Most people in Deadpool's universe have a stern, and almost entirely negative opinion of him. They also, however begrudgedly, will admit that he is one of the deadliest men alive. However, he does have one major weakness. His powers, such as his healing factor and his super-strength, and the skill he uses is proportional to his will to do whatever it is he's doing and the urgency of the situation. For example, if he get's a papercut, it may take an hour to heal as it is no big deal, but if he gets his arm cut off then it will probably take about five minutes (faster than that if he's doing something important with it) to grow back. I want you to think about this as you read the chapter.
Chap. 4: Wade Willson, meet Marlene Wallace!
Deadpool found himself stalking two low-lifes, a fat one and a thin one. The fat one was wairing what would have probably been a white, wool jacket, had it not been stained yellow with age and deglect, and a pair of pants that appeared to be jeans. He was a giant, at the very least he was eight feet tall, and completely bald. He wore nothing to cover his feet, though Deadpool could see why. 'Talk about your solid foundations! Those suckers are huge!' Much to Deadpool's joy he had two guns holstered at his considerable hips, but he was suprised when he couldn't tell what type of gun they were, aside from the fact that they were pistols of some sort. 'I must be pretty far from my universe...'
The thin one carried a sack on his back and had a sword at his hip. Again, it was unfamiliar to him. He wore a large (for him, but it could be just right for Deadpool...) t-shirt, ripped jeans and large combat boots. He also appeared to be suffering from some mutation, as his skin was pale green.
They have names, past lives, bios, statistics, and blah blah blah, but in about two minutes, that won't matter.
Deadpool's eyes start to glow blue as he let's out a whistle to alert his prey of his presence. They didn't know what hit 'em, and what hit 'em is two chunks of splintery old wood flying at ninety miles per hour. I won't go into detail, but let's just say the pair didn't have much in the way of heads after words. Needless to say, Deadpool was very sorry.
"Damn!" he cries out to no one in particular,"Why did they have to leave a mess like that? And did you see how I threw that shit? I don't know my own strength... " He has no idea.
Well, he did what any grieving soul does when they witness someone die a gruesome and bloody death. They loot their cold liveless bodies for anything of value. He wore the fat man's pants after some minor adjustments with the thin man's sword, put on the thin man's shirt and combat boots, and then cut up the clothing that he didn't use to wrap up as much exposed skin as possible. Guns strapped to his hips, sword sheathed on his back, he opened up a rusty car trunk and stuffed the bodies inside.
He promtly turned his attention to the sack. It was rather large considering that it only held a few strange coins, some strange glowing orbs, and a few naughty magazines.
Oh, and a little girl.
After a delicate but thorough inspection, Deadpool deducted that she had not been violated, unless you count being knocked in the back of the head and stuffed in a sack as violation. Deadpool personally didn't. A nasty bump on the back of the head was all she was suffering from, and they took care not to give her a concussion. If he had to geuss, he'd say that those two had been slave traders, and that they'd hit the jackpot.
"Untill they met the mighty and virtue-driven hero that is my wonderfull self jumped into the fray to save this lovely and sadly underaged damsel! Honestly, I should be at least a saint by now. But no! Y'know what those dorks at the Whosaname Cathedral said? Something to the tune of, 'You're a murderer and a blah blah blah blah you keep refering to the clergy as dorks blah blah blah...' to be honest, I slept through most of it. Sermons do that to me."
Anyway. She was rather pretty, and she was wairing a simple nightshirt. Any slaver or slave-owner would pay dearly for such a specimen. Most people would get sick at the thought of this little girl's fate, because even if slavery was not it, it was unlikely to be pleasant. Deadpool took it in stride, having seen far uglier things, both in the literal and figurative sense.
He picked the girl up, planning on taking her to the nearest adult and leaving before people started to ask too many questions. Sadly, it was not to be.
He heard a low growl coming from behind him. He turned, very aware of the little girl in his hands, to face the source of the noise. Dogs- mutated no dought - about the size of a fairly big tiger, hairless and blue with red streaks radomly adorning thier skin. Three of them. Deadpool shifted the girl into his left hand, and grabed one of his pistols with his right. Then he prayed to anything that would listen that it was loaded.
Much improved fourth chapter. Deadpool is about to fight three enemies while defending a little girl, who is Marlene. I needed a way to get him into AVALANCHE and this was perfect.