*Disclaimer #1* Anything italics indicates internal thought. Anything in Italics and surrounded by *asterisks* are rational Deadpool's quips talking to regular Deadpool. So technically his conscience I guess... Hey come on, the guys crazy.

*Disclaimer #2* There is some serious shattering of the fourth wall. But it's canon because Deadpool actually does that in the comics.

*Disclaimer #3* Like most of you guys writing… I don't own marvel.

*Disclaimer#4* That cover is NOT mine. I can't find whose it is either. So if it is yours and you're reading this, I'm sorry, and may I use it. You look lovely today. Really, I'm not just saying that.

A/N: I FIIIXEDDD ITTTTTT *sorta*


The X mansion slouched wearily before the midday sun. Exposed, smoldering, and very much destroyed; it was far too weak to support its own weight. Its twisted metallic bones now jabbed grotesquely out of the earth where children had once played, and shards of crumbling bricks and glass were scattered haphazardly about. The surrounding fires that danced from within and out the buildings remains cast appallingly jagged shadows across the scorched front lawn and long driveway. It was wrecked almost beyond all recognition; the only thing that gave away the mansions identity was a small plaque against one of the walls - which fell and crumbled under foot just as the house did when police and fire crews arrived on-scene.

At first glance, it appeared as though the apocalypse had somehow been contained to this one spot on Earth; and upon close inspection, authorities were able to tell exactly where the explosion had gone off. Just past the place where the front doors once stood was a large crater, and in the middle of it was a piece of twisted metal that was slowly bowing from the heat and strain of the flames. They attempted to remove it after the surrounding fires had been quieted, thinking it may have been a clue; but stopped when they realized that the entire crater was engulfed in noxious fumes – a byproduct of the explosion. They settled on leaving it until the poisonous gas surrounding it dissipated, and instead aided the firemen in their search for survivors.

After many hours the sky eventually darkened from the combined smoke and approaching night, and fire crews were replaced with new workers. During one of these work shifts, a lone figure shook itself from the ashes and glanced around to seemingly admire its handiwork. It stood quietly, then stumbled, stretched, and skulked around the edges of the firelight and the shadows, adamant on remaining out of sight. It eventually loped off into the surrounding forest after a few moments and disappeared from sight – had anyone even seen it.

Despite the firefighter's concerted efforts the smoke continued to billow from the largest crater on the grounds for the rest of the night and into the early hours of the morning. They managed to find a few bodies among the wreckage, but none of them were alive – or even recognizable. The search continued in vain for days after, but in the end not a single soul was sifted from the ashes. They realized that whatever had destroyed the mansion and its inhabitants was the same thing that caused the crater – but they never found who, or what, created it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~A Hella Lot Earlier…~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Wade Wilson was not the most sought after soldier in Stryker's small army when it came to mission assignments and military operations. In fact, he was one of the least. It seemed to have less to do with his fighting skills, and more to do with the fact that no matter how hard he tried, he could never shut his mouth.
Ever.

While most people could eventually learn and correct their ways to avoid social expulsion, Wilson did not. Perhaps he was a masochist. Maybe he had a brain injury - it could've been that he didn't know what social expulsion meant.

Whatever the reason was, his mouth was perpetually open and locked in "chatter" mode. This caused a great strain between him and his fellow squad mates; and resulted in many scuffles, bruises and on more than one occasion, broken bones. It didn't bother Wade the least though, and he never made any attempt to stop. Even when one of the newest arrivals to the team threatened to cut out his tongue and feed it to him, break his kneecaps and force him to crawl, or just straight up kill him; his mind raced and his mouth spewed out whatever thought had graced him at that point in time.

And right now he was thinking about how snugly the medic's uniform hugged her slim frame.

"Three hundred and four… three hundred and five…" Wilson glanced up from the incredibly interesting monochromatic concrete to catch a glimpse of one of Stryker's medics as she passed by him again. Clipboard in hand, red lips pursed, glasses perched precariously on the edge of her nose and a look of pure concentration etched onto her face - she was the epitome of every man's medical fetish. He'd been watching her stalk back and forth in front of him for over an hour, back and forth and back and forth and back-
Stop.
Sometimes she'd make a little noise in the back of her throat and scribble something onto one of the pages stuck to the clipboard. She did that when she was impressed. Other times she'd readjust her glasses and scribble something else. Not impressed. His head followed her as she moved about like a solar panel does the sun, and he couldn't help but sigh as she once again passed over him without so much as a peep or adjustment of glasses.
Dammit.
She stopped at Zero's end of the line and watched him for several seconds before nodding and scribbling.
That's new.
She stayed there watching Stryker's marksman for a while before turning back to the rest of the recruits and overseeing their progress… and scribbling. Her green eyes skimmed over the men before her who heaved themselves up and away from the earth before dropping again; repeating it over and over like some sick corporeal mantra.
She hasn't scribbled about me yet.
The medic shifted forward and resumed her never-ending pacing, about to work her way down the line to Logan's end.
Must… get… attention…

Wade dug deep into his mind for the cleverest and most surefire way to grab her attention that could be both subtle and charismatic. It was a hard enough thing to do on its own, let alone when he was busy doing pushups. She was mere steps away when he abandoned his quest altogether and simply went with the first thing that came to mind and hoped it was good enough.
"Ten… ten… ten…"
Nailed it.
She paused in front of Wade, noticing something amiss. "Wilson," She asked, her look of concentration deepening as she turned to face him, "how many push-ups have you done?"
He froze mid-push and watched her stand there, poised prettily with pen in hand awaiting his answer.
He grinned impishly, "You're really hot."
"Your count?" She ignored him and tapped the pen against the clipboard in annoyance.
"Ten for now, but eleven once you're nake-"

There was a sudden hiss as the doors to the medical bay abruptly parted to allow in the new arrivals. Stryker strode in, scowling and seemingly snarling at the doctor trailing behind him who was almost crying over a printout of random numbers on a page. "What's the hold up here?" He demanded, shooing away the clipboard that was offered to him and ignoring the seconds-to-sobbing doctor behind him.
The young medic tucked the rejected clipboard under her arm and smiled apologetically to her boss. "I'm terribly sorry, but I'm unable to fully acquire Mister Wilson's data." She shrugged noncommittally and frowned down at the mutant on the ground. "He's not very… forthcoming with the information."
Stryker turned to chatterbox mutant who was now sprawled on the ground. "Wilson what's your-"
"She's hot."
Stryker glowered at Wade before repeating himself with great deliberation, as you would a small child.
"Wilson. What. Is. Your. Count."

Wade stared at the concrete he lay on and mulled over the question. Er… count… wasn't it… no I haven't been on ten that long. It was… uh…
An annoyed groan came from one of the other men at the end of the line. "Its three fifteen!" someone shouted.
Probably Logan, Wade figured.
"Goddammit!" Victor suddenly dropped to the ground in defeat, having lost his pushup count when Logan started shouting numbers. "What was I at?!" He howled into the floor unhappily.
Wade grinned, pleased that he'd caused a scene and made Victor mad. "TEN!" He dodged Victors swipe in his direction by rolling away - and into Chris, who in turn lost his balance and landed on top of him.
"SHUT THE HELL UP WADE!" Victor hissed as his hand connected with nothing.
"Wilson what the fuck?"

"Victor-" Stryker interrupted the curses and potential fight. He now held the clipboard in his hands and was flipping through everyone's pages, "go take a break." The distraught doctor behind him tried to sneak in his paperwork between the sheets that Stryker flipped through, but was ultimately ignored.
"I'm not tired - What number was I at?!"
"You're dismissed-"
"Like hell I am." He resumed his pushups, refusing to allow anyone within the room to get a higher count than he.
Stryker stared at the elder feral before shaking his head dismissively and returning to the clipboard. "Chris – break," he continued, "Zero – twenty more, Logan – break, Wraith – break, Dukes… eh, you just keep going. Wilson…?""Hey you guys ever realize this entire room sounds like its having an invisible orgy?" Wilson shouted into the floor and ignored Stryker. There were a couple snorts down the line in response, and a glare from Stryker and the medic. "No I'm serious! Bunch of guys in here grunting like-"
"Wade, you can start from zero."
"Aaaw!" He rolled onto his back, "But I was so close to four twenty!" he cried to the ceiling.
"Three fifteen…" Logan mumbled loudly.
"FUCK YOU!" Victor howled and buckled to the ground.

~~~~~~~~OoO~~~~~~~~

Most evenings in Stryker's super-secret base were exceptionally dull and uneventful. These evenings consisted of a relatively silent dinner that ranged from something hardly edible to incredibly fantastic; and the only conversation that was held was one that informed others that they needed salt. Afterwards, the soldiers were free to leave and do what they liked for the rest of the night. These monotonous moments usually consisted of someone showering while the others sat in the recreation room doing… nothing. It was a silent rule that no two people turned on showers at the same time, or flushed the toilet for that matter. Wade didn't know why, flushing the toilet while someone showered did not turn the water hot.

The recreation room was just as lackluster as the conversations that were held during dinnertime - it was just a large grey concrete room with one large black window on the left hand side. Everyone in the room knew it was a two way mirror, but nobody ever seemed to care. Besides the window were two ugly and well-worn down blue couches that stood facing the small TV that was screwed into the opposite wall, and a pool table that was missing more than half its balls. There weren't any cue sticks to speak of; they'd all been broken over someone's head at one point or another – usually Wades (whether or not he had been playing pool at the time was another matter entirely). There was a coffee table against one of the walls that stained with marks of everything besides coffee, a broken lamp decomposing in a corner, several unidentifiable articles of clothing, and a single lightbulb overhead that was about fifty shades too bright for the room it looked over.

It was one of these boring nights that Wade formulated a plan. In fact, it wasn't a normal night, because he had been absent from the room when everyone else went to dinner (he'd been redoing his pushups). The fact that the usual routine was now already so completely destroyed was all the incentive he needed to be extra stupid.
Because why the hell not.

After quickly scoffing down his cold and barely edible dinner and showering while Chris did so as well in another room, Wade decided to put his plan to action. Strolling into the concrete chamber, he raised both hands in the air and waved them erratically until he had the inhabitant's attention - minus Chris, who was screaming at the scalding water.
"Everyone!" He shouted to the group of mutants lounging in the various chairs and on top of the pool table. "I am about to go to sleep. Do not come into my room, or wake me, for I will be sleeping." He slowly backed out the room again, still shouting. "If you come in I… won't do anything because I will most definitely be sleeping." He shut the heavy rec room door and hoped that the other mutants would be too disinterested to investigate.
What if it's not enough?
He poked his head back through the door. "GOODNIGHT!" He shouted even louder than before, "I MUST SLEEP NOW. DO. NOT. WAKE. ME-!"
"ALRIGHT FUCK OFF!" Duke shouted, not taking his eyes off the TV.
Wade grinned wickedly, ecstatic that he'd gotten a reaction. "G'night...fatty." He spun around and fled; hoping the large man would run after him and attack.
Dukes continued to stare at the TV, too lazy to be goaded into attacking anything. "I'm gettin' real sick of that asshole..." He muttered.
There were four other grunts of agreement.

~~~~~~~~OoO~~~~~~~~

Wade stood silently outside of the rec room door before realizing that no one was coming after him. It was less of the fact that he wanted to be greatly injured, and more that he had just hoped to get some kind of reaction; because honestly, who likes having their bodies slammed into walls, or sitting inside a boring concrete room all day?
Well that was almost fun.

He turned to head to his room and nearly ran into a doctor who was hurrying towards the clinic. "Hey Doc!" Wade greeted him overly-cheerfully.
Nathaniel Weeble looked up from the papers he was poring over just in time to avoid colliding with the mutant with a sword fetish. "Hello Wilson," he muttered semi-monotonously, trying - and failing - to hide his nervousness. "Off to bed?"
"Er… yeah…" Wade shifted and tried to inch around the doctor "…bed…"
Weeble noticed Wilson eyeing at his papers, and clutched them to his chest, "Well goodnight then." He muttered, hoping to avoid any confrontation... Or prank. Wilson had a thing for pranks.
"Yeah…" Wade watched as the man not-so-discreetly jogged away.
That was the same doctor who was weeping over Stryker this morning… Wade cocked his head after the doctor's retreating form and wondered what the "Deadpool" thing on the paper was about. Probably nothing, Stryker loves weird names… I seriously hope it's not another new lunch option though.

Wade figured he didn't care either way as long as he got to cut things, and eventually remembered his previous task and hurried to his room. He slammed the door shut, grinning to himself like an idiot and eying the cot that Stryker had provided him with. He ambled over to it and knelt down to grope underneath its metal base for whatever he was looking for, and once his hand came to rest on the object he pulled it out from under his bed and snickered. He toppled over backwards and sat cross-legged on the cold floor and stared at the case that was now resting on his lap. Opening the latch and peering at the inside, he threw his head back and let out the most maniacal laugh he could muster. He quietened quickly, patting the boxes contents affectionately as went through all the articles, "You're a dirty girl…" he muttered, picking up a particularly shoddy magazine.

Wilson shed his sweatpants, thinking he was safe, and flopped onto his cot and briefly wondered if he remembered to lock his door. He decided in the end that it didn't matter since he had told the others he was sleeping and they seemed to buy it. Grabbing some paper towels from next to his bed and the magazines he had swiped from the case, he settled down onto his bed… and went to work.

~~~~~~~~OoO~~~~~~~~

"Wilson's doing something stupid," Zero muttered into his hands. He was resting on the edge of his seat, staring blurry-eyed at the TV screen and trying to stay awake, "…And why do we always have to watch reruns of 'I Love Lucy'?"
Duke said nothing, but his fist twitched tighter around the remote.
"Does he ever not do anything stupid?" Chris retorted, poking at the red splotches on his arms where the water had burned him.
"What the hell happened to you?" Wraith asked, eyeing Chris's arm out the corner of his eye.
"Two guesses…" Chris replied coldly.
Logan ignored the two people next to him and continued staring at the spiderwebbing cracks on the ceiling. Too bored to move, he sighed internally, too bored to sleep. He looked over to Victor who was sitting on the pool table and scratching at its felt. He's strangely amused with that green stuff.

The inhabitants of the large grey room gradually felt their eyelids grow heavy as they were lulled to sleep by slight static noise and the dialogue between Lucy and her friend as they tried to get a job in a chocolate factory. Unsurprisingly, this was Dukes favorite episode, although he insisted it was because of the excellent acting. Sometimes a soft scratching noise like a mouse nibbling on wood would kick up when Victor's nails tore through the green felt and dug into the wood and metal beneath it.
It was these quiet moments that made Zero nervous. As a marksman, he liked it when things were lined up in his sight and within killing distance. Quiet was good, he could concentrate in quiet. But quiet also meant that Wilson wasn't in the area. Quiet meant that Wilson was out of sight. Quiet meant Wilson wasn't killable.
Unkillable wasn't good.

Zero glared at the screen like it was the TVs fault that something was amiss. "Someone should check on him," he muttered into the silence, "before he blows this place up."
Silence.
"Victor why don't you-"
"I'm nobody's fucking babysitter - if you're so worried then go check on him." Victor scratched particularly hard on the table and woke Chris out of his half-dream state with the squealing noise that the metal made.
"Hey!" Chris shouted groggily, turning over onto his side to avoid laying on his scalded back, "Shut up with the chalkboard…"
Silence.
Zero stared at Chris's distorted reflection in the TV. Since Zero was the unofficial leader when Stryker wasn't in the area, he had to make sure that things ran relatively smoothly – mostly because he was blamed if it didn't. Why the hell does Stryker keep that idiot anyways?
"Fine." He got up and left the room, giving Chris plenty of room in the now vacant spot to sprawl across the upholstery.

~~~~~~~~OoO~~~~~~~~

Zero stood outside Wilson's door. It was quiet.
Quiet isn't good.
…Maybe he really is sleeping.
He knew better though.

Logan passed by a few moments later, hoping he could get to his room without anyone bothering him.
"Uh…" Zero started, reaching out to stop him.
"Nope." Logan shook his head and quickened his pace to pass the sniper.
"…Dammit."

Zero raised his hand to knock on the door, but withdrew at the last second and inhaled deeply, trying to calm down.
Alright, on the count of three. One… two…

~~~~~~~~OoO~~~~~~~~

Wilson discarded another piece of paper towel. If I keep going at this pace, I'll run out of toilet paper as well... and I need that. He thought he heard shuffling outside his door and paused, straining to hear more. He briefly considered stashing his secrets back under the bed in a slight moment of panic, but finally went back to looking at the magazines.
Must be the wind.

~~~~~~~~OoO~~~~~~~~

Zero stood there for in silence for almost two minutes before he mustered the courage to even knock. He shouted about sleeping, what if he's actually sleeping? What the hell is he hiding if he's not…?
He noticed Victor's shadow rounding the corner and figured it was a good time as any to bust down the door. If there is a bomb, Victor can back me up. Hopefully.
He raised his fist again to pound on the door. No, He frowned. Let's do this the right way.
"WILSON!" He cried. Zero kicked hard at the doorknob to break it off and infiltrate the room as quickly as possible. The flimsy wooden thing flew off one of its hinges and banged pathetically against the wall. "WILSON I-"

The two men froze, staring at each other. The only sound that came was the slight rustle of the paper as Wade continued on.
He lay lounging on his bed, completely naked, magazine in one hand and paper towel in the other. He didn't bat an eyelash at the intrusion, but lowered his voice seductively. "Do you have any more magazines?" He whispered.
Zero stood there, mouth agape. "Oh. My. Loving. Lord. Stop." He could practically feel his brain melting.
Wilson hadn't stopped rubbing since Zero had barged in. "I gotta finish-"
"Stop."
"I can't-"
"Wilson… please." Zero whined a bit at the end. "Stop."
"What's the- OH… fuck!" Victor flinched at the ungodly sight before him and stumbled back out of the room. "GAH!" He could be heard swearing all the way down the hallway.

Wade watched him go, and rubbed the magazine one last time. "Listen, I'm about to run out of paper, got anymore?"
"Fuck no."
"Don't act like you don't clean your guns."
"Don't TALK TO ME WHEN YOU'RE NAKED!"
Wade sighed and placed the magazine that he had been cleaning and pulled his pants back on. "My magazines were dirty. It's no good having clean guns and dirty magazines to put in them."
Zero ignored Wade's stupidity and got to the root of the issue, "Why are you naked Wade?" He squeezed his eyes shut and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Why… why… WHY are you NAKED."
"Why, did you think I was doing something else?" Wade grinned wickedly.
Zero watched him put the guns and their ammo away and clean up his paper towel mess. "Wade… why?"
"Because…" He threw the paper towels into a corner of his room and placed his hands on his hips, finished 'cleaning' his room. "…Because I have the right to be bare and have arms."
"YOU DID THIS ALL FOR A GODDAMN PUN!"

~~~~~~~~~~~~A Hella Bit Later…~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Wade was not one for pain. Because honestly, who likes having their bodies slammed into walls, or sitting inside a boring concrete room all day? Not that Stryker was throwing him against walls... Wade stared at the boring concrete walls of the room he was confined too. It was small and he hated it, there was no one to talk to and nothing to really even look at. He briefly wondered if one of the others would come and rescue him, but he knew they gone. Killed, murdered, butchered, lost, angry, invisible… ponies ponies ponies…

He focused on one of the cracks on the ceiling. He'd been in here too long. With no one to talk to, he could feel himself slipping. Not even the hot medic talked to him. He wanted to tell her she was still as hot as two years ago… but his mouth. His mouth was broken. And honestly, how do you even make out when your mouth is taped shut?

It had all gone south after Logan had up and left. Victor became moodier than usual, and that in turn made everyone else upset. Chris had left first, then Wraith and Dukes left together. All that was left of the original team was now down to himself, Zero, and Victor. Wade considered leaving as well, but days before he had planned on separating he was drugged and shoved into the room he now occupied. It had a cot in it at one point, but they took that out when they decided they were done poking him with needles and stuff. He now sat hugging himself with his straight jacket for most of the day, the only times he got out was when they ran tests – and then he was strapped into something else.

Need food.

He felt himself suddenly tear out of the jacket restraining him. Whoa! I can do that? He stumbled upwards and nearly ran into the wall; he was so unaccustomed to moving. Feet! He shouted down to his shoeless toes. I did not give you permission to move! He ran up to the doors and ripped them open, ignoring the screams that came from the medic. Lady, I'd prefer it if you cried somewhere else. He continued moving forward down the medical bays stairs and towards a large metal door on the ground floor, but not of his own accord. What am I doing? Is this Sims? He stopped suddenly, and gazed intently at the polished steel. …Okay… This is nice…

The door shuddered before slowly rolling upwards and revealing rows and rows of empty cages. Hey! It's Logan! Jimmy! It's me! He tried to wave, but his arms refused to listen to him, and he forgot that his mouth was shut. Wolfie, get me outta here! I swear I'll shut up.

*Kill*

What? The alien word reverberated within his skull and he felt himself move forward. I know that word but that head voice does not sound like my head voice. He picked up the pace and charged full force at Wolverines direction. Hey, hey this isn't cool we can't kill him! Logan's our friend! He raised his arm above his head and came down hard in Logan's direction. MOVE YOU IDIOT!

Logan dodged, and ran out the door that had just opened. Who put these swords in my arms? This is unacceptable; the only time your weapon should be inside something is when it's in its sheath... or your enemy's body. BUT NOT YOUR OWN.

*Follow*

He chased Logan outside and nearly got distracted by the sunshine enough to stop following the new voices orders. Almost. Who the hell is telling me what to do? I am the only one who tells me what to do… Hey, what's with the giant silo thingy? Are we farmers now? He chased the slightly injured mutant up and around the rim of the nuclear power plants tower. Listen, Logan, he monologued as he slashed at his head, I know we got off on the wrong foot. Wilson took a spiked fist to the gut and teleported away. You see Logan, he continued in his mind, I have no idea what's going on. So let's just be friends, huh? He opened his arms to give Wolverine a hug. I've missed you.

~~~~~~~~OoO~~~~~~~~

Logan saw his chance. With Wade's arms wide open, his heart was perfectly exposed. He took a running leap, intent on cutting the mercenaries heart out. Or decapitating him.

~~~~~~~~OoO~~~~~~~~

Wade watched as his arms grappled Wolverine to the ground.

*Decapitate*
Sir, I question your methods.
*Decapitate*

Don't wanna.
*DECAPITATE*
Your caps lock don't scare me!
Regardless of what Wade really wanted, one arm-katana stayed firmly planted in Logan's back as the other was raised to lop of his former squad mates head. Agh! Sorry Logan this might sting…

There was a brief moment of awkwardness until the arm finally descended. Not Wades. Victors. It cracked Wilson on the back of the neck and dazed him.
*Teleport*
If you say so, boss.

Despite being attacked on both sides, Wilson was glad there was another head voice to keep him company. Two years of silence can really do a number on your mental health. He ducked under one of Sabretooth's clawed fists and managed to kick Logan in the stomach before he finally had his own head lopped off and was thrown off the edge of the tower.

They're so cute when they work together.
He watched the ground quickly come up to meet him, and shut his eyes before he made impact.
We were so close to getting out...

~~~~~~~~~~~~Another Hella Bit Later…~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Wade opened his eyes and stared up at the bright blue sky. He felt strangely disembodied, and when he looked down he realized it was because he had no body. Eventually, the rest of him got up and found his head, straightening it on and giving the bones and muscles some time to stitch themselves back together. Ignoring the weirdness of the whole situation, he turned in the spot and realized that he was partially naked in the middle of an abandoned island. Oddish. He reached up and fumbled at the spot where his mouth was supposed to be, then ran a shaky hand over his bald head.
Guess I won't be needing shampoo anymore.

But it was unacceptable. He flopped down onto his backside and braced himself against a large boulder. Count of three. One… two… he ripped the sword from his flesh and bones without hitting three, and would've screamed had his mouth not been broken. He repeated it with the other arm, and then stared down at the bloody sword tips that he held in his hands. That's better. He took the tip of one and shoved it into his face. If I cut extra large… he figured, I can fit a whole cake in, and then I'll have an actual cake hole.
*Just don't poke your brain out.*
Wade paused. The head voice was back.

Hey,
he shouted in his mind, you're the asshole who told me to do mean things!
*No, I'm the asshole who tried to keep you alive.*
You're with Stryker! I can smell it!
The new voice was silent for a moment. *No…* it muttered. * I don't think so.*
Think?
*Something you should try doing sometime.*
Ouch.
*Sorry.*

Wade grinned to himself and leaned back onto the warm rock. He had escaped from Stryker's room, someone to talk to had showed up, his swords weren't stuck in his hands, his mouth was no longer broken, but his mind still felt like it was. An okay trade-off I guess… So, best friend, he asked his new voice, are you my conscience?
*Don't know… but I can think of a few people who might…*
How bad do I look?
He pondered his own question for a while before heaving himself up and looking for a mirror. He found his reflection floating in a small pool of water, and regarded it distrustfully.
Ain't no babes coming after me with this mug.
*What are we going to do then? To attract said babes?*

Duh, find a kickass costume.

He whirled around, looking for some sort of clothing.
Just where the hell are we anyways?
*Island.*

No, where are we?
*Well, If I were in a continuum in a movieverse,* the new voice mused, * I'd probably be somewhere between the first Wolverines Origins and X1. You might even say that First Class is currently happening in the background but the writer isn't paying attention to it.*
What.

*Don't worry about it.*
Wade shrugged and turned heel, walking towards the New York skyline.
Can I still teleport?
*No.*
What? Why not?
*Erm…*
the voice paused *that part of your brain was injured…*
Okay, I'm calling bullshit on that one.
*Just go with it.*


Wade continued on his trek even after he had reached the water edge; he swam from one bit of land to the larger one, intent on finding clothes and cakes. Whichever came first.
Hey head voice?
He wondered.
*What?*
Do you have a name?
*… it's Deadpool.*
Wade paused, wondering where he had heard that before.
…You're not a new lunch option, are you?


*Who is this new head voice? What does he want? Will Wilson find some cakes... and eat them? Stay tuned and find out next maybe whenever next time!*

A/N*again*sorry: I've had a few questions over DP's personality. He's less movie DP and more of the DP you see in his game. WHAT?! You don't know about Deadpools very own kickass game?! You, Sir, have not truly lived.

Thanks for reading yo!