A/N: Okay, so this is basically a retelling of the 2016 Deadpool movie. I know Negasonic Teenage Warhead had her own powers in the movie, but I was wondering what would have happened if she had her original powers - telepathy and precognition. Also, I thought it would be funnier if she had one of those 'flowery' names that she absolutely hates; which was why she coined Negasonic Teenage Warhead. Hence, in this fic, Ellie's full name will be Emmeline Isadora Phimister, and she is a mutant telepath. Reviews, subscriptions and favorites are appreciated! I hope everyone enjoys the story!
Emmeline Isadora Phimister ( known to close friends as Ellie, and called Negasonic Teenage Warhead by everyone else ) leaps sideways, but she's not strong enough to dive behind the crate in one bound. When her left shoulder erupts with pain, she muffles a scream. Her quadriceps throb as she pushes off again and sails the last meter to shelter. Spots of fire erupt down her arm; her skin is soft, supple, unable to deflect bullets like Colossus' silver skin.
Ellie lands hard, rolls like a log and cradles the useless limb to her chest. Raw pain and the coppery tang of raw flesh makes her woozy. She chomps her tongue to stay sharp. It's not over. Using her good arm, Ellie props herself up and peers around her place of refuge. There are a series of loud cracks, like fireworks going off. Blood sprays the floor in a soft crimson rain. Lots of limbs lie at unnatural angles.
Her eyes land on Colossus, zeroing in on the thick length of rope around his neck. He claws at the rope and the woman behind him tightens it. She hears him take a giant rasping breath, and Ellie's stomach ties itself into knots. If his skin isn't silver, Ellie is sure that his face will be turning shades of red and purple. She doesn't want Colossus to die. He doesn't deserve death, not after all he's done for her. Anger clouds her vision.
He needs help. I have to help him.
And then suddenly, she is Colossus. She clutches at her neck with frantic fingers, lungs burning, but the rope stubbornly refuses to budge. She can't move. She can't get away. Spots dance before her eyes; her chest burns. She fights against the iron grip around her throat, needing air, desperate for air -
And then, nothing.