Assassin-Nation: Meeting
"A trap, Oh come on, you have to be kidding," Deadpool said to whoever it was behind him. His voice was full of amusement, and it was clear that the Mercenary was not worried in the least. His hands slowly lifted and he turned around to look the shooter in the face.
"Stop right there, Mr. Pool. I am, how do you American's say it, trigger happy?" The voice was thick with a British accent, and the man could not match the voice less. He didn't stand to Deadpool's shoulder in height, and wore a black trench coat, over a powder blue sheer vest. No shirt was worn, a pair of shiny black vinyl pants, and heavy looking combat boots.
"Trigger happy, huh? Sounds like a bad television show on some third rate network," spouted off the black and red clad hit man. In typical Deadpool fashion, his voice was full of sarcasm. "Come on then, let's see what you have for me, Mr. Brit."
Before the sentence, or rather, the challenge was finished, Deadpool was moving forward, ducking to the left to avoid a second shot. With the skill that only specially trained men and women possess, Deadpool drew the twin long swords from his back, and slashed an 'x' in front of him.
The British man was equally fast. When his shot missed, he disguarded the pistol, and brought two small titanium nightsticks from under the long coat, easily blocking both swords in one swift motion. Swords and sticks clashed, metal ringing off metal and echoing through the rooftops of the city.
Deadpool was grinning beneath the mask. He was rather enjoying himself and this little game he was playing. Deadpool, in the midst of glinting weaponry, kicks out hard with his left foot. It moved quickly, straight for the man's right shin. The kick was meant to cripple, and cripple it did. The man on the receiving end of the kick was nowhere near expecting such a cheap maneuver.
Deadpool stood over the fallen man, and cocked his head lightly to the left as he looked down at the man. "What's wrong, aren't you having fun?" The ever sarcastic mercenary shook his head lightly.
The British assassin, was shocked, "Bloody hell, you rotten son of a bitch!" Hands flashed out, and nightsticks flew through the air toward the American smartass, only to be quickly and efficiently knocked aside. The brit snarled, and spat the Deadpool's feet.
Deadpool simply laughed and turned away from the angry man, leaving him to stew with his broken leg. "Next time, you should remember this, "American's don't always play fair."" As he walked toward the edge of the building, the swords were replaced at his back. He heard the man shuffling around behind him, and spun around quickly, drawing the Eagle from his left hip and firing off one quick shot.
The man, who was shuffling for his gun, pulled his hand back as the gun was shot away from him, "This isn't over, Mr. Pool. This is nowhere near finished."
With that bit said, Deadpool saluted the man on his duff, and leapt over the side of the building. He tucked into a tight ball as he dropped the two stories toward the ground. Fifteen feet, he stretched back to his full height and landed with a thud. "Man that kind of hurts. next time I think I'll take the stairs." Deadpool looked at the large corporate building across the street, and nodded slowly. "This had better be worth it. I like to work alone."
He pushed through the door and looked to the secretary that sitting at the desk, and then looked around a little bit. The place was almost totally shined steel. There was nothing on the walls, floor bare of decoration, and extremely high vaulted ceilings.
The secretary watched the man called Deadpool carefully, "May I help you sir?" She did not move from behind the desk where she sat, but her eyes followed the strangely clad man warily.
Deadpool smirked, though the action was less than evident. "Sure can sweet thing. I'm here because I got a call some high-tech stuff was stolen." The man walked over to the desk and leaned on it with his elbows, watching the woman closely.
The woman blinked several times, and then nodded slowly, "Take the elevator up to the top floor, Mr. Hardeman is expecting you as well."
Upstairs.
A phone rings, and is lifted by a business man in slate-grey suit. "What is it?" After a moment, he replaced the phone and looked up slowly. "It will be only on more minute, Ms. Natchios. After my other guest arrives, we can begin."
Elektra glared at the man with narrowed eyes. "Do not call me that, unless you wish to feel the searing pain of steel through your throat." She leaned casually against the cold wall in the office, her arms crossing over her crimson clad chest. She was not expecting to have to wait this long, and she was growing irritated.
The elevator doors opened, and out stepped Deadpool. "Never fear, never fear, Deadpool is here!" A grander entrance was easy to come by, but the man didn't care. He did, however, stop and cast a sidelong glance at Elektra, and then looked to Mr. Hardeman. "So this chick-a-Dee is who you're trying to get me to work with, huh? Well hell man, if you'd have told that, I would have been here ten minutes ago."
Elektra wasn't even listening to the man as he spoke; her eyes were on the man behind the desk. "I'm sure there is a reason that I'm here, Mr. Hardeman. Let us get on with it."
Hardeman nodded silently and pushed a small red button on his desk top. Behind him, a large, flat screen dropped from the ceiling. The screen flickered once, and began to flip slowly through still shots of some odd looking blueprints. "These are the blueprints for a new weapons system hat my company was working on for the American military. Late last night, or early this morning, the prints were stolen from our vault in the basement. I know where the prints are, and believe that only you can retrieve them."
Deadpool nodded slowly, "I'm in, for One hundred fifty thousand American dollars." Deadpool was about to speak again, but was abruptly cut off by the woman that had not moved since he entered the room.
Elektra had pushed off the wall and moved forward, nearing the desk and the man behind it. "No deal. I'll take my money and leave, thank you." She did not move from the desk. She remained, eyes on Mr. Hardeman, waiting patiently.
Deadpool walked up and leaned close to Elektra, grinning wide, "What's the matter, doll? Afraid you can't handle working with a 'real man'?" He smirked then, as the crimson killer turned to finally face him eye to eye.
She looked at him, square where his eyes would be located beneath the mask he wore. "I do not work with amateurs. From what I have seen, you are not a professional." A soft sliding sound was heard, and the pair looked down. Elektra had Deadpool in a very awkward position. She had drawn a single sai, and was currently pressing it against his groin, "Now I suggest you take two steps away, or become half the man you believe you are."
Deadpool was silent, but he did step back the suggested distance. He was eyeing the woman carefully, but he turned to look at Hardeman. "Well then, I have an idea." He moved to the far side of the desk from Elektra and sat lightly upon the edge. "Make it bounty. Two hundred thousand American dollars, to whoever returns the blueprints."
Mr. Hardeman rubbed his chin lightly and stood from his chair. After several long moments of pacing back and forth, and turned and looked between the pair of assassins. "Fine, whichever of you bring me back the blueprints, will receive two hundred thousand dollars in American currency. Is that an acceptable offer, Elektra?"
The seriousness had not left the woman's face, as she watched as things played out before her. "Accepted," With that said, she simply turned and walked back to the wall. "Where are they?" She still had her eyes narrowed toward the smartass, Deadpool, but her ears were waiting for details, so she could leave, leave and show this pompous assed mercenary what real skills were.
Five minutes later, Elektra had boarded the elevator, and Deadpool was gone in a flash of light. Each planning on taking the full reward for themselves, and each planning to teach the other a lesson they would not soon forget.
"A trap, Oh come on, you have to be kidding," Deadpool said to whoever it was behind him. His voice was full of amusement, and it was clear that the Mercenary was not worried in the least. His hands slowly lifted and he turned around to look the shooter in the face.
"Stop right there, Mr. Pool. I am, how do you American's say it, trigger happy?" The voice was thick with a British accent, and the man could not match the voice less. He didn't stand to Deadpool's shoulder in height, and wore a black trench coat, over a powder blue sheer vest. No shirt was worn, a pair of shiny black vinyl pants, and heavy looking combat boots.
"Trigger happy, huh? Sounds like a bad television show on some third rate network," spouted off the black and red clad hit man. In typical Deadpool fashion, his voice was full of sarcasm. "Come on then, let's see what you have for me, Mr. Brit."
Before the sentence, or rather, the challenge was finished, Deadpool was moving forward, ducking to the left to avoid a second shot. With the skill that only specially trained men and women possess, Deadpool drew the twin long swords from his back, and slashed an 'x' in front of him.
The British man was equally fast. When his shot missed, he disguarded the pistol, and brought two small titanium nightsticks from under the long coat, easily blocking both swords in one swift motion. Swords and sticks clashed, metal ringing off metal and echoing through the rooftops of the city.
Deadpool was grinning beneath the mask. He was rather enjoying himself and this little game he was playing. Deadpool, in the midst of glinting weaponry, kicks out hard with his left foot. It moved quickly, straight for the man's right shin. The kick was meant to cripple, and cripple it did. The man on the receiving end of the kick was nowhere near expecting such a cheap maneuver.
Deadpool stood over the fallen man, and cocked his head lightly to the left as he looked down at the man. "What's wrong, aren't you having fun?" The ever sarcastic mercenary shook his head lightly.
The British assassin, was shocked, "Bloody hell, you rotten son of a bitch!" Hands flashed out, and nightsticks flew through the air toward the American smartass, only to be quickly and efficiently knocked aside. The brit snarled, and spat the Deadpool's feet.
Deadpool simply laughed and turned away from the angry man, leaving him to stew with his broken leg. "Next time, you should remember this, "American's don't always play fair."" As he walked toward the edge of the building, the swords were replaced at his back. He heard the man shuffling around behind him, and spun around quickly, drawing the Eagle from his left hip and firing off one quick shot.
The man, who was shuffling for his gun, pulled his hand back as the gun was shot away from him, "This isn't over, Mr. Pool. This is nowhere near finished."
With that bit said, Deadpool saluted the man on his duff, and leapt over the side of the building. He tucked into a tight ball as he dropped the two stories toward the ground. Fifteen feet, he stretched back to his full height and landed with a thud. "Man that kind of hurts. next time I think I'll take the stairs." Deadpool looked at the large corporate building across the street, and nodded slowly. "This had better be worth it. I like to work alone."
He pushed through the door and looked to the secretary that sitting at the desk, and then looked around a little bit. The place was almost totally shined steel. There was nothing on the walls, floor bare of decoration, and extremely high vaulted ceilings.
The secretary watched the man called Deadpool carefully, "May I help you sir?" She did not move from behind the desk where she sat, but her eyes followed the strangely clad man warily.
Deadpool smirked, though the action was less than evident. "Sure can sweet thing. I'm here because I got a call some high-tech stuff was stolen." The man walked over to the desk and leaned on it with his elbows, watching the woman closely.
The woman blinked several times, and then nodded slowly, "Take the elevator up to the top floor, Mr. Hardeman is expecting you as well."
Upstairs.
A phone rings, and is lifted by a business man in slate-grey suit. "What is it?" After a moment, he replaced the phone and looked up slowly. "It will be only on more minute, Ms. Natchios. After my other guest arrives, we can begin."
Elektra glared at the man with narrowed eyes. "Do not call me that, unless you wish to feel the searing pain of steel through your throat." She leaned casually against the cold wall in the office, her arms crossing over her crimson clad chest. She was not expecting to have to wait this long, and she was growing irritated.
The elevator doors opened, and out stepped Deadpool. "Never fear, never fear, Deadpool is here!" A grander entrance was easy to come by, but the man didn't care. He did, however, stop and cast a sidelong glance at Elektra, and then looked to Mr. Hardeman. "So this chick-a-Dee is who you're trying to get me to work with, huh? Well hell man, if you'd have told that, I would have been here ten minutes ago."
Elektra wasn't even listening to the man as he spoke; her eyes were on the man behind the desk. "I'm sure there is a reason that I'm here, Mr. Hardeman. Let us get on with it."
Hardeman nodded silently and pushed a small red button on his desk top. Behind him, a large, flat screen dropped from the ceiling. The screen flickered once, and began to flip slowly through still shots of some odd looking blueprints. "These are the blueprints for a new weapons system hat my company was working on for the American military. Late last night, or early this morning, the prints were stolen from our vault in the basement. I know where the prints are, and believe that only you can retrieve them."
Deadpool nodded slowly, "I'm in, for One hundred fifty thousand American dollars." Deadpool was about to speak again, but was abruptly cut off by the woman that had not moved since he entered the room.
Elektra had pushed off the wall and moved forward, nearing the desk and the man behind it. "No deal. I'll take my money and leave, thank you." She did not move from the desk. She remained, eyes on Mr. Hardeman, waiting patiently.
Deadpool walked up and leaned close to Elektra, grinning wide, "What's the matter, doll? Afraid you can't handle working with a 'real man'?" He smirked then, as the crimson killer turned to finally face him eye to eye.
She looked at him, square where his eyes would be located beneath the mask he wore. "I do not work with amateurs. From what I have seen, you are not a professional." A soft sliding sound was heard, and the pair looked down. Elektra had Deadpool in a very awkward position. She had drawn a single sai, and was currently pressing it against his groin, "Now I suggest you take two steps away, or become half the man you believe you are."
Deadpool was silent, but he did step back the suggested distance. He was eyeing the woman carefully, but he turned to look at Hardeman. "Well then, I have an idea." He moved to the far side of the desk from Elektra and sat lightly upon the edge. "Make it bounty. Two hundred thousand American dollars, to whoever returns the blueprints."
Mr. Hardeman rubbed his chin lightly and stood from his chair. After several long moments of pacing back and forth, and turned and looked between the pair of assassins. "Fine, whichever of you bring me back the blueprints, will receive two hundred thousand dollars in American currency. Is that an acceptable offer, Elektra?"
The seriousness had not left the woman's face, as she watched as things played out before her. "Accepted," With that said, she simply turned and walked back to the wall. "Where are they?" She still had her eyes narrowed toward the smartass, Deadpool, but her ears were waiting for details, so she could leave, leave and show this pompous assed mercenary what real skills were.
Five minutes later, Elektra had boarded the elevator, and Deadpool was gone in a flash of light. Each planning on taking the full reward for themselves, and each planning to teach the other a lesson they would not soon forget.