Deadpool was still going berserk, attacking with no restraint. It was pure chaos.
He relentlessly pounded Francis' lower body—strike after strike, every hit landing like a critical blow.
The brutality was almost cartoonish, yet terrifyingly real.
And the most ridiculous part?
Deadpool hadn't even drawn his weapons yet, but Francis was already down for the count.
This was the sheer power of someone with insane DPS and built-in regeneration.
Poor Francis.
Maybe next time, if there even was a next time, he'd think twice before messing with the Merc with a Mouth.
Deadpool, standing over Francis' crumpled form, tilted his head.
"So, Francis, any final words from our feature villain before I wrap up this lovely little action scene?" With that, he jammed a knife into Francis' shoulder, pinning him against the wall, and with a swift kick, sent his helmet flying.
Francis, barely clinging to consciousness, lifted his head, eyes dazed. "Who the hell... are you?" he muttered weakly.
Deadpool let out a dramatic gasp.
"Oh wow, you actually forgot me? That hurts, Frankie. Maybe this will jog your memory."
He slowly peeled off his hood, revealing his grotesquely scarred face.
Francis' lips curled into a mocking smirk.
"Ah, Wade Wilson. We meet again... my beautiful disaster."
Deadpool sighed exaggeratedly. "Yeah, yeah. I know. I look like a walking Shar Pei. Meanwhile, the kid next door gets bitten by a radioactive spider and turns into an underwear model. Life's not fair. But hey, that's not why I'm here."
His tone darkened. "I'm here to talk about accountability, Francis. You know exactly what you did."
Deadpool leaned in closer, voice dripping with sarcasm.
"You took the most handsome man on the planet and turned him into... well, this. And don't tell me the magic mirror didn't warn you—you ugly sack of disappointment."
Francis' expression flickered, just for a second. "You should be thanking me, Wade. I made you immortal. I cured your cancer. Do you know how many people would kill for what you have?"
Deadpool clapped his hands mockingly.
"Oh, bravo! You're right! I should be grateful! After all, now I can sell my organs on the black market every time Apple drops a new iPhone! Oh, wait."
His tone turned sharp. "That would require me to have a face that doesn't make children cry. So tell me, Frankie, how do I fix this mess?"
Before Francis could respond, Deadpool bent down, scooped up a pistol, and straightened up, stepping back a few paces.
"Hey, wanna play a game? I promise this bullet will only take out one of your testicles. Maybe both if I get lucky!
Feel free to scream—really set the mood, y'know? You could yell for help, but—"
Deadpool grinned. "No one's coming, buddy. Even if you scream your lungs out."
Francis just stared at him, his face unreadable.
Deadpool sighed. "You're no fun. And while I'd love to continue our little chat, I've got places to be. So let's wrap this up—"
Before he could pull the trigger, a red Rolls-Royce Phantom came out of nowhere, barreling straight at him.
Deadpool barely had time to react before the car slammed into him head-on, sending him flying.
Inside the car, Katie stomped on the brake, shooting an incredulous look at the driver. "Ethan, you used the gas pedal as a brake again."
Beside her, Ethan—whose mutant ability, Vector Control, really should've made him a better driver—looked slightly sheepish.
"Yeah... my bad. I meant to open the door and use it to brake, but I forgot I locked it."
Pete, sitting in the back, glanced out the window, frowning.
"Uh, guys? I think we just hit someone. We were going pretty fast, so I didn't get a clear look."
Ethan blinked. "Wait, we hit someone?" He had already let go of the steering wheel mid-drive to double-check the pedals, so this was news to him.
"Let me check," he muttered, shifting the car into reverse.
The moment the car moved, there was a sharp cracking noise—like the sound of dry wood snapping.
To someone with obsessive-compulsive disorder, that sound might have been oddly satisfying.
"Hey, are you okay?" Pete asked as he lifted the car effortlessly, allowing Ethan to drag Deadpool out from under the wheel.
Deadpool groaned, glancing at his mangled thigh.
"Can someone tell me what the hell just happened? Do people not need a license to drive anymore, or is this just a new kind of vehicular homicide?" He looked up at the group, clearly annoyed.
"Yeah, well... our driver was a little unreliable this time," Pete admitted, rubbing the back of his head. "We'll work on that."
Ethan, meanwhile, looked completely unfazed. "To be fair, I thought the door would open in time for me to brake with my foot," he said, as if this was a perfectly logical explanation.
Pete sighed. The sight of Ethan, the so-called student council president of Mutant Academy, attempting such a ridiculous maneuver would be burned into his memory forever.
Deadpool's gaze shifted, and the second he spotted Colossus, he immediately tensed. "Oh, for fuck's sake—it's you again, Tin Man!"
Colossus stood firm, unfazed by Deadpool's outburst.
"Deadpool, I warned you before. You may punish bad people, but the chaos you cause in the process is reckless. You should act more like a hero."
Deadpool scoffed.
"Oh sure, a hero! Let's go over the perks of being a hero, shall we? You get free fans, endless applause every time you show up, and maybe—just maybe—a discount at 7-Eleven.
But the downside? You're stuck following rules, constantly held back. And the second you go 'dark mode,' boom! You're five times stronger. But stay all bright and shiny, and suddenly you're three times weaker. It's just basic math!"
Colossus crossed his arms.
"Enough with your rambling. You need to come with us. I want you to return to the X-Mansion and speak with Professor X. If he approves, you might even get a spot on the X-Men."
Deadpool rolled his eyes dramatically.
"Oh wow, what an offer! Listen, Colossus, if the day ever comes when I decide to be an 'Evil-Vanquisher,' dedicating my life to protecting the weak, or if I wake up one morning with an urge to let my 'little Wade' fly free, and a bald guy just so happens to be lurking in my apartment, then sure—I'll send in my shiny application to join your merry band of rule-followers."
Deadpool stood up, his leg already healed.
He pointed at Colossus. "But until then, I have unfinished business—specifically, slapping that bastard in the back of his stupid head."
Ethan opened his mouth to say something, but Deadpool instantly cut him off.
"Not another word, Speed Racer. Let's be real, your driving skills are so bad that if we compared you to female drivers, the only thing worse would be you in drag."
Turning back to Colossus and Pete, Deadpool cocked his head.
"By the way, who's this kid? Your sidekick?"
Pete answered without hesitation. "Actually, he's the Student Council President at Xavier's."
Deadpool blinked. "Wait… he's the big boss around here?"
Pete nodded seriously. "Yeah, and he's way better than me."
Deadpool groaned. "Great. As if dealing with you wasn't enough, now I've got another pain-in-the-ass authority figure to worry about."
He turned away, muttering under his breath, then looked back at Ethan.
"Alright, Mr. Not-Bald-Yet, tell me—can you, for even a second, sympathize with a poor, disfigured soul who was tortured, driven by revenge, and then completely thrown off track by unexpected interruptions?"
Ethan casually spread his hands. "Of course. Oh, and by the way—your revenge target just took off on a motorcycle."
Deadpool glanced back at the now-empty spot where Francis had stood, then at Ethan, then back again, his head snapping between them in disbelief.
Deadpool froze for a moment, then let out an exaggerated sigh.
"Oh, son of a stinking glorified motherfucking bitch!— Are you kidding me?!"
Deadpool clutched his mask in frustration. "Why didn't anyone tell me he was escaping?!"
Ethan shrugged, looking completely unfazed. "You told me to shut up."
"Oh, did I? Well, let me fix that!" Deadpool growled, clenching his fist before swinging it straight at Ethan's face.
A sharp crack echoed through the air.
Deadpool staggered back, staring at his hand, now bent at a grotesque angle.
"Oh, great. My little right hand, my sweet, delicate concubine, my beloved for tonight!" Deadpool wailed, cradling his broken fingers.
"Damn it, I gotta admit, besides Colossus, you're the second person I've met with skin this thick."
Pete frowned, arms crossed. "Wade, calm down. We need to talk."
"Oh, sure! Let's have a chat—never!" Deadpool snapped.
He spun around and launched a sneak attack at Colossus, aiming right between the legs with a classic low blow.
Nothing happened.
"Immunity. Damage: Zero," Ethan muttered dryly.
Deadpool pulled his fist back, staring at Colossus' unimpressed expression.
"Huh. I really thought you'd be like those monks in those old martial arts movies, you know, trained to ignore pain everywhere except there. But nope! Just two solid, unbreakable wrecking balls.
Seriously, dude, do you even have a girlfriend? Blindfolded, could she even tell the difference between you and some kind of automated metal rod? Wait—judging by that look on your face, you don't have a girlfriend."
Colossus blinked.
The insult hit like a critical strike.
"True emotional damage—over 9000 points!"
The normally composed Colossus twitched, his jaw tightening.
Before anyone could react, his fist lashed out, sending Deadpool flying straight into a parked car with a deafening crash.
Deadpool groaned, sprawled across the wrecked hood. "Alright... fine. Let's talk."
He peeled himself off the dented vehicle, cracking his neck.
"Justice League or whatever you people call yourselves—you always gotta fight the so-called bad guys first before inviting them for a little heart-to-heart. You know, to earn the conversation.
But if we really wanna talk, let's first address the elephant in the room. You made me let Francis go. Do you have any idea how much work I put into today?
I finally cornered that smug little bastard, and now he's out there running free! Do you have any clue how annoying it's gonna be to track him down again?!"
Ethan, still calm as ever, pulled out his phone.
"Is it really that hard to find him?"
Deadpool stared at him, arms crossed. "Uh, yeah. That's kinda the point."
Ethan ignored him and dialed a number. "S.H.I.E.L.D.? Yeah, this is Special Security Consultant Ethan. We just had a terrorist incident at my location, and one of the suspects escaped.
I want his location within five minutes, along with all relevant intel—who he is, where he lives, and, for the hell of it, what color underwear he's wearing today."
Deadpool blinked. "Wait, what—"
Ethan hung up.
Exactly three minutes later, his phone vibrated. He glanced at the screen before smirking.
"Well, that was faster than expected. Let's see... Francis, alias Ajax. Former researcher for the Weapon X program under Stryker. After Stryker's fall, he and a group of goons split off with stolen research.
Now suspected of conducting illegal experiments on mutants. Oh, and he's got some shady ties to foreign terrorist organizations and a few military contacts."
Ethan scrolled down, reading further.
"He's got one official research facility and three secret underground labs. Judging by his escape route, he's heading straight for the third lab.
Also, according to satellite images... his underwear is red."
Ethan locked his phone and pocketed it. "Alright, we've got everything we need. Let's head over there and wipe him out."
Deadpool clenched his fists. "Fuck!"
He exhaled sharply, looking at Ethan,
"I think I came a little,"
Ethan's eyebrow twitched, but for the sake of his sanity, he chose to ignore it.
"Okay. I'm calling it now—things have gotten way too complicated ever since you showed up in my story. I've been a lone wolf for so long, always on the fringe, but now?
Now I've got some high-ranking, phone-hacking, S.H.I.E.L.D.-connected mutant getting in my business. Who knows, maybe this time I'll even bump into a certain web-slinging insect."
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Word count: 2029
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