It had started off like any other day. Of course that was before shit went to hell. Deadpool had been tracking down some scum named...shit, who was his target again? He tried to sift through the fog in his head, but as was always the case after he died, his thoughts were vague and nebulous. And he had died, of that much he was sure. What else had happened? He seemed to recall some obscure arcane mumblings and…pointing. Yep, there had definitely been pointing. Lots and lots of…pointing….and, ugh, his thoughts were slipping away again.

Focus Wade, focus. He could do this. There was something important, something…blue…and red…and…Spider-Man? Spider-Man had been here?

"Spidey?" Wade rasped, at the pain in his throat. He struggled to open his eyes. "Aww, come on brain, work with me here". Ignoring the pain in his right arm, Wade dragged it up and forced his eyes apart with a squelching noise accompanied by a slight pain that had he not known better, he might have been suspicious that he had just lost a small portion of his eyelid.

Glancing around, he was greeted by the sight of crates. Lots and lots of crates.

"Must be a warehouse." There it was again. He frowned at how raspy his voice sounded. Cautiously, he reached up and pushed his gloved hand underneath his mask and felt his neck. His fingers fumbled for a moment until they jutted across a thin ridge that ran from one side of his neck to the other. Well, that definitely explained the voice. And, he wagered, it was probably what had killed him as well.

"Hello? Heeeellloooo?" Wade called out. "Anybody home? I'm not actually dead. Just so you know. Spider-Man? You here? Bad guys? Anyone? ANYONE!?...Bueller?" Okay then. All alone. Deadpool frowned. He had literally been left for dead. Okay yeah, that wasn't exactly unusual for him, but Spidey? Spider-Man was like the ultimate do-gooder. And he had left him, poor little Deadpool, for dead. Well if that wasn't just the motherfucking cherry to top off the proverbial shit-filled cake. Deadpool sighed and let himself slump back down to the no doubt hepatitis infused floor. "Well fuck you too Spider-Man". With any luck, the name of his current employer would come back to him. Of course even if it did, Deadpool wasn't sure whether or not he'd actually completed his task. Hell, he couldn't even remember what the job was.

That was always they worst part about dying, he supposed. It wasn't the pain. The whole cancer versus healing factor thing had raised his pain tolerance to levels that scared even him. Not that it didn't hurt. It always hurt. Wade had just stopped caring. It wasn't even the waking up alone bit. Yeah, it sucked, but it wasn't anything he wasn't used to. No, the worst part was how disconnected he felt upon reawakening. He could never quite think straight, and his brain always seemed to be rather distant from his body. It was just damn uncomfortable.

Wade shifted, trying in vain to find comfort on the cold floor. Even now his body felt weird. His arms somehow too short for his body, his legs somehow too long. He felt like he had been fed through a pasta machine and then stuffed back into his skin suit. And damn if that wasn't a disgusting metaphor.

"Disgusting like me", Wade chuckled. He frowned. "That's not right." His voice still sounded off. He didn't sound like he had been gargling gravel anymore, but now his voice had an annoying, somehow perky twinge to it.

"Testing, testing, one two three." Yep, there it was again. His voice was definitely a few octaves higher than it normally was. Great, that was just what he needed. Wade hated when his regeneration went wrong. It was a simple fix sure, but it usually involved reopening whatever wound had healed incorrectly.

"I just got this suit dry cleaned too," Wade pouted. Reopening wounds meant blood, and lots of it. In this case, it might mean that he got to die again too. Joy. He heaved a sigh and sat up, casting his eyes about for his sword. However, he quickly abandoned his search, distracted by something that was just not supposed to be there.

"No, that's not possible," Wade breathed. Nope, definitely impossible. Except, yeah, he checked again and they were still there.

"Boobs," He said in wonderment, prodding one with a questioning finger. There was no other explanation for the two lumps now sitting on his chest. "Two of them. I've got two boobs Heh, two, I've got a pair of boobs." Did boobs even come in pairs? People didn't go around saying that they had a pair of arms. Well, at the very least amputees surely didn't. What even was the correct terminology for- Focus, Wade, he reminded himself because that really wasn't the issue at hand. No, the issue was why he even had boobs in the first place. The Voice Change, a voice in the back of his head reminded him. A feeling of dread slowly started to creep up on him.

"No, no… no no no nonononono…" His hand strayed down toward his crotch and groped. Frantically, he checked again. And again. It was gone. His greatest asset, the single greatest thing he had to offer the world, the stuff of poetry and sonnets (okay, maybe that was pushing it just a little too far. Not that he was little! He was a perfectly average size, thank you for asking. Or, at least, he was) was just…gone. And in its place...

Wade allowed his hand to stray a little farther southward. Cautiously, he pressed down with his middle finger. Suddenly, he yanked his hand back as a jolt of pleasure caused his hips to buck upward. Fucking cupid, that thing was sensitive.

…And SHIT, it was official. He, Wade Winston Wilson, possibly the manliest man to ever exert his testosterone on the face of the planet, was officially, undisputedly and indeniably…

"…A goddamn motherfucking female."