"Is he talking about me?" Deadpool called out. "I bet he's talking about me."

Siryn glanced back at him before focusing back on her conversation. "What's the matter with him?"

"He is a dangerous individual, Siryn, you need to be as far away from him as you can." Cyclops didn't necessarily sound worried, but he certainly sounded a bit frantic.

"Wait, how do you know about him?" Siryn asked suddenly. "I tried looking him up in the mutant database and he isn't mentioned anywhere."

"That's because I ain't in there, babe," Deadpool replied from the couch. He brought the bottle to his covered mouth and poured some. From what Siryn could tell, most of it just spilled past his mask, but she's sure some bled through. "Like I said, X-Men don't consider me a mutant."

"We've had a few run-ins in the past," Cyclops replied through clearly gritted teeth. "Wolverine has more history with him, but I know enough to tell you to get out of there. I can assure you, he isn't who we're looking for."

"Okay, he did pull a gun on me," Siryn muttered.

"He what?!" Cyclops asked.

"I said I was sorry!" Deadpool complained.

"Then it must've been the other guy he was fightin'," she said.

"Other guy?"

"Some guy who looked like a tree was growing out of him," she clarified.

"That does not help at all."

"Oh, you're looking for that douche?" Deadpool asked. "I can help you find him."

Siryn whipped around to face Deadpool. "You will?"

"Do not trust him, Siryn," Cyclops warned.

"Yeah, I'm getting paid some pretty good money to take him down," he said with a shrug. "Although, I figure I'm going to have to renegotiate."

Siryn had no idea what that meant. Cyclops said, "Siryn, I can hear what he's saying. Remember, Deadpool is dangerous."

She was conflicted. On the one hand, she had no reason not to trust Cyclops. He had always looked out for Siryn, was typically right about most things. But, on the other hand, she had no clue where to start looking for this mutant, and Deadpool might.

"Think about this carefully, Theresa," Cyclops said. His voice held no judgement, nor urging now. It was calm and passive. "I won't stop you from accepting his help, but I do strongly advise against it. He's not a man you want to be involved with."

For a moment Siryn pondered her option. She finally said, "I'll call you back when I know more." She shut off the communicator.

"Sooo?" Deadpool waited. "What's the plan?"

"Why do you want him dead?"

The question seemed to catch him off guard. "W-What do you mean? I got paid, is that not reason enough?"

Liar.

"So, you're a contract killer? Explains the guns." She eyed him up and down. "Alright. We can work together. On one condition."

"Name it, babe."

"Two, actually," she said, gritting her teeth. "One, don't call me that ever again."

He shrugged. "Sure thing, Red."

"Two, I'm going to keep a close eye on you. If you even think about going behind my back, or doing some crazy that'll get people hurt, I will take you down. Painfully."

"Oh, threaten me with a good time," Deadpool joked. But he held up two fingers in a mock scout salute. "I, Deadpool of Regina, Saskatchewan, solemnly swear to protect the innocent even at the cost of my own paycheck."

Siryn rolled her eyes, but at the same time, couldn't help but crack a smile. "Well, that's a start, at least. Let's get going."

"Right, but before that, I got to make a little pit stop," Deadpool said.

"Where?"

"To go say a prayer."

Black Tom stormed into the office and slammed his hands down on the table. It had hardly startled the man sitting across from him.

"Ye want to tell me the hell ye were thinkin', Killebrew?" he asked.

The man in shadows, Dr. Emrys Killebrew, leaned back. "To what are you referring to?"

"Ye 'ired Deadpool too, didn't ye? Ye put us up against each other and let us fight."

"Guilt as charged, but you make it sound as if it's a bad thing," Killebrew replied.

Black Tom curled his fists, putting cracks into the table. Killebrew didn't flinch. "Ye have ten seconds."

"0How long would it have taken you to find Deadpool without me sending him after you? Days? Weeks?"

Tom didn't respond. He just waited.

"Me sending him after you lured him out. Granted, I didn't expect it to happen in mere hours, but we'll chalk that up to one of those happy accidents."

Tom snorted. "Yeah. A happy accident. One that ended in me getting thrown through a fucking wall."

"Deadpool is quite the fighter," Killebrew reminded him.

"Except it wasn't 'im. It was some mutant broad, stumbled onto the fight."

Killebrew's head tilted. "An unknown factor, then. Do you know who she was?"

"Didn' get a good look at 'er," Tom said. "Got out of there as soon as I could, in case Deadpool got back up."

"So, you didn't get a piece of him?"

"No," the Irishman confirmed. "I was about to start carving pieces off 'im when I got blasted through the damn wall. But I gave Deadpool somethin' to remember me by." He displayed the bloodied arm to Killebrew.

The doctor sat up straighter in his chair. "Is that his blood?" he asked.

"Yea, why?"

Killebrew got out of his chair and stepped into the light. Rather unimpressively, however, all he was was a short, fat man with long, gray hair tied back into a ponytail with a thick moustache covering his upper lip. But for being so out of shape, he moved surprisingly quickly past Tom.

"Follow me," he said. "I believe there might be something that can be done with that alone."

He moved out of his office into a small laboratory. He walked over to a cabinet, pulled it open, and grabbed a vial. He held it out. "Put some of that blood into this vial."

Tom raised an eyebrow, but nonetheless did as he was told. His arm, still covered in Deadpool's blood, dripped a few drops off blood into the glass. Killebrew quickly pulled it back. "Yes, I do think that should be good enough."

"Fer me cure?" Tom asked.

"No, we would still need a larger sample for that, but I believe I can give you something that will aid you in the pursuit," Killebrew informed him. "An artificial healing factor very much like his."

"Then just give me that," Tom demanded.

"Don't be a fool," Killebrew chided. He held the glass vial closer to his eyes. "Do you think replicating his healing factor has never been done before? I've done it myself. The problem is that it's designed specifically for his body."

"So?"

Killebrew rolled his eyes, an action that caused Tom to bristle. "So, the healing factor is too powerful for a normal person's body. It's not like Wolverine's, who's healing factor is relatively stable and reliable. No, if place in a normal person's body, I would replace cells that don't need replacement. Eventually, it would become a cancer in it's own way. But Deadpool's own cancer fights back against it, albeit having massive side effects."

He presented the vial to Tom again with a strange flourish. "With this, I'd be able to synthesize a temporary healing factor. Even without Deadpool's cancer, I've had patients go hours before they start feeling the more nasty side effects that come with his power. But with even this precious amount of his blood, I'd be able to make it so the effects of the mutation are temporary."

"I'll just ignore that ye called Deadpool's blood precious," Tom said with a sneer. "So, basically, I'd have a temporary healing factor?"

"Yes! I don't know the exact time, but I believe I could do an hour. But I'd only be able to make one dose, so you had better make it count," Killebrew stated.

"Me very own healin' factor, eh?" Tom said, rubbing his chin. He then smiled widely. "I like the sound of that. How long will it take?"

"A day or two, at most." Killebrew looked Tom up and down. "I don't believe the virus will kill you in that time, but you're welcome to find another, quicker alternative if you feel differently."

"One day," Tom said. It wasn't a request, but rather a statement. "One day, then I go back out an' fer Deadpool meself."

"What will you do until then?"

Tom let a small and wicked smile play across his lips. "Call in a few favors. Let's see if we canna keep 'im occupied fer the next twenty-four hours."

"What is this place?" Siryn asked Deadpool as they stepped towards the gates of the church. Next to the church looked like a school, but he had made it clear that they would be going to the church itself.

The mercenary presented the plaque on the side of the gate. "This, my curious lass, is Sister Margaret's School for Wayward Girls."

"I can read, thank ye, Deadpool," Siryn retorted. "I was wondering what we were doing here."

Oh, man, I can't wait until she sees inside!

Yes, a truly rare opportunity, not many are allowed to see these sacred grounds.

"Well, I'm sure she's honored," Deadpool replied without thinking.

"What?" Siryn asked.

"Nothin'. I just have to pick up a few things and then we'll be on our way to find our little mutie friend."

"I'd rather appreciate it if you didn't use that word," she said, holding in the flash of anger. She'd been confronted by more than a few angry mobs shouting that word at her, and had developed a strong distaste for it.

Deadpool shrugged. "Sure, whatever you say. How's 'raging psychopath'? Or 'batshit insane maniac'? Or 'tree fucker'? I like 'tree fucker'."

"My God, you do talk a lot," Siryn noted.

"Hey, now, we're entering holy grounds," Deadpool lightly chided her. "Remember not to take the Lord's name in vain around our host."

They stepped through the church door, and Siryn was ready to see a den of debauchery. Instead, she was pleasantly surprised to see a normal church. There were a few people praying, and no large, gun-toting men walking around. Present company excluded, of course.

"Sister Anna! How's my favorite nun doing?"

Up at the altar, an old lady turned around to spot Deadpool. She was wearing standard nun gowns, and her face was heavily wrinkled, but they framed her face well when she smiled at the mad man. "Mr. Pool, how have you been today?"

"Been good, just stopping by to pick up a few things," he said, walking down the aisle. "Oh, this is a new friend, she's helping me out on a job."

"Oh, bless your heart," Sister Anna said, taking Siryn's hand. "Mr. Pool has such trouble making friends. And it seems he's gotten lucky and gotten a looker."

She couldn't help but blush at the compliment. "Well, thank you, Sister Anna."

"Oh, I'm sorry, I never got your name," Anna said. "Forgive me, in my old age, I forget the smaller manners."

"No, no, it's fine," Siryn assured her. "My name's Theresa." She didn't notice Deadpool raise an eyebrow.

"Such a pretty name for such a pretty girl," Anna mused. "Now, Mr. Pool, you wanted to pick some things up. Did you need to discuss a job with Patches?"

"Might as well," he shrugged. They headed towards a door on the side. "By the way, how's Jessica doing? She was in pretty rough shape when I brought her here."

"Oh, she's doing wonderful. We're teaching the children cursive, and she's taking to it so well. I'll have to show you some of what she's written. Oh, and Amy has been asking for you."

"She has?" Deadpool asked with a smile. "What a sweet kid. She's come so far."

"Yes, and she's gotten so strong too," she stated as they got to the door. "Now, I'll let you get on with your business. Go with God, Mr. Pool."

"Thanks, Sister," Deadpool happily replied, stepping with Siryn through the door. They got to an elevator, and he pressed the button doing down.

As they waited, the X-Man couldn't help but ask, "What was all of that?"

Deadpool looked befuddled, even through the mask. "What do you mean?"

"The nun, the children you mentioned," Siryn said. "Was that all some kind of codeword?"

"No, of course not," Deadpool said. "Jessica was a kidnap victim from one of my jobs, and Amy was in a very bad place. So, I took them here, since I knew how much Sister Anna loves helping kids."

"Oh." Siryn had to admit, that caught her off guard. "And, do you do this often? Bringing children here?"

"Eh, if I see a kid who needs help, I help 'em," Deadpool casually replied, as though it was obvious he would do so. "They didn't ask for what they got, so I figure it's only fair that they get a shot at a good life. I try to help out with my pay when I can, but I don't always get paid a whole lot, and, y'know, rent is due."

Aww, you're just a big ol' softie, aren't ya?

That information most assuredly caught her off guard. As she waited in the elevator, she couldn't help but glance at Deadpool. This strange man. Had she been asked even five minutes ago, she would've said he was nothing more than a hedonistic madman who cared only for a paycheck and annoying people with the sound of his voice.

Now, though, he was helping displaced children? Giving a cut of his pay? And having a decent enough rapport with a nun of all people? Who was this man?

The elevator opened and they both stepped in. Deadpool clicked the lowest button, and Siryn noted with some surprise that there were a lot of buttons.

"So," he started. "Theresa, huh?"

Siryn stiffened. Shit. She wasn't even thinking when she gave her name to Sister Anna. And now Deadpool knew it.

That being said, it wasn't like it was an uncommon name. She didn't give her last name, so she was still relatively anonymous.

"Yeah?" she replied. "What about it?"

"Nothing," Deadpool quickly said. "I just agree with Sister Anna."

"About?"

"It's a nice name."

A brief silence fell between them as Siryn looked away and blushed.

"Isn't as cool as Deadpool, though," he quickly added.

The blush quickly went away, but Siryn cracked a smile. "Well, not all of our parents want to stick their kids with a weird name. Not a lot of employment opportunities with a name like that."

"I'll have you know, I could've been an excellent birthday party clown," Deadpool replied. "I have this neat party trick where I take my finger and—"

"I don't want to know," Siryn quickly replied. "So, you know my name. What about yours?"

The merc didn't respond.

"I hardly would think Deadpool is your real name," she continued.

Deadpool looked up and saw them nearing the bottom. "Maybe one day," was all he said on the subject.

Siryn nodded in understanding. It wasn't like she gave her name willingly, and Deadpool looked to be a guy who preferred his privacy.

The elevator doors opened, and she froze. Deadpool walked past her into the bar of mercenaries and bounty hunters all drinking to their heart's content. He stopped and looked back at her. "Well, come on, we need to hurry it up."

Now this was what she was expecting when she first arrived. But the mood whiplash caused by there being a plain, ordinary church just above them was still quite disorienting. She looked around in shock for a few seconds, before hurrying to catch up with Deadpool. They stopped at the bar, where behind it stood a thin, disheveled man with shoulder length brown hair and a pair of thick rimmed glasses. He looked up at the merc.

"Should've figured that I'd see your ugly face at some point," the man muttered.

"Aw, come on, Weas, you're not still upset about Jacksonville, are you?" Deadpool asked.

The man, Weasel, glared at Deadpool. "You almost blew the entire job." He began pouring a drink. "My incredibly well laid, intricate plans, gone into the toilet, just because you wanted to go to TGI Friday's."

He shrugged. "It's a wonderful TGI Friday's," he defended. "Oh, by the way, Siryn, this is my bud, Weasel. Weasel, this is my new partner in crime, Siryn."

Weasel glanced at Siryn, who raised her eyebrow at Deadpool. "So," she started. "Why do they call you Weasel?"

He pulled his top lip up, showing two decent sized front teeth. "Buck teeth," he said, letting his lip drop back into place.

"Bullshit, they call you weasel because you're a scared little bitch," Deadpool interjected.

"Well, you'd be scared at having to look at your face too, DP," Weasel shot back.

Deadpool slapped a hand on the bar. "I'll have you know; I was voted Sexiest Canadian Mercenary three years running."

"Yeah, you got some stiff competition there," Weasel chuckled, handing him a drink. "So, what are you doing here?"

"On a job, need to pick up a few things and ask Patches some question." He brought the drink to his lips but looked befuddled how to actually drink it through the mask.

"Well, he's in his office," Weasel said, motioning towards a door off to the side.

Deadpool raised his glass in cheers and headed towards the door. As he and Siryn were walking past the patrons, he placed the glass on a desk with a large, heavily tattooed, and bearded man. "Oh, by the way, Buck? This is from Mason."

Buck looked down at the drink before turning red. He got out of his chair and stormed off towards another patron. "You think that's fucking funny?!" he shouted, before throwing a punch.

Deadpool chuckled, placed the glass down, and headed towards the office. Siryn stared at the brawl unfolding before asking, "What kind of drink was that?"

"A Blowjob," he offhandedly replied.

Ah, yes, how classy.

Well, it's not like we were going to drink it! Weasel gave it to us.

He threw open the door to a well-kept office, much different from the bar outside. The sole occupant of the office, a short, bald, and old man, was sat at the desk smoking a cigar. He looked past the two to the brawl outside. He sighed and shook his head. "Damnit, what the hell did you do this time, Deadpool?"

"Me?" he asked in mock offensive. "Why, I would never! It's not my fault Mason won't confess his true feelings to Buck. Anyway, got a question for you."

"Shoot."

"This morning, did you get news of a Gold Card coming in for me? About a hit?"

Patches shook his head. "No, haven't gotten one asking for you specifically since that Roxxon job. Why, what's the matter?"

Deadpool's hand curled into a fist. "Looks like I've been played. Thanks, Patches. Just needed the clarification."

"No problem." He reached into his desk and tossed Deadpool a pair of keys. As the two were leaving the office, Patches called out, "And stop starting fights in my bar!"

"What's that, I can hear you!" Deadpool called, shutting the door as soon as he and Siryn were out. He shook his keys. "Alright, now to grab my tools. This project is going to take some heavy-duty equipment."

Siryn raised an eyebrow. "What kind of equipment?"

Deadpool smiled beneath the mask.

About an hour and two city blocks later, they had traveled to a storage container. They had traveled to a scrapyard, also known as the heart of Alphabet City. Deadpool had a duffle bag out and was throwing as many guns as he could fit. Siryn was standing back.

"Deadpool," she reminded him. "My mission is to bring him back to Genosha."

"And my job is to put a bullet in his head, and believe me, I plan to do just that." He threw a shotgun into the bag. He had strapped a spare pair of katanas on this back, with another holster over his back containing another shotgun, while an assault rifle was strapped to his back as well.

Siryn shook her head. "We can't just kill him!"

"Listen!" he shouted, slamming a submachine gun into the bag. His tone had taken on a more venomous tone than Siryn was used to. She had to admit to taking a step back. "You don't know this guy. You don't just bring him in."

"There has to be another way," she pleaded. "I'm sure the X-Men would compensate for any—"

"It's not just the money, Red," he interrupted. "You have no idea who we are dealing with. He is dangerous."

"That's what Cyclops said about you," Siryn fired back.

Deadpool didn't even hesitate. "And he's right. But Black Tom? Oh, he's on a whole different level."

Siryn's blood ran cold. "…What did you just say?"

"Tom's a sadist, and he'll never stop until someone puts him down."

"…Black Tom…?" she lightly breathed out.

Deadpool stopped back and finally noticed her reaction to the name. He squinted at her. "Yeah… Black Tom Cassidy." He took a step closer. "Do you know him?"

She just shook her head. "No, that's… that's impossible."

Has anyone else noticed the abrupt mood shift in this scene?

Oh, good, I'm not the only one who noticed.

Deadpool ignored them. He stepped closer. "Red?"

"You're lying," she said. She felt her throat hitch and some tears running down her face.

"I hate to break it to you, sweetheart, but Tom is running around Alphabet City while we're in a warehouse not doing anything about it."

She looked up at him with anger in her eyes. Deadpool's went wide as he took a step back. "Okay, I realize that might've come off as insensitive, but to be fair—" he started to say.

But as he was talking, Siryn let out a scream.

"YOU'RE LYIIIIIIIINNNNNNGGGGGGGG!"

The force of her sonic scream threw Deadpool back into the gun rack, leaving a nice indent into the wall. When she stopped screaming, he fell forward onto the ground. "Ow," he said quietly. "So, this is going to be a thing now, isn't it?"

Probably.

Oh, most assuredly.

Siryn was still taking in short, sharp breaths. "I-I watched him die! I saw it with me own two eyes!"

"The hell are you talking about, lady?" Deadpool groaned out, getting to his feet. "What is your problem?"

Siryn took a few steps towards the incensed Deadpool, but door to the storage container blew open, forcing both of them down to avoid damage. "Oh, what the hell is this?!" Deadpool shouted.

Jesus, this is just becoming a day, isn't it?

Yeah, not what I expected when we woke up this morning.

Deadpool and Siryn looked to the door to see a group of heavily armed men leveling their guns. "Friends of yours?" she asked.

"I'm offended you would think that I have anything to do with these guys," he replied with offense in his voice.

"Deadpool," one of the men called out, Leader, Deadpool decided to call him. "Black Tom has requested we bring you in. Alive or dead, it doesn't matter to us."

Siryn didn't say anything. She just shot a look at Deadpool. "Well, I still find it offensive," was his best defense.