Are you—”“Wade—”“—wait, don’t tell me. Is she listening right now? Did you guys already start writing your wedding vows?”“Wilson.”“And let me guess—you’ve got some poetry books stashed somewhere, right? Bet you’ve got a whole shelf of them. Sonnets for Sad Boys. Did she ask you to call? What’s the plan? Tag-team my self-esteem into the dirt before your next rooftop snuggle sesh? What’s the game here, Daredevil?”“Wilson!” Matt’s voice cracked through the line like a whip.Wade paused, his snark hitting a speed bump. “...What?”“She’s gone.”Two words, spoken with such cold finality that they sent a chill through Wade’s chest. The kind of chill that doesn’t go away, no matter how much you try to laugh it off.He blinked, the weight of those words pressing down like a boulder. “Gone?”Matt’s voice was tight. “She came here. No notice. No explanation. When I went down to let her in, she wasn’t there. Just her phone. On the sidewalk. Unlocked.”Wade snorted, leaning forward in the chair. “Yeah, no. Not buying it. Kate doesn’t lose her phone. She’s got a grip like a goddamn vice, Murdock. If she can have it on her, it’s practically glued to her hand, Murdock. Like, industrial-strength, unholy-bond-of-woman-and-smartphone glued.”But the image of her phone just lying there, abandoned on the sidewalk outside Matt’s place, twisted his gut in a way he couldn’t ignore. It wasn’t just odd—it was wrong. The kind of wrong that made the hair on the back of his neck stand up.“Wilson, if you’re involved in this—if you had anything to do with her disappearing—”“Whoa, whoa, hold your ninja panties,” Wade cut in. “What, you think I kidnapped her? Threw her in the trunk for a romantic weekend in hell? Get real. She wouldn’t let me—she’d kick my ass before I made it to the car.” He paused, shifting uncomfortably in the armchair. “I’m sitting here like an idiot in our apartment. Sure, I’ve got gear for teleportation, but come on. You think I sent someone to grab her? Be serious, Murdock. She wouldn’t go without a fight. If someone took her, there’d be blood. A trail. Something.”Matt’s voice was steady, but Wade could hear the faint tremor of concern beneath it. “Wilson, I don’t care about your excuses. I care about finding her. If you have any idea where she might be—”Wade cut him off, his voice sharp and defensive. “Listen, Matt, she’s got her reasons for going off the grid, okay? And yeah, maybe I’m one of them. Maybe it’s because of me. Because of the life I drag people into. You ever think of that, Saint Matthew? She didn’t leave because of me—she left because I’m toxic, alright? And, sure, maybe my latest stunt was the shit-covered cherry on the ‘leave Wade Wilson’ sundae. But who’s counting, huh?”It wasn’t entirely true, though, and Wade knew it. But in the moment, self-loathing felt like the only language he could speak, the words spilling out like a defense mechanism on autopilot.Matt could sense it. It wasn’t the usual razzle-dazzle bullshit Wade used as armor. No, this was different. Quieter. Defeated. For a split second, Matt felt a flicker of pity for the guy who’d spent his whole life turning wreckage into punchlines. And Matt made the choice—pushed his own feelings into the background.“Then help me find her,” he said, his tone softening just enough to let a sliver of concern bleed through. “Whatever’s going on, she needs us on the same side right now.”Wade wanted to laugh—wanted to rip Matt a new one for pretending they could ever be on the same team. But the truth was a bitter pill lodged in his throat. As much as he hated it, Kate was the only thing that made this absurd alliance even remotely possible. And if he had to team up with Mr. Father Guilt Trip to save her? Fine. He’d do it. He’d hate every second of it, but he’d do it.“Okay, Mr. Sensory Overload. Did you pick up on anything weird? Smells? Sounds? Anything?”Matt hesitated. “There was… a smell. Damp. Rotting. Like mold or decaying wood. Metallic, almost. It was faint, but I could feel it lingering where the phone was.”Wade’s blood ran cold. That smell—he knew it too well. It clung to the edges of his worst memories like a bloodstain that never quite washed out. It was like a ghost reaching out to grab his throat, pulling him back to a time he’d buried with every bad joke and tequila shot in his arsenal. His stomach twisted as a name clawed its way to the surface of his mind.“Shit.”“Who?” Matt’s voice sharpened, demanding an answer.“T-Ray,” Wade muttered. “That undead asshole’s back. You know, an unkillable, magic-wielding douchecanoe.” He inhaled sharply, forcing himself to focus. “If he’s got her, he’s got a plan. A shitty, terrifying, probably-gonna-suck plan.”Matt’s silence was loud, his disapproval practically seeping through the phone.“What have you dragged her into, Wilson?”“Save the sanctimony, Murdock,” Wade snapped. “You think I wanted this? If that walking corpse has Kate, it’s because he’s gunning for me. And trust me, he doesn’t play nice.”“Then we don’t have time to waste,” Matt said, his voice hardening with resolve. “Where do we start?”Wade gritted his teeth, gripping the phone like it was the only thing keeping him tethered to reality. “We start by finding her. Fast. And when we do? You let me handle T-Ray.”“No,” Matt countered, his tone firm. “If we’re doing this, we’re doing it together.”Wade laughed, the sound hollow and sharp. “Together? Oh, this’ll be fun. You, me, and a psycho zombie stalker. Hell of a team-up, Murdock. Hope you packed your rosary.”**Before Wade moved to grab his gear, his gaze drifted to the couch where Siryn lay sprawled, half-conscious. Her red hair was a tangled mess, and the faint rise and fall of her chest was the only thing grounding him for a moment.“Damn it, Therry,” he muttered. “You picked the wrong day to be my bad decision.”He crouched beside the coffee table, scribbling a quick note on the back of a takeout menu: Sorry about… everything. Money for a cab on the counter. Don’t try calling me—busy being a fuck-up elsewhere. P.S. If you die on my couch, I’ll be pissed. – W.He tossed a crumpled wad of cash onto the coffee table and sighed. "You’re gonna hate me when you wake up,” he whispered, the words so soft they barely reached his own ears. “Hell, I hate me right now. So we’re even.”The words felt hollow even to him. Wade didn’t do guilt—not the real kind. But as he stared at Siryn’s battered face, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he’d dragged her into his personal hurricane. Now, Kate was gone, and the weight of that hit differently. Harder.Because it wasn’t just about Kate walking out. It was about her walking straight into danger—and that danger had his fingerprints all over it. And if he didn’t find her in time? The guilt alone would finish what T-Ray started.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
Kate gripped her phone tightly as Matt’s calm voice reached her ear. Her breath hitched the second she him Matt answer. Finally, the words stumbled out: “Look, I know it’s been a while, but… can I crash at your place? Just for a bit. I need to figure some things out.”Silence.“Yeah, I’ll be down in a sec. Just—”It hit her before he could finish.A wave of freezing air blasted her senses, carrying a stench so overpowering it nearly buckled her knees. Rot. Decay. Time seemed to slow as her grip faltered. Her phone slipped from her hand, the faint glow of Matt’s name on the screen fading into the darkness.And then, nothing. One moment, her feet were planted firmly on the ground; the next, she was nowhere.Her arms were stretched wide, suspended in the air, a sickly green light glowed around her wrists and ankles, ropes of energy binding her in place like some grotesque mockery of a crucifixion. Her nerves felt like they were on fire, every inch of her body crawling with an itch so unbearable she wanted to scream.Then he emerged.T-Ray.His skin was ghastly white, not pale but cadaverous, the kind of white that screamed corpse. His orange hair was pulled back in a ponytail, the strands slick with sweat—or blood, she couldn’t tell. His eyes glowed an acidic green, pits of malice that burned straight through her.A patch was slapped across his nose, a comically human flaw on something so clearly not. Under any other circumstances, she might have laughed. The bastard looked like he belonged on a cereal box for murderers. But now the sight only added to the sickness pooling in her gut.“Well, look who’s awake,” T-Ray crooned. He spread his arms wide, like he was presenting her to an imaginary audience. “You remind me of her… Mercedes. He stole everything from me—my life, my wife, my name. And now? Now I get to take something from him.” He leaned in closer, his foul breath washing over her face, the stench of rot and bile almost suffocating. “You.”She recoiled instinctively, but there was nowhere to go. The green ropes held her tighter, digging into her flesh like serrated knives.“Fuck… you…idiot,” she spat. “I’ve known him for years. He’s always been Wade. Always. You’re just some bitter asshole who can’t let go of his bullshit conspiracy theories.”For a moment, T-Ray froze. But the moment passed quickly, and his eyes hardened again, glowing with fresh rage.“Shut up,” he snarled, his voice losing its mockery, now raw with rage.His hand hovered above her, crackling with sickly green light. Kate’s body convulsed as the necrotic magic pulsed through her, like her organs were being twisted and pulled apart from the inside. She bit down on the inside of her cheek, blood filling her mouth as she fought against the searing pain.“Don’t bother struggling,” T-Ray sneered, his voice oozing with satisfaction. “My magic has a way of… disabling its victims. You won’t be going anywhere. At least for now.”His glowing eyes narrowed, a flicker of curiosity cutting through the smug satisfaction on his face. Slowly, his hand lowered to her temple, his fingers brushing her skin.“There’s something off about you,” he murmured. “Oh, I see it now. That little sparkle of clarity. That numbness.” His thumb traced her cheek. “You’ve been… tinkered with, haven’t you? What’s this? A bit of chemical courage to keep the demons at bay?”“Don’t,” she rasped."Oh, but I will. No cheating in Hell, sweetheart.”His hand glowed with that same sickly green energy, and before she could protest, he pressed his palm against her forehead. The magic surged into her mind, the serum’s effects dissolved in an instant.She was back on the zero line, where the air reeked of burning metal and charred flesh, thick enough to claw its way down her throat. Blood was everywhere—on her hands, her uniform, the crumbling ground beneath her boots. The screams were endless—raw cries of the wounded, desperate shouts from medics, the hollow, choking gasps of the dying. Faces burned into her memory swam before her eyes, their glassy eyes locked on her as if to ask, Why weren’t you faster?“You feel it, don’t you?” T-Ray’s voice slithered through. “That’s the beauty of magic. It doesn’t just hurt—it unlocks. All those nasty little memories you thought you buried? They’re mine now. And we’re just getting started.”His hand drifted over her again, and his eyes narrowed as though he’d stumbled upon something unexpected.“Oh…” he murmured, his voice dripping with mockery. “What do we have here?” He leaned in, his face inches from hers. “A little stowaway, huh? Deadpool’s spawn? How precious. Did he even know? Or were you saving it as a surprise?”“No,” Kate whispered. “You’re lying.”“Oh, I don’t lie,” T-Ray said, his tone almost playful. “Not about this. Magic has a funny way of revealing the truth. And the truth is that you’ve been keeping a little secret, hidden away in that broken shell of yours.”No. That couldn’t be right. They’d been careful. She’d been careful. She hadn’t missed a period. The tests during the assessment had cleared her for active duty—hadn’t they? Surely, they would have checked for something like that. They always checked. Didn’t they?Maybe she’d been too quick, too categorical when they’d asked the standard questions. “Any chance you’re pregnant?” She’d answered with a flat, confident “No.” Why would she even question it? She hadn’t even considered it. But surely, they wouldn’t have taken her word for it—right? Right?!Then her thoughts flashed back to Odesa. The timing… it fit.“That thing inside you?” T-Ray whispered, his tone venomous. “I’ll snuff it out before it even has a chance to take a breath. Before it even has a chance to ruin the world like its freak father.”The pain was sharp, deep, and wrong. She felt a wet warmth spread between her legs. She didn’t need to look to know what it was. Something she didn’t even know she had was gone. Taken.But the grief didn’t come. There was no time for it. All she could fill was anger, coiling under her skin, ready to explode.T-Ray stepped back. “Oops. Guess that’s one problem solved. You’re welcome.”Kate’s body crumpled to the ground as the green ropes disappeared. The darkness had receded, replaced by the dim, flickering light of an overhead bulb. She was in a room—no, a hospital. The cracked tiles on the walls were stained with years of grime, their once-white surface yellowed and brown.She head lolled to the side, her cheek pressed against the cold floor. Through the pounding in her skull, a faint sound emerged—the rush and pull of waves. Her pulse quickened.Neponsit Beach Hospital. Everyone knew this place—abandoned and rotting by the shore, waiting for the wrecking crew.So that’s where they’d dragged her. Knowing the location didn’t change much—not now—but it meant she’d have a clearer sense of direction if she ever broke free.T-Ray loomed over her, his grin a grotesque mask of triumph. “Looks like Deadpool won’t be getting his little family reunion after all.”Kate didn’t answer. Her body trembled, her hands clutching at the tile beneath her as she struggled to focus.And then she heard it. Boots clanking against the tiles, metallic echoes filling the room.“She’s all yours, Ajax” T-Ray said with a mock bow, stepping aside. “Just keep her alive. Prime’s orders.”The bulk of Ajax’s armor gleamed under the light, its sharp lines and reinforced plates making him look more like a machine than a man. His expression was unreadable, a chilling mask of calm, but his eyes gleamed with something dark.“Well, well,” Ajax drawled, cracking his knuckles. “Looks like I missed the fun part. But don’t worry, I’ve got a few ideas of my own.”Before Kate could brace herself, his armored hand around her neck, cutting off her air. Her body spasmed as she was yanked off the ground like a rag doll.“See?” Ajax said, leaning over her as his other hand reached for the clasps at his waist. “No spells. No theatrics. Just good, old-fashioned violation. You’re welcome to stick around and watch, if that’s your thing.”T-Ray chuckled as Ajax stepped forward. “You’re all about brute force, Ajax. No subtlety, no finesse. It’s almost embarrassing to watch.” He leaned against the wall, crossing his arms as if he were settling in to enjoy the show. “Don’t break her too much. We still need her breathing.”Ajax pulled her closer, the scrape of his armor against her skin a mockery of intimacy. ‘Keeping her alive is easy,’ he growled. ‘But I never promised intact.’Kate spat blood at his feet. ‘Still trying to prove you’re scary? Pathetic.’He didn’t respond, just slammed her onto the rusted operating table. The impact made the metal groan under her weight, and Kate gasped, the air forced from her lungs.His twisted grin widened as he tugged at his armor, the plates hissing open with a metallic click. “Keeping her alive is easy,” he said, his voice dropping to a low growl. “But I never promised intact.”She felt his grip on her hips as he yanked down her bloodied pants, the damp fabric sticking to her skin before tearing free. He held her in place with bruising strength, taking her with a ferocity that bordered on savage.Pain wasn’t new. She’d survived worse—or at least, that’s what she told herself. Every scar on her body was a lesson, a reminder: survive first, break later. She clung to that thought now, even as her body screamed against the assault.“Deadpool’s little miracle might be gone,” he sneered, his breath hot against her ear, “but maybe I’ll leave you a souvenir. Something to remember me by. Hell, I might even ask Prime to let you live after we’re done with him. Wouldn’t that be nice?”She clenched her jaw, refusing to let him see her falter. The cold air on her skin felt sharp and humiliating, but she bit down on her lip, holding back the scream clawing at her throat. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. Not him. Not ever.When it was over, Ajax pulled back, rolling his shoulders with a nonchalance that turned her stomach. His lips curled into a faint, self-satisfied smirk as his gaze dragged over her.“Don’t worry,” he said, his tone mocking. “Wilson won’t even recognize you by the time we’re done. But you? Oh, you’ll think about me every single time you close your eyes.”Kate didn’t respond. No scream, no whimper. Nothing.He tied her wrists to the rusted frame of the operating table, the rope biting into her skin. But she didn’t flinch. Didn’t blink.“Silent treatment, huh?” He chuckled as he leaned over her, his fingers snapping a length of rope from his belt. “But we’ll see how long you keep it up.”He reached for the hanging surgical light above the table, yanking the cord. The bulb flickered to life with a harsh, sterile glow. Kate stared at the cracked ceiling, her body still as stone, as Ajax’s heavy footsteps moved toward a rusted tray of tools.“Let’s see what makes you tick,” he said. “Maybe I’ll find something fun to send back to Wilson.”Kate’s eyes stayed locked on the cracked ceiling. “You know,” she rasped, “this reminds me of something. Some guy—what was his name? Oh, right. Francis. You remember him? Couldn’t control a bunch of rejects with nothing to lose. Couldn’t handle one mouthy guy.”Ajax’s jaw tightened, the scalpel trembling in his grip.“Wade told me all about you. Said you were a joke then, and look at you now—same act, different audience.”She saw it—the flicker in his eyes, the crack in his facade. He didn’t hate the orders; he hated that they held him back. That he couldn’t rip her apart, couldn’t break her the way he wanted. Not yet.“Go ahead,” she said, daring him. “Do your worst, Francis. Or better yet, go cry to that Prime guy and tell him how the girl tied to the table hurt your feelings.”Ajax struck her across the face, the impact snapping her head to the side. Blood trickled from her lip, warm and metallic, but she barely flinched.“You’ll regret this,” he growled.Kate turned back to him, smirking. “Not as much as you will.”**Matt heard him long before Wade’s boots crunched against the gravel of the rooftop. Even with the city’s noise bleeding into the edges of Matt’s hyper-awareness—sirens wailing in the distance, cars rumbling below— Wade stood out like a jagged piece of glass. His uneven breathing, the arrhythmic beat of his heart, the faint rustle of gear as he walked—all of it painted a picture of a man trying too hard not to crumble.They’d worked together before, if you could call it that. It had been chaos: Wade talking a mile a minute, unpredictable in his movements, his thoughts darting like a loose power cable sparking in a rainstorm. If the two of them had ever been locked in an anechoic chamber, Matt was certain he’d lose his mind—not from Wade’s constant chatter, but from the sound of him just existing: the churn of his goddamn cells dying and regenerating in real time, the irregular rhythm of his heart, the sheer unrelenting energy that was uniquely Wade. It was maddening. But tonight, that maddening presence was absent.Wade wasn’t sneaking—he didn’t even try. Wade wasn’t built for stealth, not physically, and certainly not emotionally. And right now, his whole vibe was screaming off. He just stood there like a badly wrapped Christmas present that you know is ticking, exuding that signature cocktail of manic energy with a chaser of… what? Guilt? Regret? Anxiety? Matt couldn’t read the expression, but he didn’t need to.The air shifted as Wade tilted his head, a quiet motion that somehow carried the sharp edge of dissection. There was no quip, no comment about Matt’s devil costume or the melodrama of their rooftop rendezvous. Just silence. And somehow, that was worse.“You gonna stand there all night?” Matt asked, turning slightly, his grip tightening on the billy club strapped to his hip. “Or are you actually going to say something? Don’t tell me you’ve finally run out of things to say.”Wade stopped a few feet away. Close enough for Matt to hear the rustle of his gear as he shifted his weight, but not close enough to intrude. For once, Wade wasn’t trying to dominate the space. He wasn’t even talking.Matt could feel Deadpool’s eyes on him, as if Wade was silently blaming him for something, pinning his own guilt on Matt might somehow make it easier to carry. But it wasn’t Matt who had done anything wrong. He knew that.He wasn’t sure what had happened between Wade and Kate, but it was clear Wade had been the one to screw it up—and now he was standing here, dripping with jealousy and blame, looking for someone else to wear it.“You’re wasting time,” Matt snapped, stepping toward him. “We agreed to do this together, Wilson. If you’re already having second thoughts, say so.”“No second thoughts,” Wade replied, his voice quiet, almost subdued. “Just trying to figure out how to word it.”Matt was caught off guard by the honesty in Wade’s tone. He’d expected a joke, a distraction, something to deflect from whatever Wade was really feeling. But this? This was new.“You want me to hit you?” Matt asked, his grip tightening on the billy club at his side. “Is that it?”“Maybe,” Wade said finally. “Go ahead, Matty. Let’s skip the part where you pretend you’re better than me and get to the violence. I’m ready for it. Make it hurt.”Matt didn’t need more encouragement. The billy club snapped through the air, connecting with the side of Wade’s head. Thunk. It wasn’t meant to do serious damage—just knock some sense into him. Wade stumbled slightly but didn’t flinch, didn’t even try to block the hit.“Alright, Pai Mei,” Wade muttered, his voice flat, lacking the usual chaotic energy. “Prove your kung fu mastery. You don’t like me. Hell, I don’t even like me. So let’s cut to the chase. You’re mad. I’m me. Let’s go.”That cracked something in Matt. His grip on the billy club tightened, and the second hit came harder, sending Wade staggering back. The sharp crack of impact echoed, and he felt the mask’s fabric tear slightly above his temple. Still, Wade didn’t fight back.“You stupid son of a bitch,” Matt growled, his voice shaking with barely restrained fury. “Do you have any idea what’s at stake right now?”“Wow,” Wade said, the faintest hint of a smirk creeping into his voice. “Didn’t know you had it in you to swear, Red. What’s next? You gonna drop an F-bomb? Call me an asshole? Really spice it up?”The third hit came without hesitation. The billy club struck Wade’s head again, catching Wade square on the bridge of his nose with a sickening crunch.“Not bad,” Wade said finally, his voice deliberately teasing. “But I think you can do better. Go ahead. Pretend I’m that guy who accidentally clocked you with his gym bag while you were crossing the street. Or better yet, pretend I’m the part of you that can’t stand the fact she chose me.”Matt kicked Wade square in the chest, sending him sprawling onto his back, the impact jolting the air from his lungs. For a second, Matt thought he might finally get a reaction—a joke, a laugh, a complaint. But Wade just lay there, staring up at him, letting the blows land.“That’s it,” Wade said. Blood seeped from his split lip, sliding down his jaw under the torn edges of his mask. “Keep going, Red. Lean into it. Blind rage, blind justice—you’re the king of blind, aren’t you?” He tilted his head, mockingly curious, even as his body swayed with the force of Matt’s strikes. “Makes you wonder, though. If you’re the guy she left, and I’m the guy she picked... what does that say about her?”That was the breaking point. The anger burned in Matt’s chest, hot and sharp, but it wasn’t enough to mask the hollow ache underneath. He felt the blow like it was meant for him. It wasn’t jealousy, exactly—it was something sharper. Something he didn’t have the words for. But he knew this: Wade wasn’t entirely wrong. And that made it worse.“Of all the people she could’ve ended up with,” he spat. “It had to be you.”When the billy club slammed into the side of his jaw, Wade felt a tooth loosen, the force sending his head snapping to the side. The lower edge of his mask tore along his cheek, exposing a jagged line of scar tissue beneath.Wade stayed flat on his back. When he spoke, his voice was softer than Matt expected. “Yeah, no argument here,” he said. “From where I’m lying—and trust me, it’s a killer view—it’s looking like she’d have been better off with you. What’s the worst that’d happen? Fisk? Maybe Bullseye?” He let out a dry laugh that caught in his throat. “Hell, better odds than me.”Matt froze.“Why are you acting like this?”“Acting? Oh, no. This isn’t an act. This is pure, unfiltered Wade Wilson, 100-proof. She knew that when she signed up. Knew exactly what she was getting. Can you believe that?”“Shut up,” Matt said, his voice low. “Stop making this about you.”“Why not?” Wade shot back, his tone shifting, sharper now. “It’s always about me, isn’t it? I get her into this mess. And then the Siryn thing. You know what the worst part is? It wasn’t some grand betrayal. It was... reflex. Habit. Fuck-up mode, activated. And now Kate’s—”The billy club cracked against his skull again before he could finish the sentence.Then Matt finally stepped back, his exhaling slowly as he tried to push the storm of emotions back into the box where they belonged.“Enough,” he said, his voice quieter now but no less firm. “We don’t have time for this. Get up. Now. We need a plan.”Wade nodded. “Yeah,” he said, his voice back to its usual flippant tone, though it was clear the humor was a mask. “Plans are good. Preferably one that doesn’t involve more nunchaku therapy, though. My skull’s only got so much room for improvement.”He pushed himself upright, dragging his hand across his mouth to wipe away the blood. His mask was skewed, revealing just enough of his face to remind Matt of what was underneath: someone broken in ways no amount of healing could fix. “We split up,” he said, firm despite the rasp in his tone. “You’ve got your ways—sneaky, shadowy, ninja stuff. Me? Less ‘blend in,’ more ‘make a scene.’” He gestured vaguely to himself, his torn mask and bloodstained suit punctuating the point. “We’ll cover more ground. You shake down your sources, I’ll crack a few skulls. First one to get something comes back here. Simple.”“That’s your plan? Cause chaos until someone gives you what you want?”“Worked for me so far,” Wade replied. “Besides, people talk when they’re scared. And if they don’t, well...” He tapped the hilt of his katana for effect. “They talk when I start breaking stuff.”Matt folded his arms, studying Wade in the dim light. It was impossible to tell if Wade believed half the things he said—or if he said them just to keep from falling apart. Matt wanted to hate him for it. For dragging Kate into his orbit. For being the one she chose. But mostly, he hated that Wade’s madness might actually work.“You’re going to make this harder than it needs to be,” Matt said, his tone even but cold.“Yeah, probably,” Wade admitted. “But it’s what I’m good at. Don’t worry—no one’s going to kill me. Believe me, they’ve tried. A lot.”“That’s not the point,” Matt snapped. His grip on the billy club tightened, but he didn’t raise it again.“Relax, Matt,” Wade said, waving a hand. “You do your thing—quiet, efficient, very Batman Begins. I’ll do mine. Together, we’ll get what we need. You can thank me later.”Matt hated it—hated that it might actually work. Wade’s chaos would draw attention, flushing out information that Matt’s subtle methods couldn’t. Still, the thought of relying on Wade left a sour taste in his mouth.He was silent for a long moment before he nodded once, curtly. “Fine,” he said. “But if you screw this up—”“I know,” Wade interrupted . “No screwing up. Scout’s honor.”Wade smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. His voice had that edge again—the kind that said he was running out of time, or maybe just hope.Matt turned toward the fire escape, pausing just long enough to glance over his shoulder. “You were never a scout.”“Actually, I was,” Wade said, raising a finger as though delivering an important correction. “Long story short: not exactly the Boy Scouts of America. More like Freako Scouts of Eternal Trauma. Our troop leader was a psycho who thought making us earn badges should involve fire pits, badger fights, and—oh, yeah—trying to ‘make me a man.’” He let out a sharp, bitter laugh. “And that’s how I got my ‘Always Use a Condom’ merit patch. True story.”Matt blinked. “I preferred you silent and bleeding.”“Aw, Red,” Wade said, clutching his chest mockingly. “And here I thought we were bonding. Anyway, I’ll take the east side. You’ve got the rest. Meet back here when one of us finds something worth chasing.”Matt didn’t respond. He turned back to the fire escape, disappearing down the ladder without another word.Wade lingered, hands on his hips, staring out at the city with a look that screamed man who has no idea what the hell he’s doing. “Great plan, Wade,” he muttered under his breath. “Split up, make a mess, pray someone squeals. It’s not even a plan— just a slow-motion car crash with a side of wishful thinking.” He let out a sharp, humorless laugh, swiping a gloved hand across his split lip. “Don’t even know where to start ‘asking.’ Real tactical genius stuff. Kate’s out there somewhere, and this is what I’ve got? Fantastic. Just wing it and pray I don’t fuck it up any worse.”He took a step toward the edge of the rooftop, glancing. “Teamwork makes the dream work,” he muttered to no one, his smirk fading into something thinner, brittle. His shoulders slumped, the weight of it all pressing down on him. “No pressure, though. It’s just Kate’s life on the line. No biggie.”Then, his gaze sharpened. No way was he letting Matt play the hero and come back with the first clue. Sure, he needed the devil now—begrudgingly—but that didn’t mean he had to let him win.“Alright, Wilson,” he muttered, cracking his neck and rolling his shoulders. “Time to shake the city until it pukes up a lead. Bigger asshole gets the prize.” Without another thought, he stepped off the edge, vanishing into the night with all the grace of a man planning to kick the city until it gave him what he wanted.
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Wade’s boots clacked against the cracked concrete of a back alley as he muttered curses at himself. The streetlights were just flickering on, painting the greasy puddles in weak halos of amber light. He passed a pair of dumpster divers, one of whom waved an oily pizza slice at him.“Nice catch!” Wade shouted over his shoulder. “Remind me to order in next time. Bigger fish to fry tonight. Or gut. Maybe both, depending on what Patch’s menu of lies has in store for me tonight.”It hit him hours ago, like a slap from the world’s dumbest epiphany: Hellhouse. Of course, the one-stop-shop for morally bankrupt degenerates who’d sell their own grandmother for a half-decent payday. Why hadn’t he thought of it first? Because he’d been too busy playing crybaby detective, bumbling through the underbelly of Manhattan, relying on dimwits and drunks who had fewer brain cells than a wet bar of soap.Wade turned a corner, his eyes catching the flicker of a neon sign that buzzed like a mosquito. It wasn’t the name Hellhouse, of course. No, Patch liked to keep it subtle— low-key, even. The sign read “Moe’s” in flickering red, but the O was half burnt out, making it look more like “Me’s.” Which, Wade thought, was probably appropriate, considering the crowd inside.The door creaked open, and the familiar cocktail of sour beer, cigarette smoke, and something vaguely resembling feet assaulted his senses. The dim, yellowish light made the entire place look like it was wrapped in nicotine-stained cellophane.Mercenaries stiffened mid-action, their conversations dying as he stepped in. The clink of a glass, the faint scrape of a pool cue—it all felt too loud in the sudden silence. Every pair of eyes shifted toward him, some curious, most uneasy.He recognized a few faces right away.There was Knuckles, whose nose had been broken so many times it looked like a crushed can of soda. Over at the pool table, The Wrecker idly swung his enchanted crowbar, pretending to care about the game while shooting Wade a side-eye glare. Black Mamba sat in the corner, sipping her martini and watching the room. A couple of low-level thugs hovered nearby, either out of fear or because they thought she might pay their tabs.And of course, slumped against the bar like a disheveled walrus, was Patch, the manager-slash-puppet master of this merry band of misfits.It wasn’t the usual chaos of Hellhouse—no rowdy laughter, no over-the-top brags about body counts. Sure, Patch had always run a tight ship, but this wasn’t silence born of discipline. It was fear—thick, palpable, and stinking worse than the dumpster behind a bodega on a summer afternoon.“Daddy’s home!” Wade crowed, spreading his arms wide. “And he wants answers, hugs, and maybe one of those crappy pretzels you guys serve. Priorities, people!”“Wade.” Patch didn’t even look up from his whiskey. “Been a while. What brings you to our fine establishment?”Wade plopped himself onto the barstool next to him, slapping the counter hard enough to make the bartender flinch. “T-Ray.”There it was. Just for a fraction of a second—barely a breath—a flicker in Patch’s eyes, the kind of microexpression that screamed louder than any confession. Wade caught it. Of course, he did. Wade didn’t miss tells like that—especially not on someone as stone-faced as Patch.“Haven’t heard much,” Patch said, taking a slow sip.Wade stared at him for a long moment, then burst out laughing—a loud, obnoxious cackle that echoed through the bar. Heads turned, but no one dared interrupt.“‘Haven’t heard much,’ huh?” Wade wheezed, wiping an imaginary tear from his mask. “Oh, Patchy. You’re killing me, man. Literally, you’re gonna make me laugh myself to death here. Is that the plan? Death by giggles?”Patch set his glass down with deliberate calm. “I’m serious, Wade. T-Ray’s not exactly sending me postcards. Maybe you’re barking up the wrong tree.”“Barking up the wrong tree? Oh, that’s cute,” Wade said, his voice dripping with mock admiration. “But here’s the thing, Patch: I know you. You’re like the creepy librarian of mercenaries. If T-Ray so much as farted in a Taco Bell, you’d know what flavor of hot sauce was involved.”Patch didn’t react at first, swirling his whiskey lazily, but Wade caught the tension in his shoulders.“See? That’s the thing about you, Patch,” Wade continued, leaning closer. “You don’t do stupid. Not usually. But siding with T-Ray? That’s real stupid. What’d you think would happen?”Patch’s eyes narrowed slightly, his jaw tightening, but his voice stayed as steady as ever. “You think I’m scared, Wade?”“No, no, Patchy, of course not. You’re not scared of me. Or T-Ray. That would be ridiculous.” Wade tilted his head. “You’re scared of losing your little Switzerland-of-scumbags act going after picking the wrong side.”Patch sighed heavily, rubbing his temple. “T-Ray paid us to keep you busy. That’s all. You were always going to end up here, Wade. That’s how he wanted it. All roads lead to Hellhouse.”A murmur rippled through the bar. The Wrecker shifted his grip on his crowbar, Black Mamba sat up straighter, and Knuckles began cracking his fingers one by one.Patch raised a hand, silencing the room with a single gesture. He turned his full attention back to Wade.Wade leaned back, crossing his arms. “Ah, now we’re getting somewhere. The ‘big evil scheme’ part. Let me guess. He knew I’d tear through this place like a can of cheap beans. Is that the idea? Delay me. Maybe wear me down a little.”Patch shrugged. “You said it, not me.”Wade seemed to be genuinely mulling it over. “Smart. Except for one teensy, tiny detail...”He paused, the katana glinting under the dim bar lights as he tapped its blade lightly against the edge of the nearest table. Clink.“You’re not delaying me. You’re pissing me off.”The air in the room grew heavy as Wade stood slowly, letting the barstool screech across the floor behind him. He adjusted his katana casually, his hand brushing its hilt.“Look,” Wade said, raising the blade to rest on his shoulder with a dramatic shrug. “I don’t want to kill you guys. I really don’t. But I might enjoy it anyway.”Knuckles suddenly stepped forward, cracking his namesake fists with a series of sharp, bone-popping sounds. “You heard Patch,” he growled. “T-Ray paid us to keep you busy. So why don’t you sit your ass down and save us all the trouble?”Wade chuckled. “Oh, Knucks, sweetie, I get it. You wanna be the big, tough guy, looking all intimidating. But let’s be honest—you should’ve just stayed in the background. Like a good NPC.”Knuckles’ grin faltered, his fists tightening.“I mean, you’re the kind of guy who gets a single line of dialogue before the hero chops your head off, right?” Wade gestured to himself dramatically. “And look, now the main character is here. Guess what happens next?”Knuckles roared and charged, swinging wildly. Wade sidestepped, his katana flashing in a single, precise arc. Knuckles stopped, his body going slack as his head tipped forward and tumbled to the floor with a dull thud.The room went still. A few mercenaries shifted uncomfortably, their hands hovering near weapons, but no one made a move. Just one of the low-level thugs near the bar took a half-step back, bumping into a chair.“See?” Wade said, spinning his katana once before resting it back on his shoulder. “Called it. One line, and now you’re an anecdote.” He stepped over Knuckles’ body, addressing the room with a grin beneath his mask. “Nothing personal, though. I’m an equal-opportunity decapitator.”He pointed the katana at the next closest merc. “Alright, who’s next? Or do we all want to agree that Knuckles was the high point and just call it a day?”**The room was silent now, save for the faint creak of a barstool and the occasional drip of something sticky from a broken table. Blood pooled across the floor, catching the dull glint of the overhead lights. Wade stood in the center of the wreckage, his katanas dripping as he surveyed the carnage with the detached curiosity of a man deciding whether to frame his work or leave it unsigned.Patch sat slumped against the bar, his whiskey glass somehow still intact in his hand, though his shirt was smeared with blood that wasn’t his. He tracked Wade’s every movement as the mercenary strolled lazily toward him, sheathing his katanas with a practiced flourish.“Well, Patchy, I gotta say, you run a helluva dive. Five stars. Great ambiance, stellar entertainment—” He glanced at Knuckles’ headless corpse. “—well, mostly stellar. And you? You’re still alive. Know why?”Patch’s voice was hoarse, his hand trembling slightly as he raised the whiskey to his lips. “Because you like me.”“Bingo!” Wade grinned, spinning on his heel. “And also because you know where T-Ray is. But mostly the first one. You’ve got that whole grizzled bartender from a noir flick thing going for you. It’s endearing. Like a tiny Hulk Hogan who traded in leg drops for bar tabs.”Patch wiped a smear of blood off his chin . “You followed his plan anyway, you know.” His gaze dropped for a moment before he sighed. “Fuck it,” he muttered under his breath. “Neponsit Beach Hospital. That’s where they are.”“Neponsit Beach Hospital?” Wade raised an eyebrow. “That’s his big evil lair? Bold choice. A hospital. What’s next, a laundromat? An Arby’s?”Patch didn’t laugh, didn’t even crack a smile. “You’ll be surprised who hired him and Ajax,” he said.“Oh, do tell, Patchy. Who’s pulling the strings this time? Hydra? A.I.M.? Someone with a monocle and a deep pocket full of daddy issues?”Patch’s lips curled into something that might’ve been a smirk if it weren’t so tired. “You.”Wade froze, his finger mid-air, about to poke at a fresh bloodstain on the counter. “Come again?”“You…” Patch repeated. He studied Wade for a moment before speaking in a tone that was almost… pitying.. “You before the Weapon X program.”Wade’s eyes narrowed as his mind raced to catch up. “You’re saying... what? Time travel? Clone? Some guy wearing my face like a cheap Halloween mask?” His voice picked up speed, the initial shock giving way to rapid-fire analysis. “Patch, if you’re screwing with me, I swear I’ll—”He didn’t finish. Something about this wasn’t sitting right. Wait a damn second. How does Patch know who put the bounty on me when Weasel didn’t?Weasel’s been on this for months—hacking, cross-referencing, chasing leads—and he still came up empty. But Patch? Patch, who probably thinks ‘the cloud’ is what ruins a barbecue, just happens to know?Wade’s fingers drummed on the counter as the pieces began to fall into place. Of course, Patch knew. But how? No one ever knows who puts a bounty out unless they want to be found. And yet, somehow, Patch had seen the guy? In person? That didn’t make sense—except it did.Weasel was working blind, running circles in cyberspace. But Patch? Patch didn’t do tech—hell, his computer illiteracy was probably his greatest defense. No hacks, no paper trails.And if Patch met him face-to-face? That’s why Weasel came up empty. No digital footprint. Just one guy in a room, cutting a deal with Patch the old-fashioned way.Even if Weasel had tried to reach him, Patch wouldn’t have talked. Not without the right incentive. The last piece clicked. Patch didn’t just know. He’d met him. Took the money. And then kept it quiet. Sat on this, probably smiling to himself over the payday.A bitter laugh escaped under his mask. And why the hell would I expect anything different? The guy’s been in the business too long to stick his neck out for free.A bitter laugh escaped, muffled under his mask. “You saw him, didn’t you?” Wade’s voice was low now, edged with something far darker than his usual sarcasm. “You met him.”Patch didn’t deny it.Wade leaned back slightly. “Alright, fine. Let’s put a pin in the part where you sat on this juicy little tidbit and didn’t bother to give me a heads-up. You’ve got your reasons, and I’m feeling kind enough not to slice you into sushi rolls over it.”Patch shrugged. “We all gotta eat.”Wade’s eye twitched, and his hand drifted to the katana at his side. But instead of drawing it, he let his hand drop with a sigh. “Yeah, fine. We’re all degenerates. I get it. But what the hell do you mean by ‘me before Weapon X?’ Are we talking multiverse crap here? Parallel dimensions? Because, seriously, Patch, my brain’s already fried, and I really don’t have the bandwidth for Doctor Strange-level nonsense right now.”Patch exhaled slowly, picking up his whiskey glass. He swirled the amber liquid, eyes narrowing like he was working through the puzzle himself. “I don’t know, Wilson,” he admitted. “I didn’t ask questions. But… the guy wasn’t a clone, and he sure as hell wasn’t wearing a mask. He was you. Or someone who looked so much like you.”“So, what? You’re saying I’ve got a long-lost twin out there who decided to slap a bounty on my head? Because that’s a level of messed-up even I don’t have the brain space for.”Before he could press further, the door creaked open behind him. He turned to see Bullseye, standing in the doorway, casually spinning a knife between his fingers.“Damn,” Bullseye drawled, stepping inside and kicking a severed arm out of his way. “You sure know how to throw a party, Wilson. And here I was thinking my night would be boring.”Wade grinned. “Well, if I knew you were coming, I would’ve sent an invite. Maybe even one of those fancy e-cards with the glitter explosions. But nooo, you just show up unannounced. Rude.”Bullseye smirked, his gaze sweeping across the room. “Gotta admit, you did a number on this place. But…” He nodded toward Patch. “Why’s he still breathing?”“Sentimental reasons. Patchy and I go way back. He’s like family. The kind of family you’d extort for money, but still, family.”Bullseye snorted. “Nah. There’s a reason. What is it? You need him for something.”“Yeah, Patch is good for jobs, and I don’t exactly have a 401(k). Gotta keep the mercenary retirement plan intact. Plus, sometimes you need to change handlers, y’know? I can’t always lean on Weasel as my dispatcher. Diversity is key, my dude.”Bullseye kicked over a busted chair, clearing a path as he strode closer to Wade.“Future gigs? You think I’m buying that crap?” He gestured at the room. “This? This is personal. So cut the bullshit, Wilson.”Wade hesitated, the usual wisecracks held back for a rare second of internal debate. Could he trust Bullseye with the truth? Probably not. But screw it—he wasn’t exactly swimming in options.“They took my woman,” he said finally, the humor in his voice giving way to something rawer. “T-Ray and Ajax. I’m getting her back, and anyone in my way is getting... well, this.”“Your woman? Wilson, come on. You’re screwing with me, right?” He let out a short laugh, shaking his head. Then his grin returned as his mind pieced something together. “Wait a damn second… It is her! The one from the Limb! Sharp tongue, dark hair, gave off serious ‘don’t screw with me’ vibes.”Wade’s posture stiffened slightly, his eyes narrowing. “Yeah, it’s her. And I’ll stop you right there—she’s way out of your league, Lester.”Bullseye smirked, his expression shifting into an exaggerated imitation of a proud father. “Relax. I’m not planning a move. Already had my shot, remember? Just saying—she had a vibe. And those boobs? Yeah, I’d organize a little slaughter too.”Wade tilted his head, his tone caught between pride and irritation. “You’re disgusting. And yet, weirdly, not wrong.”“Hey, I’m just saying. If she’s the prize, you don’t half-ass the bloodbath. You go all in.”“Damn right,” Wade said, his tone sharpening. “And trust me, Lester, they’re about to find out exactly what that means.”Bullseye’s eyes narrowed, pupils darting back and forth as though replaying some bizarre internal movie only he could see. One hand drifted to his belt, fingers tapping a rhythm on a knife hilt, the other scratching absently at his temple like he was trying to dig out a stubborn thought.Then, like flipping a switch, he grinned—a wide, teeth-baring grin that somehow managed to be both unsettling and deeply amused.“Count me in.”Wade blinked, caught off guard. “You serious? Why? Did you just—wait—were you literally flipping a mental coin? What the hell was that? You looked like you were deciding between murder and snack time.”“No reason you’d care about,” Bullseye said with a shrug. “T-Ray’s been a pain in my ass for years, and Ajax? That guy’s a bigger douche than you. Plus, with you going soft and skipping out on jobs, my schedule’s been packed. Call it a win-win.”Wade stared at him, skepticism clear in his tone. “So, let me get this straight—this is gratitude?”“Nah,” Bullseye said, his smirk widening. “Don’t read into it. This isn’t a friendship bracelet moment. I want T-Ray gone. I want Ajax gone. Gratitude’s just a side effect.”“Oh, the ‘enemy of my enemy is my temporary homicidal buddy’ thing. I love it. Truly. Makes me all warm and fuzzy inside.” Wade turned to Patch, slapping him on the shoulder. “See, Patchy? That’s called teamwork. You should take notes.”“This place will be back on its feet in a week, Wilson. And you’ll still have me when the new jobs roll in. You know how this works.”“Oh, I know how it works, Patchy. That’s why I’m saying—choose your sides a little more wisely next time. Because there won’t be another warning.”Bullseye snorted, stepping past Wade. “Save the melodrama for the next poor bastard, Wilson. Patch isn’t stupid—he’ll play it smart next time. Right, Patch?”Patch just raised the glass in a silent salute, draining it in one last, slow gulp. His gaze followed Wade and Bullseye as they left. His lips twitched—was that a grimace or just the whiskey hitting wrong? Hard to tell.He set the glass down with a sharp clink, glancing around as he calculated how much effort it would take to clean this mess up and bring in fresh mercs. Regret? Nah, Patch didn’t do regret. Just numbers. And right now, the numbers sucked.**Wade kept quiet, the crunch of glass under their boots and a distant siren doing all the talking. He shifted his katana strap, knowing now was the time to spill it: there was actually a tricycle of vengeance, and the third wheel was Matt Murdock—the one guy guaranteed to hit Lester’s rage button. If Bullseye was gonna bail, this would be the moment. Hell, Wade wouldn’t blame him—probably even expected it.“Alright, Lester,” he began, breaking the silence. “Full disclosure—this isn’t a dynamic duo situation. Just thought you should know before you commit fully to the whole ‘team spirit’ thing.”Bullseye shot him a side-eye glance. “Yeah? What’s the twist, Wilson? You bring Tasky into this? Or did you clone yourself for maximum annoyance?”“Daredevil,” Wade said, the word coming out with the same irreverence he used to announce a bad punchline.Bullseye’s usual smirk vanished.“You’ve gotta be shitting me.” His voice dripped with disbelief, though Wade caught the faintest edge of fury simmering beneath it. “You want me to team up with Daredevil?” He spat the name like it left a bad taste in his mouth. “The guy who’s ruined my life on more occasions than I can count?”"Sure, Daredevil ruined your life, Lester. In the same way a mirror ruins a bad haircut—it’s just showing you the mess you made." Wade pointed out. “Also, you’re the one who said ‘count me in,’ pal.”He glanced sideways. “But, hey, if this is where you bow out? I get it. Honestly, I wasn’t counting on you in the first place. Call it fate or some messed-up coincidence, whatever. No hard feelings if you wanna bail.”Bullseye’s jaw tightened, and Wade swore he saw genuine conflict in his eyes—a rarity for someone who usually didn’t give a damn about anything except his next kill.“Wilson,” Bullseye said slowly, “do you have any idea how much I hate Daredevil?”“Oh, I have a vague idea,” Wade said, shrugging. “But hey, look on the bright side—he hates me too! It’s like one big hate sandwich. You’re just the spicy mayo in the middle.”Bullseye’s lips curled into a sharp grin. “Alright, Wilson. But just so we’re clear—once we’re done with T-Ray and Ajax, you won’t be shedding any tears if I decide to put Daredevil six feet under, right?”“Oh, please. You think I care about your little spat with the guy? Go nuts. Hell, maybe you’ll do me a favor. He’s an annoying ex-boyfriend, anyway. Get him out of the picture, and I might even send you a thank-you card.”Bullseye raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. “So, no objections?”“None whatsoever,” Wade said breezily, but his mind was already spinning.
That’s a lie. A big fat lie. If Lester tries something, I’m gonna have to step in—and not because I’m feeling heroic. Kate would never forgive him if he stood by and let Bullseye turn her past into a chalk outline.
“Let’s focus on priorities here. You get your revenge. I get my girl. And if Daredevil gets his tights in a twist, that’s a problem for Future Wade.”**The cracked concrete, the damp tang of tar and grease clinging to the air—none of it mattered tonight. The city’s chaos bled into the background. Matt crouched near the edge, frustration clawing at his chest.Hours. He’d spent hours chasing whispers, pressing informants who swore they didn’t know anything, scouring Hell’s Kitchen like it could hand him an answer. But it hadn’t. Not about Kate, not about where T-Ray had taken her. Just static, punctuated by one bitter detail: a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent and her family murdered, a child missing. Fresh blood. An hour old, maybe less.And then Wade called.Of course. While Matt was out here grinding his bones to dust for nothing, Wade had been the one to get a lead. Frustration churned in Matt’s gut as the memory of Wade’s voice on the line replayed: “Got intel. Meet me.” Typical. Deadpool always found a way. He didn’t hesitate to cut, to break, to burn everything in his path. Maybe Kate had picked the better option.But then again, if it weren’t for Wade, she wouldn’t need saving. Or maybe she would—just from something or someone else. Most probably herself.Matt’s fists tightened at the thought, his knuckles cracking under the pressure. His focus sharpened at the sound of footsteps. Two sets.The first was unmistakable—Wade’s uneven stride, the scrape of weapons shifting at his sides, that frustrating energy that made him impossible to miss even in a crowd. But the second? That was quieter. When it hit him who it was—he froze.He turned just as Wade hauled himself onto the roof, landing with a clumsy flourish.“Guess who brought backup!”“Bullseye,” Matt said, the name leaving his lips like a curse.“Missed me, Red?”Matt didn’t respond. He moved instead, closing the distance between him and Wade in two quick strides. His hands slammed into Wade’s chest, shoving him back with enough force to make the swords on his back rattle.“You son of a—” Matt’s voice cracked, raw with anger. “What the hell is he doing here?”“Whoa, whoa! Matty, chill! Look, I know this isn’t ideal—”“Not ideal?” Matt snapped, his fists trembling at his sides. “You show up with him, and you think I’m supposed to just go along with it?”Wade sighed, dragging a hand over his mask. “Look, I know Lester’s not exactly your favorite person—”“He killed Karen,” Matt growled.Bullseye stepped closer, his grin practically audible. “Karen. Right. Church job. That was neat. You never saw it coming. Hell, she didn’t either.”The words were a knife twisting in Matt’s chest. He didn’t need Bullseye to describe it—he’d relived that moment a thousand times. The way Karen’s body crumpled, the billy club in her chest, Bullseye’s laugh echoing through the empty church. It had been years, but the wound felt fresh, as if Bullseye had just reopened it with a smile.“You think this is funny?” Matt’s voice was low, tight, his body taut with barely restrained fury.Bullseye shrugged, unbothered by the tension rolling off Matt in waves. “Funny? Not really. Satisfying? Oh yeah. You should’ve seen your face, Red. Damn near priceless.”The words barely left Bullseye’s mouth before Matt surged forward like a spring snapping loose. His fist swung wide, aimed straight for Lester’s smirking face.But Wade was faster.He stepped in, catching Matt’s arm with a firm grip, his other hand pressing against Matt’s chest to hold him back. “Whoa, nope, no! Not tonight!”Matt twisted, trying to yank his arm free, his breaths coming in sharp, uneven bursts. “Let go,” he hissed.“Yeah, hard pass on that,” Wade shot back, his tone somewhere between sarcastic and genuinely alarmed. “I’m not letting you turn this into a rooftop murder show.”“You think I care?” Matt spat, though the words felt hollow even as he said them.Bullseye didn’t deserve to live—Matt knew that. He’d caused too much pain, spilled too much innocent blood. But deep down, Matt also knew the truth: he wouldn’t take Bullseye’s life. He couldn’t. That wasn’t who he was. His fists tightened, straining against Wade’s grip.“Okay, maybe not,” Wade said, his grip tightening as Matt struggled. “But you’re forgetting the whole part where we need him to not die for, like, five minutes. Kinda part of the plan.”Bullseye stayed where he was, leaning casually against the ledge with that same maddening grin plastered across his face. “Don’t stop him, Wilson. I’m curious to see if he’s got the guts this time.”Matt surged again, but Wade held firm. “Alright, Lester, how about you shut your face before I let him go?” Wade snapped.Matt stilled for half a second, his chest heaving. “You think this is a game?” he asked, his voice quieter now but no less dangerous.Bullseye shrugged, his grin never faltering. “Life’s a game, Red. You of all people should know that. You keep showing up to play, don’t you?”“You killed her,” Matt said, his tone like steel. “You murdered her to prove a point.”Bullseye laughed, low and sharp. “A damn good point, if I remember right. Made you think twice about walking around with your little stick, didn’t it?”Wade’s grip tightened on Matt, his voice cutting in before Matt could move again. “Okay, yeah, we get it, Lester. You’re an absolute delight.”He turned his attention back to Matt, his voice dropping to something softer. “Matty, listen. I know this is... not great. Okay? This sucks. But we don’t have time for this right now. Kate’s out there, and if you waste your energy smashing his face in, it’s her blood on our hands. Not his.”Matt’s fists trembled at his sides, his body coiled so tight it felt like he might snap in half. But Wade’s words cut through the haze just enough to steady him, the mention of Kate wrenching his focus back to the present.Wade sighed, loosening his grip slightly but keeping his stance ready in case Matt moved again. “Look, I’m not saying I care about Lester’s charming personality or his sparkling track record. Hell, if we survive this, I’ll let you throw him off a bridge. But for now, I need every pair of hands I can get.”Matt didn’t answer, but the tension in his body didn’t ease. His head turned slightly toward Bullseye, who was still watching with that infuriatingly smug expression.“You know, Red,” Bullseye drawled, “for someone who hates me so much, you sure let me live rent-free in that pretty little head of yours. Always thinking about me, always chasing me, always trying to prove you’re better than me. But here’s the kicker—you’re not. You keep coming back because you need me. The push, the pull. You don’t hate it as much as you want to, do you?”Wade cut in before Matt could reply. “Alright, that’s enough psychoanalysis for one night. Lester, zip it. Matty, save it. And me? I’m gonna focus on not losing my last scrap of sanity before we get Kate back.”Matt turned sharply, pulling away from Wade’s grasp at last. “One wrong move,” he said to Bullseye, “and you won’t get the chance to explain it.”Bullseye smirked, tipping an imaginary hat. “Noted.”Wade clapped his hands together. “Great! Now that we’ve all bonded over our mutual hatred, how about we get moving? You know, save the girl, murder the bad guys, rinse, repeat. Teamwork and all that.”He started toward the edge of the rooftop, gesturing for the others to follow. Matt hesitated, but he followed. Behind them, Bullseye trailed lazily, his footsteps maddeningly unhurried.As they moved, Wade couldn’t help but glance back at Matt. The guy looked ready to implode, and honestly? If the roles were reversed, he’d probably want Lester’s head on a pike too.Hell, maybe he should’ve thought this through. But at the end of the day, he didn’t really care about Matt’s feelings. He cared about Kate. It wasn’t about getting to her faster—it was about surviving long enough to save her.T-Ray and Ajax were strong, too strong for him to take on alone, and he needed help. Dragging Lester along wasn’t about trust; it was about stacking the odds in his favor. If it meant tolerating Bullseye’s smug grin and Matt’s barely contained fury, then so be it. He’d deal with the fallout later—assuming they all lived that long.**Matt’s jaw was clenched so tightly it ached. His head buzzed with frustration, his senses on high alert. The casual rhythm of Bullseye’s movements grated against his nerves like sandpaper.“Where are we going? You didn’t tell me anything, Wade. You show up with him”—his head tilted toward Bullseye—“and you expect me to just follow you blindly?”“Uh, yeah, isn’t that your thing?”“Don’t,” Matt said sharply, his voice cutting through Wade’s attempt at levity. “I’ve spent hours out here looking for her, Wade. Hours. And then you call me like you’ve got it all figured out.”Wade sighed heavily. He stopped walking, turning toward Matt. “Fine. Details. Patch told me Ajax and T-Ray are holed up at Neponsit Beach Hospital. You know, old Patchy? Runs a nice little dive where mercs get their bad ideas and worse intel. Happy now?”“And you trust him?” Matt was skeptical.Wade shrugged. “Do I trust Patch? Sure. Do I trust the fact that he’s also an opportunistic scumbag? Double sure. But we don’t exactly have time for a second opinion. Also, believe it or not, Patch doesn’t lie about stuff like this. He might overcharge for a whiskey, but he knows better than to feed me bad intel.”“You’re saying Patch just handed over the location out of the kindness of his heart?”“Kindness? Hell no.” Wade scoffed. “He handed it over because I made it clear the alternative was… less pleasant.”“And Bullseye? Did Patch just happen to offer him up too?”“Lester invited himself,” Wade admitted, waving a hand dismissively. “He wants T-Ray and Ajax dead almost as much as I do.”“What if this is a trap? If they’re not there?”“If I’m wrong, I’ll call in backup. S.H.I.E.L.D., Fury, whatever. The guy’s been practically drooling to get Kate on board, so I figure he owes me one.”Wade hesitated. Sure, S.H.I.E.L.D. had satellites, spies, and all the fancy tech Nick loved to brag about, but this wasn’t their kind of fight. No, this was personal. T-Ray and Ajax weren’t making grand moves for global domination—they were making a point. A brutal, bloody point aimed straight at him.Matt’s expression darkened at the mention of S.H.I.E.L.D. as he remembered the fragmented transmissions he’d overheard on the police radio earlier. He didn’t know all the details, but the pieces painted an ugly picture.“If you’re thinking about calling S.H.I.E.L.D., you should know something.” “What’s that?”“There was a hit tonight. A S.H.I.E.L.D. agent, her husband, and their son were killed. Their daughter’s missing.”Wade froze. His fists clenched tight, the sound of his gloves stretching faintly audible in the tense silence. Fuck, fuck, fuck. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go.“Emily Preston?” Wade asked. “The agent. Was her name Emily Preston?”Matt nodded, surprised by the intensity in Wade’s voice. “Yes. Do you—”Wade’s mind raced. As a Life-Model Decoy, Emily’s consciousness might have survived the destruction of her robotic body. But her family? That was final. She would never forgive him for this. Not even if he had nothing to do with it directly. It didn’t matter if his hands weren’t bloody. They were his enemies, and his enemies went for the people he cared about.And Ellie. The thought punched him in the gut. Father of the freaking year, he thought bitterly. Hand your kid off like she’s a DVD you’re loaning out, then call it “keeping her safe.” Genius move, Wilson. Truly inspired parenting. Can’t wait for my trophy—a golden middle finger with “World’s Most Useless Dad” engraved on the base.“Preston’s been taking care of my daughter,” Wade finally said. “Keeping her safe. Or at least, that was the plan.”Bullseye’s laughter cracked through the tension like a gunshot. “A kid? You?” His grin stretched into something manic. “Didn’t peg you for the fatherly type, Wilson. Guess supersperm beats burnt sausage every time, huh?” He let out another sharp laugh, shaking his head in disbelief. “Man, you’re a walking soap opera. Daddy Deadpool. This is rich. Hell, I’m impressed.”Wade’s head snapped toward him. “Not now, Lester.” Then, louder, with venom: “Say one more word, and I’ll personally teach you how to French kiss your own tongue. From the inside.”Bullseye raised his hands in mock surrender, but his grin only widened, eyes glittering with amusement. “Easy there, tiger. Just saying—it all makes sense now. Family drama, a missing kid, a little bloodshed to round it out. It’s like you’re gunning for an Emmy.”“This can’t be real,” Matt murmured. His body went rigid, his expression locked somewhere between disbelief and outrage. He hated himself for thinking it, but he couldn’t stop: This man—a father? This man—with Kate? The chaos of it all made his stomach twist.“None of this makes sense,” Matt said, louder now, his voice fraying at the edges. “You, with a daughter. Kate, with you. Him”—he gestured sharply at Bullseye, who smirked in response—“working with you. For free. This… this isn’t real. It can’t be.”Wade paused, turning back fully to face Matt. He didn’t fire off a quip. He just stood there, his gaze unreadable behind the mask. Maybe Matt was right. Maybe none of this should’ve happened. Maybe he didn’t deserve any of it. Or maybe, just maybe, he did. And the universe was finally yanking it all away for kicks.Bullseye chuckled. “If this is a dream, Red, it’s a hell of a fun one. Don’t wake up just yet.”Matt shot him a sharp glare, and for a moment, it seemed like he might actually say something, but instead, he just kept moving, his frustration practically steaming off him.Meanwhile, Wade’s thoughts churned as they moved.
You before Weapon X.
Wade frowned under his mask.
Okay, cool, but why? Why would a supposed version of me want me gone? Did I do something to piss off my time-traveling evil twin? Maybe this was karmic cleanup—some cosmic janitor trying to mop up the giant mess I call my life. Or, plot twist, maybe he’s here to replace me.
He rolled his shoulders, trying to shake the thought. It didn’t matter. Clone, copy, time-traveling jerk version of himself. The endgame didn’t change.