Theresa Maeve Rourke Cassidy loved to fly, feeling her long, red hair flowing in the wind.
She has ever since she gained her mutant abilities. When she joined the X-Men at the age of seventeen and met her father, Sean Cassidy, all she could do was produce a sonic scream. Now, another decade on, she had gained even more abilities, such as the ability to fly, use sonar, and a few other tricks.
She had been taken from her father at a young age, raised by her uncle, Tom Cassidy. Tom was not a good man, and he would often be gone for "jobs", as he called them, but he protected Theresa, his little Songbird. He died when she was fifteen, protecting her from a mutant hating mob. She had developed her powers the year earlier, protecting herself form a deal that Tom had that went bad.
She moved around on her own for a few years before a chance meeting with Spider-Woman of all people. From there, through a series of events, she was brought into the fold of the X-Men. She was always grateful to Professor Xavier and the chance she was given. From there, she met her father, and he began to help her hone her mutant abilities. He even bestowed the name "Siryn" unto her.
Shortly after, however, her father also perished. She never was quite clear on the details. All she knew was that he was sent on a dangerous mission alone and didn't come back. He succeeded, whatever comfort that gave, but had to give his life.
That will be six years ago next week.
Sean had taught her flight within a year. And she never stopped. Whenever she needed to clear her head, she always flew away for the nearby mountains. She had a cave she would always go to to sit and watch the activity of the forest. It was nice.
She was actually on her way there right now when her communicator buzzed. "Siryn," the voice of Scott Summers, leader of the X-Men, called out.
"Siryn here," she replied, setting down on the ground. "What's the problem?"
"We got word of a mutant causing some trouble near your location," Scott said. "Mostly petty thefts, but some medical equipment has also been stolen. You'll have to go there and investigate. See what you can find. If this mutant needs help, I want you to bring him here. If he's a threat that can't be talked down, still bring him here. We'll slap them with a nullifier and hand him over to the authorities."
"Why me alone?" she asked. "I feel like something like this should be done with a team."
"Normally you'd be right, but there's some trouble brewing here in Genosha. We need all the hands we got here. Besides, I'm confident you can handle it."
"Okay," Siryn replied, not too sure of herself. She'd never been given a solo mission before. "So, is there a more precise location? And any other information on the mutant himself?"
"Somewhere located in Alphabet City," Scott reported. "Unfortunately, that's the only pattern to his appearances. As for information, we don't even know if he actually is a mutant. He's certainly superhuman, but that doesn't necessarily mean mutant. Even if he isn't, if you feel you're capable of putting him away, do so."
Siryn raised an eyebrow. "And if he isn't a threat, and just needs help?"
Scott went quiet for a second. "He'll have to help himself. If he isn't a mutant, it's not within our responsibilities. I'll need you to report back to Genosha immediately."
Siryn couldn't help but grimace. Compared to the Professor, Scott was much colder and more pragmatic. If a thing didn't give him an advantage, or it wasn't within a specific rule, he wouldn't act. Technically, no, they weren't responsible for non-mutant superpowered people. But that hardly meant it felt right leaving a lost soul behind. Still, orders were orders…
"Understood," she replied. "I'll head over as soon as I can. Alphabet City, you said?"
"That's right. And good luck. New York is crawling with danger." With that, Scott killed the communication.
Letting out a deep sigh, Siryn looked to the sky. Her first solo mission. It can't end the same way her father's did. It's just a reconnaissance mission after all. Probably won't be any action.
In the shadows the man waited patiently as his guest threw his tantrum.
"Ye told me ye could fix me!" the guest shouted in a thick Irish accent. While the man in shadow was obscured from view, the guest was in the light. His shoulder length black hair was ragged and matted, and he only wore a torn up white shirt and black pants. The most striking feature of him were the root-like veins bulging out of his skin. Each fingertip ended in a razer sharp claw.
Between the two was a table, with the money and medical equipment stacked on it. The guest slammed his fists down. "Ye will fix me!"
"Calm yourself, Tom," the man replied. "I can fix you, but the tools you've given to me simply aren't enough. They are helpful, yes, but we need more. We need him."
Tom, the guest, took a few deep breaths. When he spoke, there was still anger behind it. "Alright. Alright."
"I won't let you die, Tom, you're far too important," the man said. He put his fingertips together in thought. "We are close, though. All we need is a sizable sample of the subject. I can use that to halt the virus in you."
"Fine," Tom hissed out. "So, we need the failure. I can get 'im fer ya'. How much would I need?"
"Theoretically, not much," the man replied. "But the more of the subject you get, the better." A small smirk played across his lips. "I imagine you're just itching to get back at him, anyway."
"Fer sure, boyo," Tom replied. "Deadpool and I go way back. And I have a score t' settle."
"Go. Find him," the man said. "Once you get the sample, then we'll be able to start your treatment."
Meanwhile, across Alphabet City, Deadpool was awoken by his phone. He was face down on his pillow, laying in a puddle of his drool. Letting out a small groan, he reached over and saw it was an unlisted number.
Do you think it's a job?
Of course it's a job, who else would it be? Weasel and Bob are still mad at us.
"Hey, guys," Deadpool greeted tiredly. "How was your little break?"
It was fine. Ended too soon. Hey, I have an idea!
"No, we're not trying again," Deadpool immediately bit out. "Once a day. You know this."
Besides, we should probably see the job we're being offered.
He let out a harrumph, and answered the phone. He let out a muffled, "Hello?"
"Mr. Deadpool. I'm pleased that the job went well."
"Oh, it's you." It was the same employer for the job the night before. "Yeah, not a hitch in sight. So, you got a new job for me?"
"Of course. An old acquaintance of yours has been causing me a bit of trouble lately. He's been spotted in Alphabet City recently, stirring up some chaos for my businesses. I would like you to take him out."
"'An old acquaintance', you say?" Deadpool repeated. He got to his feet and walked over to his discarded mask from last night. Picking it up, he shook it to clean off any dirt from it. "So, is this an ol' drinkin' bud of mine? Is it Vic?"
"No. It's Black Tom."
"Tom…" Deadpool stood still. The hand holding his mask began shaking.
You okay?
Breathe. We'll take him down this time.
"Yeah…" Deadpool pulled his mask over his face. Immediately his demeanor brightened. He stood up straighter, put a hand on his hips, and happily said, "The Tomster! He's alive? And in the city? To think, that piece of shit never even once thought to meet up and have a beer with his ol' pal, Deadpool!"
"Yes, how inconsiderate of him," the man replied dryly. "Unfortunately, I don't have a precise location. This will require some investigative work on your part. I apologize I can't be of more help."
"Hey, I have to earn my money somehow." He shrugged. "Besides, it might be fun! I haven't had to go all detective since that one job in Jacksonville."
Man, that job was off the hook! Ooh, you think Bob's wife still makes that tuna casserole?
Not sure, but they'll never let us back into that TGI Friday's. It's a shame. They had some good food.
"Anyway, what's the pay? There's this yacht I'm looking at, and I've almost put enough away in my little piggy bank."
"Ten million," the man replied.
"T-ten million?! I could actually buy a yacht! Man, Tom must've royally pissed you off, huh?"
"I am a man who holds many grudges, Mr. Deadpool, I assure you, and he has cost me dearly. Yes, he has 'royally pissed me off', as you so eloquently put it." There was certainly an anger behind the man's voice, Deadpool noted to himself.
Tom never was a very personable fellow, after all. He had made a lot of enemies. And if he was in Alphabet City causing trouble, where Deadpool just so happened to live, then there had to be a connection.
Damn right there is! We have to figure it out! C'mon, we have to think!
We? You mean me, right?
Of course! We both know I don't do well with the think good.
That is the most right you've ever been.
"Mr. Deadpool?" the man asked. "Do we have a deal?"
Deadpool thought for another minute. It's been years since he's seen Black Tom, since long before he got his makeover. And the things they did together still gave him nightmares. But Tom, taking things just too far, going that little bit extra past the line…
"Don't you worry your smooth, buttery voice," Deadpool replied. "I'll get the Tomster for you. I'll mail his head in a box if it pleases you."
"That… won't be necessary, but I appreciate your enthusiasm for the job. It gives me confidence."
"No problemo. He'll be dead. It's been a long time coming. I'll hit you up when he's done."
"Make me proud, Mr. Deadpool."
WIth that, Deadpool hung up and began putting on the rest of his costume. He left aside the twin katanas, but strapped his gun belt around his waist, sliding the knife into his foot holster, and grabbed his tan trench coat and fedora.
Ooooh, our undercover gear. Does that mean we're hitting up the Bar with No Name?
They don't let us in there either. We and Bullseye trashed it last time.
"What's a little light rough housing among friends?" Deadpool asked.
You sent the Shocker to the hospital.
"I fail to see the issue."
He was there for three weeks!
"Still not working."
Deadpool threw on his coat, doing a pitiful job covering his costume, but decent enough at covering his weapons, not that anyone wouldn't already guess they were there. He put the fedora on his head, only barely obscuring his mask.
"Alright, we'll do a Sherlock Holmes for a little bit, then hit up a Mexican place. Sound good?"
Sounds good.
Works for me.
Deadpool grabbed some money and headed out the door.
Elsewhere, Siryn stopped and hovered in place over New York City. It was a massive place, she thought to herself. Far larger than where she grew up with her uncle, she remembered being awestruck the first time she laid eyes on it as a child.
The city lights and noises were like nothing that she had ever seen. She would never have admitted this to her uncle at the time, but she clung to him like glue for the few weeks of their visit. The visit turned into a permanent stay, as Tom started getting more and more jobs in America, so they settled into a place in New York. That would end up killing him in the end, but for the first few years they were here, there was almost peace.
Whenever she stopped by the city, she made sure to just hover over it for a few minutes. It made her smile.
But business had to be done.
She was looking for a mutant, although she wasn't really sure where she should start beyond Alphabet City. It was entirely possible that the mutant wasn't even in the district anymore. Sure, it was a sizable chunk, but hardly the only one. Still, she had to start somewhere. And it would probably be easier to get information when not dressed like an X-Men.
There was a hidden stache here that the X-Men used whenever they were in New York. Sometimes they had to go undercover at short notice, and they didn't have a spare set of clothes. There should be some there. She made her way as her heart suddenly grew heavier.
Strange, she thought to herself. Why did she suddenly get a strange feeling about the mission?
A man was sent against the wall, followed up by a punch to the stomach.
"Hello, Enrique," Deadpool greeted chipperly.
It had taken a few hours hunting down Enrique, a well known information dealer across the Big Apple. Behind the two, a group of ten men, all looking in their early twenties, lay on the ground. Each of them were knocked out cold. "I'm looking for someone. A little birdie told me you might know where he is."
"Man, I don't know nothin'!"
"You know, they always say that," the merc said, stepping a bit closer. "That you don't know nothin'. You know what that means, right? You have to know something. Aren't double negatives a beautiful thing? And I'm willing to bet, if I squeeze you like a lemon, the sweet lemonade of truth will pour out of you."
Enrique's eyes widened. He began to desperately look around, but Deadpool threw a knife into his shoulder. He let out a pained scream, but the merc grabbed his face and forced him to look at Deadpool.
"Y'see, I'm looking for Black Tom." Deadpool waited a second. "Nod if you've heard of the man."
Slowly, Enrique did give a nod.
"Good. And I'm willing to be, you being as forthcoming as you are about information, he paid you a visit."
Another nod.
"Wonderful. So, you're going to tell me everything you know about Tom and then I'm going to get you to a hospital to get this-" He flicked the knife handle, causing a cry of pain from Enrique "-looked at, yeah?"
He nodded again. Deadpool let go of his mouth, and waited as Enrique sobbed for a moment. Tapping his foot, the merc looked to his watch, giving a visual indicator that he was waiting.
"Tom's… he's, uh, well…" Enrique glanced past him. "He's right over there."
Deadpool raised an eyebrow before immediately ducking away. A powerful concussive blast slammed into Enrique, blowing a whole straight through him. As he slumped to the ground dead, Deadpool turned around and came face to face with a face he hadn't seen for a long time.
"Tom," he greeted.
"Deadpool, me boy," Black Tom greeted in return, lowering his smoking hand. "It's been a dog's age. How've ye been?"
"Pretty good. How're the tree veins?"
"Oh, you know." Tom grinned. "Only hurts when I breathe."
The two stood across from each other silently. "Okay," Deadpool breathed out. "I'm going to kill you now."
Tom flexed his clawed fingers. "I know ye'll try."