Dr. Stockton shifted uneasily in his seat. What could be taking that damned mercenary so long? He looked backwards towards the door as if reminding himself he was not alone. The grey metallic room was empty save for the desk and two chairs situated on parallel sides. One was occupied by the scientist, while the doors both behind and in front of him were flanked by two security officers, armed with M4A1 assault rifles and adorned in jet-black uniforms and kevlar armour, their faces hidden behind skull-like breathing masks. Although reassured by their presence, Stockton remained unnerved by their shared statuesque stance. The door in front of him opened and the man Stockton was waiting for entered. "No, not a man." Stockton thought to himself. "An abomination. A failed experiment." The man sat down in the empty chair before leaning back as though he owned the place, crossing both feet on the table.
"So you're the mystery contractor?" The mercenary asked. "Mr. I-cannot-divulge-the-details-of-this-job-unless-you-accept-it-in-advance-and-in-person." Not used to dealing with someone of such blatant sarcasm, Stockton silently placed the document he has been clutching the whole time on the table. "Who said I was taking the job?"
"Excuse me?" The scientist frowned.
"I'm just here to put you down!" The mercenary drew a pistol and aimed for Stockton's face before the guards jolted into action. The room was filled with a deafening symphony of gunfire as the mercenary flailed uncontrollably, countless bullets shredding his red and black uniform. Stockton uncovered his head once the shooting stopped and stared at the ruined form of his would-be assassin. "You know" The mercenary sat up, his tone more of mild annoyance than anything. "I was just kidding! You didn't have to take it that far!" As Stockton stared, he could clearly see the uncountable bullet wounds of the mercenary sealing before his eyes. "Seriously, that's just rude." The man snapped at one of the guards, who paid no response.
"If we can return to the matter at hand here?" Stockton asked, his anger obvious in his tone. He pressed the document towards the mercenary who picked it up and opened it immediately.
"Okay, so the target is..." The mercenary sighed as he lowered the papers. "I don't know what sort of reputation I've got going on, but I don't kill kids."
"This one is necessary, I'm afraid." Stockton responded, desperate to maintain what may be the best possible solution to resolving such a major threat.
"I dunno doc." The mercenary looked at the papers again. "I mean, 'Specimen-023' isn't really a name. Unless, someone reading this shit actually goes by that, in which case, I apologise."
"What are you talking about?"
"Never mind." The mercenary continued reading. "Okay, subject ID: Specimen-023, (I doubt it.) age: 16 years. Mutant abilities: classified." The mercenary dropped the document. "So you want me to kill some kid and you keeping it zipped on why?" Without a word, Stockton reached under the desk and withdrew a briefcase which he placed on the table.
"Your payment, should you succeed." He stated. The mercenary stood up, his hand hovering excitedly over the case before he quickly withdrew it.
"Alright, you've got a deal." He said as he leaned forward to shake the man's hand. "There is a mouthwatering sum of money in there, right?" he asked. "This better not be one of those 'You've been scammed sweetheart' kind of things."
"Rest assured, Mr. Wilson" Stockton waved him off. You're employment is of great expense to us.
"It better be." The mercenary responded as he opened the door to leave. "Oh and by the way" he called back. "That's not how you pronounce Deadpool."