Wade Wilson is a very interesting specimine. I've heard many words used to describe him.
Funny.
Crazy.
Brave.
Stupid.
Chauvanistic.
Incredibly naive.
Almost cartoonish in his outlook on life.
A homicidal wackjob who's so severely fucked up in the head that his mom should probably have just gotten an abortion.
Okay, the last few were more along the lines of phrases and coherent sentances than words, but you get the idea. People have alot of differing opinions on him. Personally, I say, "he's a complicated man, and no one understands him but his woman."
Well, if he had a woman, that is. The closest he's got to a woman is blind Al. And she's more of a mother figure to him than anything else. And really, she's more of a blind lady that he randomly kidnapped of the street and held hostage to play the part of his mother figure than an actual mother figure.
But I digress.
Currently, we find Wade on his way to his favorite bar in New York, the Bar with No Name. Really, he hates the place, but it's the only place that'll have him. Officially, it's a bar not unlike any other. Unofficially, and anyone in the neighborhood who's smart knows this, it's a bar specifically for the criminal fraternity. Scumbags and psychopaths in all shapes and sizes stop by to get hammered. More than a few of them hate the place, but more than a few of them also have rather impressive rap sheets and are currently wanted by the police, and it being the only place to get anything resembling hard liquor where they won't call the cops and the cops won't dare step foot in, they go.
Wade steps in, and grabs a bar stool. He scopes out the room. Herman Schultz and Alex O'Hirn (who, prepetually wearing a giant Rhino suit, is very hard to miss) are sitting at a table in the middle of the place, talking about their latest atempts and failures to get legitimate jobs. Otto Octavious sits in the corner, sipping a dry apple martini and reading "Atlas Shrugged." Radny Beumont, a serial killer who escaped from police custody mid transport, is nervously sipping a beer. First time at the bar. Hasn't sunk in that no one there gives much of a crap as to who he is and what he's done.
The bartender on duety today, Clarice, a 25 year old single mother desperate enough to work at this particular bar, walks up to Wade.
"Well, if it ain't the Merc with a Mouth himself."
"Ah! Clarice!"
In a feigned and overly dramatic manner, Wade bows, takes Clarice's hand, and kisses it. He, as suavely as possible, raises his head and makes eye contact with Clarice.
"How are you doing, m'dear?"
"Cut the crap."
Wade sits back down in a quick, almost cartoonish manner.
"The crap is now sufficiently cut."
Clarice gives a tiny, partially annoyed and partially amused smirk.
"What'll you have?"
"You know the stuff that makes your vision blurry, your motor functions shotty, and your comon sense quite lax after only a few shots?"
"Yeah?"
"Gimme a bottle."
"Are you out of your mind?"
"You're right. Better make that two bottles. Might get thirsty on the drive home."
"You kill yourself, I ain't going to the funeral."
Clarice walks into the back room. After a few moments of Wade uncomfortably looking around and scrathing his face through his mask, she returns with two, unlabbled bottles of mead that look like they haven't been opened since 1872.
"Just don't let this be a repeat of last time."
"...last time?"
"When you got hammerd, stripped down naked, climbed to the top of the statue of liberty, and started singing 'luck be a lady tonight'."
"What the hell are you talking about?"
"It was on the news for about a day and a half! You were screaming that you wouldn't come down unless they brought Frank Sinatra!"
"...are you on the marajuana, woman?"
"Do you have to be an ass about everything?"
"...yeah..."
Clarice slams the bottles onto the bar and angrily walsk off to deal with another customer.
"Strange woman."
Wade unscrews his bottle of mead and begins sipping it slowly. Then, suddenly, there's a hard pat on his shoulder. Wade turns around, and finds himself face to face with Truman Capote (in no way related to the flamboyantly gay novelist of the 1960s who penned the critically aclaimed book and latter major motion picture "Breakfast at Tiffany's").
"Hiya Wilson."
"Hi flamboyantly gay novelist of the 1960s who penned the critically aclaimed book and latter major motion picture 'Breakfast at Tiffany's'"
"Funny."
"Wow. Thanks. Didn't think I was that tal..."
"Shut the up."
"Or we could do that."
"Wilson, your horse lost the race."
"I'm well aware of that."
"You bet one million dollars on your horse to win."
"I'm well aware of that aswell."
"You've yet to pay up said million."
"Is your official title in the mafia 'guy sho tells people things they already know'?"
"Shut up with the jokes you stupid . My boses are not happy that you haven't payed up. So, I'm telling you, give me my money."
"...no."
Wade turns back to his drink. Truman grabs his shoulder and spins him around.
"You give me the money, or I make you give me the money."
"Ain't gonna happen, queer eye."
"Y'know, I thought you'd react like that. And I know that me and my boys can't take you on our own."
"See? I knew you were a smart boy."
"So, I called in a few favors. Cain?"
A tall man in a jacket and hoodie stands up from a shady booth in the back. He takes off his outer clothing, revealing his large frame and red body armor. He is Cain Marko.
The Juggernaut.
Waid looks up at him.
"...hey. It's the Juggernaut. Whadya know?
The Juggernaut smiles and looks down/
"Hi there."
"...could you please say it?"
"Say what?"
"You know. 'I'm the Juggernaut, bitch'!"
The next few seconds are a blur for Wade. But, from what he can gather when he comes to, they involved some combination of The Juggernaut delivering a haymaker to his jaw, him being hurled out of the window of the bar, crashing into the apartment building across the street, and falling to the sidewalk below. Deadpool, quite groggily, looks up at his attacker.
"I don't think he's gonna say it."
The Juggernaut charges at him. Wade quickly programs his teleporter to take him right onto The Juggernaut's back, so he can cut loose his helmet. The 'porter activates, but instead of landing on his intended raget, he finds himself mid air about three feet in front of his intended target. He begins to fall and The Juggernaut slams into him at full speed, sending the two crashing into a building. Wade falls to the ground, and picks himself up from the rubble.
Wade runs at The Juggernaut, flipping over one of his punches, and ramming his katana into The Juggernaut's left eye. Cain screams, and swats Wade away. He charges at Wade once again, and Wade atempts to teleport five feet to his right. Instead, he ends up 30 feet in the air.
"Cheap Canadian peice of crap."
Wade falls to the ground. He stands, and begins running down the street as his bones and organs sift back into place. However, Marko, who's speed vastly dwarfs Wade's, soon catches up to him. He grabs Wade, and swings him through the window of a nearby resturaunt. The Juggernaut reddies a punch, and Wade hastily fiddles with his teleporter. Just before the blow connects, Wade vanishes, and the punch instead liquifies a twelve year old asian girl. Cleaning the blood and organs from his fist, Marko begins to look around for Wade.
Elswhere, Wade rises from the ground. He looks around. He is in a dark room. In the middle of it is a round table illuminated by an unseen light source. Around it sits a man in a grey robe, a teenage goth girl, a man in a black robe, a tall muscular man with a red pony tail, a woman (or possibly a highly effeminate man) in a red velvet suit, a fat woman with dirty grey hair and cuts all over her skin, and a young teenage girl with torn clothes, a pink T-shirt with dolphines on it, and unkept and randomly died rainbow hair. Wade, being the poet that he is, feels the need to comment on the sight before him.
"...what the fuck?"
