Chapter 2: Waiting for Mr Iger
The streets of Vancouver were slick with rain, the kind that seemed to fall endlessly, turning the city into a blur of lights and reflections. In the backseat of a well-worn cab, Deadpool lounged with all the grace of a man who'd been here too many times to care. His red and black suit contrasted sharply with the drab interior, and his feet were propped up on the seat in front of him, much to the silent dismay of Dopinder, his close friend and cab driver.
"So, let me break it down for you," Deadpool began, waving his hands around animatedly. "I get a call from the Bob Iger himself—big cheese of the Mouse House—and he's all, 'Hey Wade, why don't you swing by for a little chat?' And I'm thinking, 'Finally, they've recognized my true potential! They're gonna roll out the red carpet, hand me the keys to the kingdom, maybe even a Golden Mickey or two!'"
Dopinder glanced in the rearview mirror, his wide eyes filled with admiration and a hint of confusion.
"DP, are you sure it's really Bob Iger? I mean, you've… had some strange calls before."
Deadpool waved off the concern, a smug grin visible beneath his mask.
"Pffft, Dopinder, of course it's Bob! Who else would call me at 3 a.m. and demand my presence at some secret location in Vancouver? It's all very cloak-and-dagger, which is totally my style. Plus, they said something about discussing my next big project after Deadpool & Wolverine hit that sweet, sweet billion-dollar mark. Suck it, Fox!"
He punched the air triumphantly, as if the cab were suddenly filled with cheering fans.
"Can you believe it, Dopinder? A billion dollars! Who knew that all it took was a little 'Snikt!' and a lot of stabbing to turn Deadpool into box office gold? I mean, sure, Hugh Jackman's abs might've had something to do with it, but let's not split hairs. The important thing is, I'm in demand. And if Bob Iger himself is calling, it means only one thing…"
"Secret Wars?" Dopinder offered hopefully, his voice tinged with the eagerness of someone who'd been listening to Deadpool's rants for far too long.
"Bingo! Or maybe even my own Disney+ series where I team up with Baby Yoda to take down Thanos' ghost or something. The possibilities are endless!" Deadpool replied, his eyes sparkled behind his mask as he fantasised about the endless merchandising opportunities.
The cab hit a pothole, jolting Deadpool out of his daydreams. He glanced out the window at the rain-soaked city, the buildings looming like silent sentinels as the cab weaved through the downtown streets. There was something oddly serene about Vancouver in the rain—if you ignored the fact that Deadpool was on his way to what could only be described as the weirdest job interview of his life.
"Speaking of weird," Deadpool muttered to himself, "why the heck is Bob Iger meeting me here in Vancouver? I mean, sure, it's got all the rain and maple syrup you could ever want, but it's not exactly Hollywood, if you know what I mean. But hey, Disney's got hidden offices all over the globe—probably some secret lairs buried under Disneyland too, complete with laser sharks, animatronic assassins, and maybe even Walt Disney himself, still on ice."
Dopinder chuckled nervously at Deadpool's musings.
"Maybe it's just easier to keep things low-key here? Avoid the paparazzi and all that?" he suggested, trying to connect the dots in his head.
"Low-key? Dopinder, I am never low-key. I'm the opposite of low-key. I'm high-octane, baby! But hey, maybe Bob's just trying to avoid the fanfare. He probably wants to break the big news in person—Deadpool, the newest Disney Princess! My dreams are coming true."
Deadpool threw his hands up in mock joy, nearly whacking his head on the ceiling of the cab.
As they approached their destination, the streets grew quieter, the bustling city life giving way to a more subdued, almost eerie calm. The cab pulled up in front of an unassuming office building, the kind that looked like it could be a dentist's office or a nondescript tech startup. There was nothing about it that screamed "Disney headquarters," which made Deadpool more suspicious.
"This is the place?" Deadpool asked, leaning forward to peer through the rain-spattered windshield. "Looks more like a spot where they'd film The X-Files than where I'd meet the big boss. But who am I to question the wisdom of the Mouse?"
"Yes, DP. This is the address you gave me," Dopinder confirmed, his voice filled with a mix of pride and worry. "Good luck in your meeting. I'm sure it will be… successful."
Deadpool gave Dopinder a reassuring pat on the shoulder.
"Don't worry, Dopinder. I've got this. Just keep the meter running—this shouldn't take long. Either I come out with a shiny new Disney deal, or I end up heading down the street to have a chat with James Gunn and those folks at the other company. You know, see if they need a new mascot. Maybe I'll trade in the red suit for some Bat-wings. They do love a good anti-hero over there."
With that, Deadpool stepped out of the cab, pulling his mask tighter around his face as he squared his shoulders against the rain. He took a deep breath, glancing back at the cab before heading towards the building's entrance.
"Alright, Bob Iger," Deadpool muttered to himself, his voice filled with anticipation. "Let's see what kind of mouse trap you've set for me."
And with that, Deadpool pushed open the door and stepped into the unknown.
The reception area was sleek and modern, with minimalist décor that screamed "corporate chic." Everything was tastefully arranged, from the strategically placed potted plants to the expensive-looking abstract art on the walls. The air smelled faintly of lavender, probably from some overpriced diffuser hidden behind the counter. It was nice—too nice. And, more importantly, it was quiet… too quiet.
Deadpool's boots squeaked slightly on the polished marble floor as he sauntered over to the reception desk, taking in the scene with a wary eye. Behind the counter sat a receptionist who looked like she'd seen it all and cared for none of it. Her hair was pulled back in a tight bun, and her expression was as neutral as the walls surrounding her. She didn't even flinch when Deadpool strolled up, fully suited and ready to make an impression.
"Well, hello there!" Deadpool greeted, leaning casually on the counter. "You must be the gatekeeper to the magical kingdom of Disney. I'm here for a very important meeting with Bob Iger. You might've heard of him—CEO, media mogul, my new best friend after our early morning chat."
The receptionist didn't even look up from her computer screen as she typed away, her fingers moving with practiced efficiency.
"Name?" she asked in a monotone voice, as if this was just another mundane Monday and not the day she was meeting the Merc with a Mouth.
"Name? Oh, come on! Surely you don't need that! It's me, the one and only Deadpool!" he declared, spreading his arms wide as if expecting applause or at least a gasp of recognition. "Star of a billion-dollar movie, pop culture icon, and future Disney princess. I mean, who else could I be?"
She finally glanced up, her expression as flat as the monitor in front of her.
"I'm going to need your legal name," she said bluntly.
Deadpool's shoulders slumped slightly.
"Legal name, huh? Fine, if you insist on being all formal about it. Wade Winston Wilson. But really, you can just put 'Deadpool' in your little system there. It's much cooler. And let's face it, that's what Bob's gonna call me anyway."
The receptionist typed something into her computer, the clacking of keys the only sound in the room. Deadpool shifted from foot to foot, trying to fill the silence.
"You know, I once saved an entire orphanage of puppies from a burning building," Deadpool said, leaning in conspiratorially. "Didn't even make the news. But that's just the kind of hero I am. Humble, selfless, and devastatingly riddled with awesomeness."
The receptionist glanced up at him again, her expression unchanged.
"Please take a seat. Someone will be with you shortly."
"That's it?" Deadpool asked surprised. "No 'Wow, Deadpool, you're amazing!' or 'Can I get an autograph for my kid?' You really don't get out much, do you?"
The receptionist didn't respond, she just pointed to the sleek leather chairs lined up against the wall.
Deadpool sighed dramatically, turning to see the waiting area.
"Fine, I'll take a seat," Deadpool groaned in defeat. "But just know, you're missing out on a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to chat with the greatest superhero-slash-mercenary-slash-Hollywood sensation in history."
He plopped down into one of the sleek chairs, crossing his arms in mock indignation, muttering to himself as he scanned the eerily quiet room.
"Man, the enthusiasm in here is off the charts. I'll bet this place throws wild parties."
His eyes drifted to the small stack of magazines on the nearby table. With a bored sigh, he reached over and picked up the top one, flipping it open. The cover featured none other than Ryan Reynolds and Rob McElhenney, grinning like they'd just won the lottery.
"Oh, In the name of Canada..." Deadpool muttered, shaking his head in disbelief. "These guys are everywhere. First Hollywood, now Wrexham? I can't turn a corner without seeing their faces. What's next, Ryan? You gonna buy Disneyland and put a Deadpool ride next to Space Mountain? I wouldn't mind, actually…"
He flipped through the magazine, skimming the interview about how the dynamic duo had turned a small-town football club into a global sensation.
"Of course they did," Deadpool grumbled, though a hint of pride slipped into his voice. "Can't say I'm surprised. Ryan's got that Canadian charm, after all. And Rob… well, he's got 'It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia'. Hard to compete with that."
He tossed the magazine back onto the table with a sigh, slumping further into his chair.
"Great, now I'm getting overshadowed by my own alter ego. What's next, Bob? Gonna have me playing second fiddle to a soccer team?"
Deadpool pulled out his phone, pretending to check his messages, but instead, he opened Twitter—yes, Twitter, not X. He still refused to call it that. Scrolling through his feed, he saw the usual chaos: memes, fan art, and celebrity drama. And then, right there in the middle of it, a tweet from Ryan Reynolds, promoting his Aviation Gin with a smug grin plastered on his face.
"Good God, man," Deadpool groaned, rolling his eyes. "Is there anything this guy doesn't promote? First Wrexham, now gin? Save some for the rest of us, you handsome devil."
He scrolled down further, his thumb flicking through the latest updates, half-expecting to see Reynolds selling something else—maybe his own brand of maple syrup next. The thought made him shudder. Then he paused, a thought bubbling up as he leaned closer to the page.
"Readers," he said, as if addressing a close friend, "have you ever seen me and Reynolds in the same room before? Huh? Think about it. I mean, I know we're both ridiculously good-looking in a horribly disfigured kind of way, but come on. You ever see us hanging out? Just saying…"
He tapped the screen a few times, retweeting a particularly funny meme about Deadpool with a sly grin.
"Maybe I should tweet something witty. Nah, that's Reynolds' shtick. I'll stick to what I do best—being awesome and making meta jokes."
Satisfied with his quick Twitter check, Deadpool leaned back in his chair, still pondering the bizarre overlap between his life and Reynolds'.
"Seriously, though. The guy's got his fingers in every pie. If he starts marketing a Deadpool-branded cologne, I'm suing. Or maybe I'll just steal it and market it myself. Eau de Chimichanga has a nice ring to it."
Deadpool sighed, shoving his phone back into his utility belt. With nothing else to do, he reached into one of his many secret pouches and pulled out a battered-looking PSP, the screen covered in scratches but still functional. He powered it on with a familiar beep and a flicker of light, the startup screen bringing a nostalgic smile to his masked face.
"Ah, Birth By Sleep," Deadpool mused as he navigated through the menu. "You know, I'm a huge fan of the Kingdom Hearts series. It's my 13th favorite gaming franchise, right after Animal Crossing—don't judge, sometimes a merc just needs to unwind with a little landscaping and anthropomorphic animal chit-chat. Then there's Goat Simulator—nothing like causing chaos as a goat, and really, who can resist that? Cooking Mama is a close contender too; I mean, who knew virtual cooking could be so addictive? And don't get me started on Katamari Damacy—rolling up entire worlds into a ball is oddly therapeutic."
He paused the game, leaning back as he continued his list.
"Oh, and Dance Dance Revolution—because nothing screams Deadpool like awkwardly flailing to J-pop. FarmVille—RIP my crops. Phoenix Wright: Ace Attorney—because I love shouting, 'OBJECTION!'. PowerWash Simulator—don't knock it till you've tried it. Tetris—a classic, because I'm all about fitting in… blocks. Leisure Suit Larry—don't ask. And of course, Untitled Goose Game—finally, a game that gets me."
He tapped the screen affectionately, starting up his favorite game.
"I'm missing my 12th favorite franchise," Deadpool mused, his brow furrowing in thought. Then it clicked. "Oh, that's right—Street Fighter! Nothing like throwing Hadoukens and delivering Shoryukens to blow off some steam. Sure, Sora's got that whole Disney-Square Enix charm, but Ryu? That guy kicks ass, no Keyblade required."
He grinned under his mask, feeling a rush of nostalgia as he continued.
"Even though Kingdom Hearts is 13th in my heart, Birth by Sleep is easily in my top five games of all time. And here's why…"
Deadpool started to lean in, as if confiding a great secret with the reader.
"First off, Aqua. She's not just a Keyblade Master; she's a force of nature. Her story is tragic, sure, but she's got this resolve that makes her one of the most compelling characters in the series. Plus, her magic game is on point. And let's not forget the emotional rollercoaster of Ventus and Terra—those guys went through some serious stuff, but Aqua? She's the glue trying to hold it all together. And—"
Suddenly, Deadpool was abruptly interrupted by the sound of someone clearing their throat. He looked up to see a man in a crisp suit standing over him, holding a clipboard and wearing an expression that could have been carved from granite.
"Mr. Wilson?" the man asked, his voice as emotionless as a machine.
"Agent Smith? What are you doing here?" Deadpool teased. "Did Disney buy The Matrix too?"
The man didn't flinch, his expression remaining stoic.
"We are ready to see you now."
Deadpool slowly stood up, slipping his PSP back into his secret pouch. He adjusted his katanas, gave his mask a quick tug, and turned to face the man in the suit.
"Alright, alright. Let's go see what Uncle Bob has in store for me. But just so you know, we're not done talking about Birth by Sleep. Aqua deserves all the praise, and I'm not letting some corporate meeting stop me from spreading the word."
The man in the suit gave a barely perceptible nod, clearly not amused by Deadpool's antics, and turned to lead the way. Deadpool followed, still grinning like he'd just won the lottery, as he mentally prepared himself for what he assumed would be a run-of-the-mill discussion about his next big project with Disney.
But as they approached a set of large, imposing doors at the end of a long, quiet hallway, something in the air shifted. The playful bravado Deadpool had been carrying with him started to wane, replaced by a creeping sense of unease. As he reached the door to the room, Deadpool paused for a moment, his hand on the door handle.
"Alright, Wade," he muttered to himself, "maximum effort."
With that, Deadpool pushed open the door and stepped into the unknown, his trademark grin still plastered under the mask, but now tinged with a hint of trepidation.
What lay ahead was far from the meeting our friendly neighborhood mercenary had anticipated. In fact, it was worlds apart from what he'd imagined.