Post by Deleted on Mar 8, 2015 22:00:56 GMT -5
#1 - Let Me Tell You a Story
Written by comixmaster
A gruff-looking man sat alone at a booth, quietly eating lao mein. This man wasn’t one for being noticed, especially since now he was on the run from a psychotic killer wanting to murder him. The man wore a clean denim jacket over his torn and bloody T-shirt. Next to him was a large duffel bag that contained a familiar black and yellow costume. He had sideburns that would make Dennis Hopper jealous. He was a mutant. He was Logan Howlett, also known as Wolverine.
Earlier, Wolverine had gotten into a fight with an insane mercenary named Deadpool. Wolverine had incapacitated the merc, giving him just the perfect amount of time needed to get away. There was no way Deadpool would find Wolverine now.
The mutant finished his food and dabbed his mouth clean with his napkin. It was getting late. Wolverine still needed to find a place to sleep. He had enough money to get a hotel room, but it would’ve had to have been a small hotel—one that was secluded from the city. Where was he anyway? Logan didn’t know. But he had to get moving.
The waiter came up to him. “Sir,” he said, “chef want to speak with you. He has important thing to say.”
Wolverine grumbled. “Make it quick. I ain’t got all night.”
The waiter motioned for the chef to come. The chef was there in a blink of an eye. He wore an apron with a tall, white chef’s hat, as well as a red and black costume. This person was anything but a chef. It was the one, the only…
Wolverine clenched his fists as pure rage began to boil inside him.
“Yes, yes,” Deadpool said, trying his best to speak with a thick Chinese accent. “We have special just for you. Yes, yes, it is pride of restaurant!” Deadpool tore off the apron and threw the hat across the room. “It’s called Asskickatouie.”
You think the reader thinks we’re badass yet?
They better. We put a lotta effort into getting here an’ killing the real chef.
“Word,” said Deadpool.
Wolverine made a weird snarling sound in his throat as he lunged out of his booth at Deadpool. He swung a large fist at the merc’s head, but Deadpool leaned back just in time, dodging the punch.
I say we get the %^©# outta here.
I agree!
“See ya, Wolvie!” Deadpool screamed as he ran out of the restaurant. “I’m getting the %^©# outta here!”
Wolverine turned his full attention to the waiter, shooting a glare at him that made him whimper.
“Where the hell is the bathroom in this place?” Wolverine growled.
“Is…around the corner, to the left,” the waiter said.
“Thanks.” Wolverine took his duffel bag and made his way to the bathroom. He slammed the stall door behind him and set the bag on the grimy floor. He opened it and pulled out his costume.
Better let the girl know he’s found me.
Logan pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and dialed a number. He held the phone up to his ear and waited for the other end to pick up.
There was a click then a, “Hello?”
“It’s me,” Logan grumbled. “He found me.”
“Really.” It was a girl’s voice. “How’d he find you this time?”
Wolverine hesitated. “…Doesn’t matter. Just get here. Quickly.”
“Where are you?”
Wolverine hesitated again. “His hometown. Oakville, Ontario”
It’s a good thing we conveniently placed all these snipers around town!
“Hell yeah,” Deadpool said. He was eating a sandwich, contently watching the cars drive by from the rooftop he was sitting on. Right next to him was a sniper rifle. The night was getting less and less young, but there was still some time before daybreak would come.
Tell me something: why exactly did we run away from Wolverine?
“What? C’mon, brain, I didn’t run away from him, I just…just…”
It looked like running away to me.
“I wasn’t running away, okay?! An’ wasn’t it you who suggested I run away in the first place?”
No, I suggested we get the %^©# outta there. There’s a difference.
Deadpool scarfed down the rest of his sandwich and pulled his mask over his mouth. “Whatever. Let’s talk about something that we can agree on.”
Like how frickin’ awesome it was when we killed that chef an’ took his clothes?
“Of course it was awesome. Do you know who I am? I’m the Regenerating Degenerate!”
The Crimson Comedian!
The Merc with a Mouth!
The mercenary stood up and raised his fist in the air. “I’m—”
“Deadpool!” came Wolverine’s voice.
Deadpool whirled around and saw Wolverine—in costume—standing on the opposite end of the roof. “Aw, c’mon, Wolvie! You just ruined my moment!”
“That’s twice you ran away from me, you coward.” Wolverine’s claws made a snikt sound as they shot out of his hands.
“Oh, for… I was not running away! I was getting the %^©# outta there! God! A fight in a Chinese place? Laaame!” He took out his pistols and pointed them both at the mutant in front of him. “A fight on a rooftop is much more interesting.”
“I’ve had it with you, ’Pool,” Wolverine growled. “You’re as much a danger to yourself as you are to others. Time to kick your ass, bub.”
Heh… He said “ass bub.”
Wolverine bared his fangs and charged at Deadpool, shouting, “Grraaaaahhh!”
Deadpool unsheathed his katanas and charged at Wolverine, shouting, “Ay yi-yi-yi-yi-yi-yi-yee!”
Once the distance between them had closed, Wolverine swiped his fist upward, slashing Deadpool near the chin. The merc’s mask got caught in Wolverine’s claws flew off his face.
“Oh…oh God!” yelled Wolverine as he lay eyes on Deadpool’s face. He had absolutely no hair. None whatsoever. His lips were curled and disgustingly dry. Scars ravaged his entire head, and each piece of skin looked as if it had been put on his head like a piece to a puzzle. Tiny parts of his skull were visible through the skin. He looked very similar to the Red Skull, but far, far uglier.
“You’re… You’re…” Wolverine stammered. “You’re…Wade Wilson.”
Wade looked up at him with crazed, bloodshot eyes. “Rrrnt. Nope. I’m your worst nightmare. Now…” He stood up and leapt at the mutant. “GIMME BACK MY FACE!”
Wolverine slid under him and swung his arms, raking Wade with his claws twice across his torso. The mask plopped onto the sidewalk below. Wade ran past Wolverine and dived off the roof. He did an epic three-point landing like the ninja he was. He grabbed the mask and hastily put it back.
“Ahhh… Much better,” said Deadpool. “Now where—?”
Shuk!
Deadpool looked down and saw three blades sticking out of his gut. “Well. This is…inconvenient.”
“We ain’t done yet, Wade,” Wolverine said from behind.
“Rrrnt. Wrong again,” said Deadpool, “because I got this.”
Wolverine grumbled as Deadpool reached over his shoulder and pressed the barrel of a gun against his head.
“Sure, it won’t kill you. Sure, it’ll just bounce off your adamantium skull. But hey, it might knock you out and let me show you my little surprise.”
Wolverine didn’t say anything. He just stood there with his hand stuffed in Deadpool’s back.
“Oh, and one more thing before I shoot you: Oakville isn’t my hometown.”
“What?!”
Blam!
“Waaakey-wakey, Wolvster. It’s tiiime to get uuu-uuup. Wake up! C’mon! Up up! Rise and shine! . . . Ahhh… Not gonna wake up, are we? Hmmm… Oogah-boogah! . . . No? Hrm… ‘Logan! It’s your long lost mother from the 1800s or whatever time you were born! Come save me! Aaaaaghhh!’ . . . Seriously? That one gets me every time. ‘Hey, Wolvie, it’s your claws! We’re leaving your hands ’cause we wanna live in your feet now! No, no, don’t worry! It’ll make you run faster, I swear!’ . . . You aren’t nearly as gullible as other people… Ah well. I guess I’ll have to use…force. Prepare yourself, Wolvie! For your cheek is about to be formally introduced to the back of my hand!”
Smack!
Wolverine woke with a start as a searing pain covered his cheek. He immediately took in his surroundings. He was in a dark, windowless room with stone walls and a concrete floor. The room was chilly, and Wolverine could faintly see his breath in the air. He was sitting in a chair. His arms were tied behind him, tightly bound by a rope. His ankles were also bound to the legs of the chair. In front of him was another chair…
…and Deadpool was sitting in it.
Deadpool’s eyes lit up as he saw the gruff mutant awaken. “Hey, it worked! When talking fails, just use the power of the slap.”
“What do you want, Wade?” Wolverine snarled as he squirmed violently in his chair.
“Calm down, Wolvster. I just wanna chat.”
“No you don’t. You wanna kill me.”
“That, too.”
“Why?”
Deadpool put his hands behind his head and leaned back in his chair. “Simple. ’Cause I was hired to.”
“By who?”
“That is a secret.”
Wolverine grunted. “Huh. If you don’t tell me, I’ll gut you.”
“Guh! No, not that! Geez… I may have a healing factor, but I can still feel pain like a… a…”
“A normal person?” Wolverine finished.
Deadpool narrowed his eyes. “Yeah. Yeah, sure.”
“So. Are you gonna tell me where I am?”
“Oh, don’t worry. You’re still in Oakville. We’re in a nice little building that I bought for myself a couple years back. (Better not get carried away with the exposition…)”
“What did you say?”
“Huh? Oh. Nothing.”
“Why did you bring me here?”
“Welllll… I suppose it’s so that I can tell you a little about…me.”
“There ain’t nothing else about you other than the fact that you’re a maniac that kills for money.”
“Au contraire, Mr. High ’n’ Mighty. You killed for money too, didn’t you?”
“Yeah, but those days are behind me. I’m one of the good guys now.”
Deadpool scoffed. “Ha! So you’re a ‘hero’? Is that what you’re telling me? That ain’t nothing more than a pile of horse$#¿%.”
“You’ll never understand what it means to be good, Wade. It’s outta your reach. Outta your league. You’re just the shadow of something better.”
“And what would that be? You?”
Wolverine didn’t say anything.
Deadpool took his mask off and pointed at his horribly disfigured face. “I didn’t ask for this. I didn’t ask to be your ‘imperfect clone’ or whatever. I didn’t ask for my healing factor. I didn’t ask for this life. I should be dead. I need to be dead. No amount of money or kills or hot babes can ever compare to what I’m really asking for: death. What I really want is—”
“Shut up.”
“. . . What?”
“You really love the sound of your own voice, don’t you?”
Deadpool narrowed his eyes again and leaned forward. “What are you playing at, Wolvie? What’s going on in that heada yours?”
Wolverine gave the mercenary a cold stare. “You’re not crazy.”
“Uhhh… Yes I am. I have frickin’ voices in my frickin’ head that frickin’ talk to me.”
“I’ve seen crazy, Wade. You’re not it.”
“Uh, hello? Back at the restaurant? I killed a guy then stole his outfit just so I could—”
“So you could what? All you were doin’ was showing off.”
“Okay. Maybe. So what? What are you now, a psychologist? So now you’re all like, ‘I’m the best at what I do, and what I do is psychotherapy. Tell me about your life.’?”
“What…is…your…problem, ’Pool?”
“What’s my problem? What’s your problem?”
“I ain’t got a problem. I’m right where I belong in my life. You? Don’t think so.”
Deadpool was actually silent…for a moment. “Damn right I’m not.”
“Mommy and Daddy not give you much attention?”
“Oh, my dad was great. My mom? Eh, not so much. Let me tell you a story, Wolvie…”
Sixteen Years Ago…
Deadpool’s Childhood.
Wade and his dad sat on the boat in the middle of the lake. The water was calm and still. It was a bright day full of plenty of sunshine.
Wade was excitedly holding a fishing rod, while his dad sat close beside him, giving his son instructions.
“All right, soon. What you’re gonna do is hold the rod over your shoulder, like a baseball bat. Yes, yes, very good. Now, you’re gonna thrust it forward and let that lure fly. Yeah, there you go!”
Wade followed his father’s instructions perfectly. A small ripple spread across the water as the lure went in. It wasn’t long before Wade felt a tug.
“Dad, I think I got somethin’!”
“All right! Reel it in, boy!”
Wade grasped the handle of the reel and wound it back as fast as he could. The lure skidded across the water, leaving a small trail of ripples as it did. Soon, a tiny fish was hanging in front of Wade’s joyous face.
“I did it, Dad! I caught a fish!”
Wade’s dad laughed heartily as he patted Wade on the back. “Good job, son!” he said. “Your first try, too!”
Wade looked up at his dad with a broad smile on his face. “Can we always do this, Dad?”
Wade’s dad gave his son a heartfelt, sincere look. “You bet.”
“Promise?”
“Sergeant’s honor.”
The Next Day…
“Wade!” screamed Wade’s mother. “Get up off your lazy as an’ get me a beer!”
“But Mo-om. You’ve already had three! Dad said not to let you have more than two!”
“Your dad doesn’t know $#¿%,” was his mom’s reply. “Now hurry it up! I’m thirsty!”
“Then drink some water!”
Wade’s mom picked up one of her empty bottles off of the floor and chucked it straight toward her son’s face. Luckily, he ducked just in time, and the bottle shattered against the wall.
“If you ever talk to me that way again,” his mom growled, “I swear to God, I will gut you.”
Wade tried to hold his tears in as he ran to the refrigerator and pulled a beer out of it. He cautiously edged toward his mother and gave it to her.
“Good fer nothin’ kid,” she mumbled.
Eight Years Later…
Deadpool’s Teenage Years.
“I’m tired of this crap!” Wade’s dad screamed to Wade’s mom. “I’m tired of you, I’m tired of this house, I’m tired of this life!”
“Oh yeah?” she retorted.
“Yeah!”
“Well, I’m tired of your $#¿%! This is the third time you’ve cheated on me!”
Wade was eavesdropping from another room where his parents couldn’t see him. He tried his best to not make a sound as countless feelings of confusion, rage, and hopelessness rushed through his body.
“You know what?” said his dad. “I’m leaving!”
“What?”
“That’s right—I’m leaving!”
His mom was silent for a long, drawn-out moment, then said, “Fine! Pack yer $#¿% and go!”
Wade’s dad didn’t say another word. He just stormed out the front door. Within seconds, Wade could hear the car rev up, ready to go. He heard his dad veer out of the driveway and screech down the street.
Wade’s mom stuck her head out the door and let out a scream of pure rage.
That Night…
Wade had never used a match before. Well, not like this. Sure, he would use matches to light candles, but what he was about to do was far different than that.
The last thing Wade wanted was to live alone with his alcoholic, psychotic mother. His dad had good reason to leave. Their relationship had been rocky the past few years, and Wade guessed his dad had finally gotten enough of it.
Wade had never used a match before. Not like this. Not to set someone on fire.
He was very quiet as he dumped gasoline all over the living room floor. His mom was on the couch, sleeping like a baby, unknowing of what was going on. Wade stopped once he got to the front door. He threw the carton in the middle of the room. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a box of matches. He got a match out and swiftly brushed it against the box’s side.
He had never used a match before. Not like this. Not to send his house ablaze.
He dropped the match, and the raging inferno began immediately. He tossed the box and the rest of the matches in the room. Then he quickly ran out the front door, perfectly unharmed.
Then he started walking. He didn’t know where. He just started walking. Not toward something, but away from something. Away from his life. Away from the pain. Away from the sadness.
Away.