Cable finally found a place to sit in the house, avoiding the couch where several red-and-black striped briefs were scattered.
You think those are Deadpool's custom briefs? Nope.
Wade's briefs were bought at a street-side supermarket, ten bucks for a big pack, forty white ones in total.
Now, the red was probably bloodstains, and the black—Cable didn't even want to know what that was. Those briefs hadn't been washed in who-knows-how-long, hardened in the air like spiked traps with sharp edges.
Dust particles in the sunlight were clearly visible, slowly settling on the briefs' jagged tips.
"I thought you'd have moved out by now," Cable said, scanning the room before settling on the dining table nearby. It was a bit greasy, but no worse than the couch.
"I did move out, but Vanessa's never home. At least here I've got Al keeping me company. Loneliness can drive a guy nuts, you know? Can you see the solitude and despair in my heart? Oh, little Cable, you probably can't. I'm always the sunny, handsome hero."
"Don't call me little Cable, damn it."
"Why not? Scott, Jean, and I are from the same generation. You should be calling me Uncle—Uncle Wade! Sounds pretty good, right? Kinda like Uncle Sam, I need you! How about it? Wanna join the army?"
Wade whipped out a top hat painted with the stars and stripes, plopped it on his head, and struck a pose like a WWII recruitment poster.
"You got it wrong. That's the Cuban flag on the hat."
"Is there a difference? I love America because the cops always show up way too late, but I also love Cuban cigars and those fiery, dark-skinned Latin girls. Oh, by the way, we're loaded now—wanna hit up Cuba for some fun? You're a bit old, but no worries. If I paint you purple, everyone'll be screaming for you, man or woman."
"Need I remind you? We're in the middle of the Infinity War. Half the universe's lifeforms are gone. We should be hunting Thanos, not dressing me up like him to settle scores. Besides, I don't look anything like him."
Cable stared at Wade, expressionless, his eyes dripping with disdain.
Deadpool rubbed his chin, realizing Cable had a point. His WWII adventure had made him forget a few things. "Right, you're right. You killed Peter, you beast!"
"For the last time, it was Thanos, not me," Cable said, checking his weapons. Whether Wade was coming or not, he had to move.
"You don't get it. You and Thanos are both played by Josh Brolin. I've even seen you in a scene with Scarlet Witch, whoosh whoosh." Wade winked exaggeratedly, wiping imaginary nosebleed. But then a new idea hit him. "If I break the script and take out Josh, both you and Thanos would cease to exist. Would you sacrifice yourself for our world?"
Cable stood, towering over Wade with a cold glare. "I don't know what your 'actor gag' nonsense is about, but I'm real, a completely separate entity from Thanos."
Wade wiped some drool off his face, then flipped his hand. "Your metal half even has a 'doorbell button'? How am I supposed to believe you're real? But I bet Al wouldn't care about the material. Wanna ask her out?"
Deadpool's roommate, Al, was a stunner—sixty years ago, that is.
Now, she was just an ordinary-looking elderly Black woman, blind to boot.
But her full name made her less ordinary: Althea E. L. Al, known as "Blind Al."
She claimed to be a former SSR field agent, fought in WWII, and even dated Captain America. She genuinely knew Peggy and Lorraine.
Wade, however, suspected she was ex-Hydra, a mutant, or maybe a Kryptonian who snuck over with her cousin, because he was pretty sure her eyes could shoot red lasers.
An ordinary person? Who'd believe that? With the stash of drugs under the floorboards, a normal person would've ascended to the heavens long ago with her doses.
To keep her secret, Wade called her "Al" and appointed her his housekeeper—his unilateral decision, of course.
"Have you lost it yet? I'm heading to Yankee Stadium to meet Captain America and the others. You coming or not?"
Cable was out of patience, ready to ditch Deadpool and go solo. Communicating with Wade during his manic episodes was nearly impossible.
"Fine, fine. Seriously, you've got no sense of humor. That's gonna tank your popularity." Wade slung his twin katanas over his back, put his mask back on, and nodded reluctantly. "Taxi's waiting at the corner. My gear's probably in the car too. Good news is, with half of New York gone, traffic's a breeze. I could get used to this."
"But half your targets and clients are gone too, meaning your income's cut in half," Cable pointed out, hitting the core of the issue.
"F***! Take me to Cap right now. I'm gonna vent my frustrations on Thanos' headless corpse tonight!"
Hearing his income was halved, Deadpool was more motivated than anyone. He bolted out the door, Cable barely able to keep up.
On the empty street, the Indian driver, Dupinder, was bobbing his head to classic oldies. His car was filled with the scent of "Narcissus Daydream" incense from New Delhi, which helped him ignore Deadpool's stench, letting him imagine he was strolling along the Ganges.
Deadpool sprinted over, yanked open the door, and threw himself into the passenger seat, panting heavily.
"Huff huff… Drive, now!"
The driver glanced at Cable sprinting toward them from the other side of the street. Weren't these two supposed to be buddies now? Why was Cable still chasing Deadpool?
He didn't think too hard about it, just slammed the gas pedal, and the car shot off like a rocket.
…
Cable stopped in his tracks, helplessly watching the taxi vanish around the corner, fighting the urge to unload a clip into it.
The Indian driver glanced at Wade, grinning as he whipped the steering wheel around, speaking in curry-flavored English. "Being chased again, Mr. DP?"
"Nah, he's with me. I'm just in a hurry."
"Ha, another easy day, then?" Dupinder nodded exaggeratedly, understanding Deadpool's logic. Cutting in line for a taxi? Totally normal.
In New York, scenes like this played out daily. Congrats to Deadpool for outracing his pal.
"Not bad. Half the planet's gone, my favorite Spider-Man's turned to fertilizer, and I popped back to WWII to make some cash. So, what about you? How's it going with Gita?"
Wade rubbed his head, recalling his recent antics, then pointed at a photo of a stunning Indian woman tucked under the dashboard.
Dupinder grazed the steering wheel, deftly dodging abandoned cars left on the road—vehicles whose drivers had vanished mid-drive, leaving crashes everywhere.
"After a crash killed my cousin Bando like a slaughtered chicken, I followed your advice. I kidnapped her like a real man. Now she's stopped trying to escape or call the cops. Those remote-controlled bombs you gave me really make people obedient."
"Good job, buddy. I'm proud of you. C'mon, high-five!"
Deadpool raised his hands, beaming at the driver. He'd seen this young guy lovesick and pointed him down a path. Look at him now, living the dream.
Dupinder let go of the wheel, high-fived Wade with both hands, grinning like a flower. He could steer with his knees just fine, no need to watch the road.
"So, next up, you're off to save the Earth?" Dupinder grabbed the wheel again after their celebration. "I knew it. New York losing half its people? Gotta be aliens invading again. What's your plan, Mr. D?"
"Wow, you've got a knack for this. It's definitely a purple-skinned creep who looks like Bruce Willis causing trouble. But no worries, your boy Deadpool's got this in the bag."
The white eyes on Wade's mask squinted into slits. Should he hit up Colossus and Negasonic Teenage Warhead first? Captain America might not be enough to take on Thanos.
The driver didn't question Wade's response, instead vividly imagining the scene. "So, you'll chop off the alien's head and, what, use it as a toilet to XX in his mouth?"
"Uh, maybe dial back the antihero vibe a bit."
Deadpool made a tiny gap between his thumb and finger. Sure, he could get dark sometimes, but Dupinder's idea was over the line.
"Sorry, too much?" The driver looked embarrassed.
"Nah, just a tad," Wade said, holding up the same tiny gap.
"Oh, oh, working with you, Mr. DP, is such an education."
"It was fate that brought us together, man."
"I thought it was the taxi app."
"Ahem, anyway, this job's tricky. Thanos has female goons, and his skin's a different shade. If I fight the women, people say I'm sexist. If I don't, they say I'm discriminating by only fighting Black Panther's enemies, who are Black, while mine are always white. So, if I take on Thanos, will I get sued for discriminating against extraterrestrials?"
"No way, Mr. P. You're like family to me. If anyone sues, I'll testify for you." Dupinder pointed at his own skin, suggesting he could pass for whatever was needed.
"Thanks, Dupinder. But I've got a plan. I'll grab Colossus first. He's great at fighting women, and his skin's the whitest—let him take the heat from the critics."
Deadpool rubbed his eyes, touched, and made up his mind. Forget Cap for now; he was heading to Xavier's School.
Dupinder remembered Colossus. That metal guy rode in his cab once, and the chassis needed a full overhaul after. But Deadpool needed help, and as his driver comrade, Dupinder was all in.
He started turning the car toward the suburbs, heading for the school, when both felt the back seat sink suddenly.
"Wade, come with me."
"Slade?"
Appearing in the back seat were Su Ming and his crew, four adults crammed together. The loli and shota were stashed in 1945's Limbo for now.
The four squeezed in the back looked like rush-hour New York subway passengers.
"Ah!" Dupinder yelped, startled by the sudden passengers, swerving the car like it was drunk.
"Easy, easy. That's my cousin. He's never killed an Indian," Wade said, steadying the wheel to calm Dupinder.
"Is he planning to start today?" Dupinder trembled. Two of the four in the back—a man and a woman—felt like apex predators at the top of the food chain.
"Probably not?" Deadpool rubbed his chin, lost in thought.