Marvel : Web Of Evolution-Chapter 54: Merc with a Metal

========

Filler Chapter. Taking some rest tonight.

Italics: Deadpool's thoughts

(Italics in brackets): Normal voice inside Deadpool's head.

Bold Italics: Crazy voice inside Deadpool's head.

CELESTE's notifications are not in Italics this time.

========

Deadpool sighed as he walked through a rundown African city. The sun beat down like an angry stepdad, and the streets were annoying with the sounds of haggling merchants, working tools, and the goats crying like they were auditioning for American Idol.

(So... Africa. Hot, dusty, and smell of fried plantains.)

Oh come on, admit it, you're loving this. The heat. The danger. The potential for sunburn on our sexy butt.

Well, the fried plantains do smell pretty good.

Deadpool sighed again, adjusting his red and black suit as he read the coordinates from Peter's fancy A.I- CELESTE on his smart phone display.

Peter really went all out with this "Alexander Luthor" alias. I feel like I should be bald and stroking a cat.

Or stroking something else...

(No.)

Suddenly, CELESTE's calm, yet slightly amused voice chimed in his ear.

["Incoming data. Ulysses Klaue's last known operation is inside the Kivu Trade District, Democratic Republic of Congo. Black market activity confirmed. Multiple vibranium shipments detected. Probability of betrayal: 93%."]

(Oh boy, what would I ever do without the cheery statistics?)

Maybe live a peaceful life as a goat farmer?

Shut up.

***

After some sightseeing, which included buying a "100% genuine" Rolex from a guy with three teeth and riding a scooter past a group of men playing drums, Deadpool strolled across a long steel bridge overlooking a brown, slow-moving river.

There, standing suspiciously on the edge of the railing, was a young woman, clearly contemplating a dive into the brown drink below.

(Oh great. A jumper.)

Ooo! Maybe she's practicing for the Olympics?

Deadpool casually approached her, hands on his hips.

"Hey, uh... you about to do the 'splat' thing?"

She didn't turn around. "Yeah. Life sucks."

Deadpool tilted his head. "if you're gonna die anyways, wanna have sex before you jump? You know, as a last hurrah?"

She spun, disgusted. "What? No! Get away from me, you freak!"

Deadpool pouted. "Fine. Guess I'll just go wait on the shore." He pointed at the water, twirling his finger in the air like he was stirring soup. "You know, until your body washes ashore after the splat."

She glared. "That's sick."

Deadpool shrugged. "Look, people grieve differently."

A long pause. She stared at the river, then back at Deadpool.

After a moment of inner debate, she groaned and climbed back onto the bridge. "You're insane."

Deadpool grinned. "Thanks, therapy says the same."

As she stormed off, Deadpool waved after her.

"Tell your friends about me! I save lives and make people uncomfortable!"

(You could learn a thing or two from me, Spider-Man.)

***

Later that evening...

Deadpool stood in front of a shady-looking warehouse in the Kivu Trade District. It was like a Bond villain's garage sale, rusty crates, poorly lit corners, and enough sketchy dudes to start a rap battle.

(Peter is a bad influence.)

Stating thoughts without explanation is as shitty as posting porn memes without sauce.

(There isnt a moment that doesn't pass by without having a Bond villain thought)

True that.

After a brief pat down, which included a little too much cupping and gropping, the way Pool-man like it, the guards confiscated his guns and led him inside.

"Careful with those! They're registered emotional support weapons."

(They're gonna regret this.)

Oh, let's make it better than the time we crashed Scott's birthday party in Vegas.

At the far end of the warehouse, under flickering lights, Ulysses Klaue relaxed on a battered leather couch, sipping whiskey. His smug face practically screamed "punch me."

"You are?" Klaue's voice dripped disdain and doubt.

Deadpool bowed dramatically. "Lord Deadpool, the merc with a mouth, the first of his name, rightful king of the pervs and tight buns."

Klaue's lips curled. " I thought Alexander Luthor usually worked with... professionals."

Deadpool tipped his imaginary hat. "I AM a professional. A professional headache."

Klaue chuckled darkly. "Regardless, I'm changing the deal. I want an extra 20%."

Deadpool rubbed his chin. "Hmm... let me consult my financial advisor."

He mimed pulling out a Magic 8-Ball. "Outlook not so good."

Klaue's face twitched. "You're mocking me."

"Only because you're making it so easy," Deadpool replied with a grin.

Without another word, Klaue snapped his fingers.

["Warning. Multiple hostiles detected. Shoot first, talk later protocol recommended."]

Deadpool sighed the third time as the guards aimed their weapons.

"Really Klaue? Gonna make me dance?" He cracked his neck. "Fine."

The room erupted in gunfire. Bullets zipped past Deadpool as he leapt behind a crate.

(Do we have our katanas?)

Always.

Deadpool sprang out, dual katanas flashing. He deflected bullets Matrix style, sending a few ricocheting back into guards like karma with hollow points.

"Ooh! That guy's gonna need a closed casket funeral," Deadpool quipped mid slice.

Guards fell one after the other, groaning as Deadpool weaved through them like a bloody ballerina.

Klaue backed away, pale as a ghost. "What... what are you?!"

Deadpool strolled up to Klaue, bloodstained and chipper. "Just your friendly neighborhood psychopath."

Panting, Klaue whipped out a pistol, leveling it at Deadpool's masked face. He growled, "You're not walking away from this, clown."

Deadpool tilted his head. "Whoa, whoa! Easy there, SoundCloud." He raised his hands playfully. "Let's talk this out! How about a Spotify subscription and a handshake?"

Klaue sneered, finger tightening on the trigger. "Sure, I'll shake hands with your corpse."

Deadpool grinned beneath the mask. "Wrong answer."

In a blink, Deadpool's katana flashed, slicing through the air. Klaue's eyes widened as the blade carved clean through his forearm. His gun clattered to the ground along with his severed hand.

"AHHH! YOU PSYCHOPATH!" Klaue screamed, stumbling back, clutching his bleeding stump.

Deadpool twirled his katana. "Oof, looks like someone got... disarmed."

He gave a dramatic shrug. "Get it? No? Too soon?"

Klaue roared in agony as Deadpool casually stepped over the severed hand, whistling. Deapool popped the briefcase open, revealing pure vibranium cylinders inside.

"Oooh shiny," Deadpool whispered reverently.

"He's gonna cream his spider pants when he sees this."

Deadpool grabbed the briefcase and sauntered toward the exit.

"Thanks for the metal, Klaue. I'll send you a fruit basket."

(Pineapple or mango?)

Both. With a severed hand.

L.M.F.A.O

As Deadpool slipped into the night, CELESTE whispered in his comms.

["Objective complete. Mission progress updated with Peter. Please proceed to the extraction point. Estimated time of extraction: 30 mins. Shall I order chimichangas for you while you wait?"]

Deadpool shook his head. "Oh hell no, I hate them chimichangas. I just like the way they sound."

He pulled out a taco from his utility belt and bit in. Hot sauce dribbled down his suit.

(Worth it.)

Always.

Ooh yes! I'm gonna touch myself tonight.

Visit fгee𝑤ebɳoveɭ.cøm for the best novel reading experi𝒆nce.

TO BE CONTINUED...

========

Sorry, was too tired for regular update. If you like the filler, shower me with them power stones...

(⁠ ⁠ꈍ⁠ᴗ⁠ꈍ⁠)