Chapter Text
"Make sure this gets to Chicago with no problem."
You crouch on the ledge of a building, still and patient, your silhouette blending seamlessly with the shadows of the city. The night is cool, and the faint hum of distant traffic mingles with the rustling leaves. A truck is supposed to be arriving at the warehouse any minute now.
You shift slightly, adjusting your position to get a better view. The moonlight glints off the scope of your sniper rifle as you survey the scene below. The warehouse is a hive of activity, with men moving crates and checking their weapons.
One of the men pats his hand on top of a crate, and you follow his movements with your scope, making sure not to lose the target. He says something you can't make out, but it has the rest of his team laughing, their voices a low murmur carried by the night breeze.
Your finger hovers over the trigger, muscles tense and ready.
There are military-grade firearms in every single hand in the warehouse. Bolivar Trask, the man behind this operation, has made sure to buy all the right people. His carefully crafted scheme is set to create artificially intelligent androids to hunt mutant-kind. Tonight is the night the parts from all over the world will be shipped to his laboratory in Chicago, where he will complete the first prototype.
"We are making history," Trask's voice booms through the warehouse, filled with self-righteous fervour. "After today, we will be one step closer to saving humanity from going extinct, from being wiped out from our own planet by the mutant epidemic. Or, let's be honest, it's a pest epidemic."
Your mission was clear and simple: kill Trask and stop the cargo from getting to Chicago. No witnesses.
A truck pulls into the warehouse, its headlights cutting through the darkness. The thugs start to move, lifting crates and loading them into the vehicle.
You figure that’s your cue. As they start to load the truck, you make sure Trask is in your line of sight, his head in the center of your target.
You take a deep breath, steadying yourself. Just as you’re about to pull the trigger, an elbow jabs into your shoulder, throwing off your aim.
"We have got to stop running into each other like this," a casual, laughing voice echoes behind you.
Your eyes widen in frustration as the bullet skims past Trask's arm, the metal ping echoing in the warehouse. Trask flinches, his eyes darting towards the source of the shot.
The guards’ laughter dies abruptly, replaced by shouts of alarm. Chaos erupts. Men scatter like ants, their military-grade firearms raised high, scanning for the unseen threat. Shadows flicker under the harsh lights, creating a strobe of confusion and panic.
You pause for a few seconds, watching Trask being hustled away by his bodyguards, his precious cargo forgotten in the midst of the panic. The realization that your mission might fail clenches at your gut like a vice. You turn, your glare burning holes through the red and black mask next to you.
Deadpool.
He's staring back at you with a wide-eyed, almost innocent look behind the white eyes of his mask, his legs playfully kicking in the air as he lies beside you on the rooftop. His chin rests on the barrel of his gun as if this were just a casual hangout. "Hey, gorgeous, did you miss me? I bet you've missed me." You can hear the smirk behind his mask, his voice dripping with that infuriatingly carefree tone.
This motherfucker—
Your hand moves on instinct, your blade flashing in the dim light as you dig it into his neck. The blade cuts cleanly, blood spurting as you kick yourself up to stand. You need a backup plan, and fast. "I've killed you," you kick his side, and Deadpool makes a whole theatrical show of it by your feet, choking dramatically while his blood pools on the gravel. "so many—" you kick him again, harder this time, "fucking times. I wish you would just stay dead."
Ever the performer, he lays limp on the ground for a beat or two, as if considering your wish. You let out a sigh through your nose, the brief moment of silence doing little to calm your frayed nerves.
"Really? Nothing? What's it gonna take for a nice guy like me to break into that cold heart of yours?" He sneers, his voice roughened by the wound when you reach down to get your blade back.
He watches you turn away, wiping his blood off before tucking it back into your belt. Your eyes, ever so serious, lock onto the windows of the warehouse. The gears in your mind are turning, calculating your next move. You could break in, get rid of Trask, and hijack the truck before it leaves. Less than an hour at most.
You can't afford any more distractions.
He starts to stand, his hands open wide as if expecting you to jump into them. "Oh, baby, if you think slashing my neck is gonna get rid of me, you better start thinking more creatively 'cause all it's done is turn me on." He makes a great deal of cupping his crotch, meeting your gaze with a lecherous grin, then eyeing you up and down. "That, and this sexy new suit you've got on. Did the League of Assassins get a raise? Black to match your soul, I assume. You're giving Catwoman a run for her money, that's for sure. It's giving, sexy ninja."
Your scowl deepens, "Shut the fuck up. I need to focus on cleaning up your stupid mess."
"My mess?"
"You made me miss."
Deadpool glances at you, then at the building, and then back at you again. "Oh, oh! I see now. You're working. I thought you were tanning. At night. Because that makes sense, you know." He shrugs nonchalantly, and you pull out another gadget from your belt. "Unfortunately for you, I can't let you kill Trask. At least, not yet. I need him for something."
"I don't care."
You shoot a grappling line on the structure above the window and loop the loose end on a solid structure on the rooftop. You pull on it to test its tension, the line taut and secure. With a final glance back at Deadpool, you issue a stern warning, "Stay out of my way."
Deadpool's eyes light up, "Ooohh, you're in full-on gloomy assassin mode right now," he says, throwing his head back in exaggerated delight. "Love it when you stab and threaten me. My favorite kind of foreplay."
You scoff, pushing aside his lewd comments. With a swift, fluid motion, you jump and slide down the line, aiming for the glass window below. The wind rushes past you, a fleeting moment of space before impact. Your feet collide with the glass, and it shatters into a thousand pieces. You grab the frame above you, unhook yourself from the rope, and land gracefully on your feet.
The warehouse is a hive of activity, with footsteps echoing and voices murmuring urgently. You quickly duck behind a stack of crates, the broken glass blending into the cacophony of the bustling space. The shadows become your ally as you move stealthily, eyes scanning the area for Trask.
You spot him ascending a flight of stairs, flanked by two heavily armed gunmen. They disappear into an office overlooking the entire warehouse. You're about to make your move when the sound of gunfire and more shattering glass draws your attention.
A body crashes through the roof, plummeting through crates and scattering debris everywhere. Deadpool, of course. He groans, clutching his side as he tries to stand. "Holy shit! I'm never doing that again."
Instantly, the room is filled with the sound of guns being cocked and aimed. Deadpool raises his hands in mock surrender. "Woah, woah, everybody! Don't you fret, your friendly neighborhood Deadpool is here. I'm one of the good guys. And I'm saving you! You might not know it, but there's a freaky ninja hiding here, ready to blow each and every one of your brains out."
His eyes find yours, a challenge sparking between you. He knows you're there, and he wants everyone else to know too. With no other option, you draw your gun and fire, the bullet finding its mark in Deadpool's head. Blood splatters against the crates behind him as his body collapses with a thud.
Chaos erupts.
Gunmen shout and scramble, their attention divided between the fallen Deadpool and the imminent threat you pose. You spring into action, throwing blades with deadly accuracy. One finds its mark in a thug's throat, and another embeds itself in the eye of a man about to fire a rifle.
Bullets whiz past you, tearing through the wooden crates as you sprint toward the stairs. You drop to your knees, sliding behind a pillar for cover. Your mind races, counting your remaining ammo and hidden blades while estimating the number of enemies left. Sixteen, you reckon, as you reload and prepare for the next assault.
A quick glance around the pillar reveals a barrage of bullets. You toss an explosive their way, the countdown ticking in your head as you sprint toward the stairs. Fifteen, fourteen, thirteen—the grenade detonates, shaking the ground and sending shockwaves through the building.
You race to the stairs, but a shadow falls over you. You block an oncoming sword strike and find yourself face-to-face with Deadpool once more.
"You shot me!" he exclaims, eyes wide with mock hurt. "Right in the fucking head! I thought we had something happen here, peanut. You're starting to hurt my feelings. Now, I seriously need to take you down," he says, drawing his katanas with a flourish. "With maximum effort."
You grab your blade and slash at him, but he deftly dodges, his quick movements a blur. The fight is intense, a deadly dance of skill and agility. Deadpool's taunts continue as you exchange blows, each strike bringing you closer to your goal.
"Baby knife!" he shouts, backing you against a wall and slicing your side. You retaliate, aiming for his open side, but he throws you over his shoulder with a swift maneuver. You recover, rolling to your feet, but Deadpool is relentless. He's a distraction, not your target. You dash toward the stairs, his bullets whizzing past as you kick open the door.
Two gunmen point their weapons at you, but before they can fire, Deadpool crashes into you from behind, sending you sprawling. His breath is hot in your ear as he laughs, "I didn't think you were just standing there, hot stuff. Though, I'm not exactly complaining. Just so you know, that thing poking your ass is not my gun."
You kick him off, stabbing him in the leg with your knife. Drawing two more blades from your boots, you throw them with deadly precision, taking out the gunmen on either side of Trask. With them out of the way, you point your gun at Trask.
"Listen—" he starts, but you shoot his kneecap, silencing him with a scream. He tries to crawl under a desk, but you're on him in an instant. Deadpool grabs your leg, slowing you down. "Wait, wait, wait. Please don't kill him. Listen, I don't want to fight you. I'm a feminist!"
"Get off," you command, aiming your gun at him.
"I'm sorry, baby, I can't let you kill him," he says, pulling out the blade from his leg. Despite the pain, you shoot him again, but he digs the blade into the back of your leg. You cry out, but determination fuels you. Deadpool rises, hands out in a plea. "Please, don't be mad. This hurts me as much as it hurts you."
You yank the knife from your leg, blood dripping down as you go at him again. But Trask's attempt to escape catches your eye, and Deadpool takes advantage, kicking you hard in the stomach. You fly back, rolling across the floor, struggling to regain your footing.
Deadpool laughs as you groan, pushing yourself up. His laughter mixes with Trask's mocking voice. "Seems like I have some one protecting my interests."
You raise your arm, shooting a barbed arrow into Trask's hand. His laughter turns to screams. "I'm not done with you," you rasp, standing tall and facing Deadpool with renewed determination. "Get out of my way."
"I can't let you kill him. Please." Deadpool's voice is desperate as he pulls Trask up, ignoring his cries of pain. He caresses his face, wiping away his tears. "I need his beautiful brain to help me bring back my beautiful face. Trust me, kitten, if you had met me before all this, you'd be all over me."
He's not going to help you," you say coldly. "He hates mutants."
Deadpool hesitates, caught off guard by your words. But he quickly recovers, holding Trask's hand tightly. "Nothing a little light threatening won't fix, isn't that right, my beautiful genius?"
Fed up with his talking, you decide it's time to end this. In a swift move, you draw your gun and shoot Trask in the head. His body collapses in Deadpool's arms, and the masked vigilante gasps, wiping blood off his mask. "You sick, bloodthirsty freak! You just—he just—what the fuck?!"
"Don't fucking follow me. I have shit to do," you snap.
Before Deadpool can react, you dash toward the exit, weaving through the chaos. Outside, you spot the truck Trask arrived in, revving up to leave. With precise aim, you throw a small tracker onto the back of the truck just as it speeds away.
Determined, you set off in pursuit, knowing Deadpool won't be far behind, seeking revenge.