Buffy Anne Summers, the vampire Slayer, now in her early forties, clad in a leather jacket, jeans and practical boots, edged along the rooftop in Manhattan's East Village, her gaze fixed on a line of club-goers below. These weren't your typical party people—they were unnaturally graceful, styled to the nines in leather and silk, and their eyes held that unmistakable predator gleam. She'd been tracking them for days, after word reached her base in Brooklyn about an incremental vampire presence in the city's nightlife.
Meanwhile, a figure in red and black darted between shadows nearby. Wade Wilson, also known as Deadpool, katana in each hand, zeroed in on the same scene from another part of the roof. He was also hunting vampires for reasons he hadn't even bothered to define for himself. It was more of a Tuesday-night hobby at this point.
As Buffy leaned over the rooftop's edge, watching one of the vamps take an alluring young woman aside, a loud voice broke her focus.
"Hey, Toots, is that the leader Dracula down there, or just a Dracula with good hair?"
Buffy whirled, surprised to see a masked man in a red suit, casually pointing a pair of swords at the crowd below.
"Did you just call them…'Draculas'?" she asked, incredulous.
"Uh, yeah. All these creepy neck-biters fall under that umbrella term. Now, you gonna stand there judging my naming system, or are we taking them down?"
Buffy scoffed, holding up a sharpened stake. "You sure you can keep up?"
"Please, lady. I was born ready," he grinned, flashing her a thumbs-up.
As if on cue, one of the vampires looked up, alerting the others. "Slayer!" he shouted out. With rapid reflexes, the vamps darted toward them. Buffy and Deadpool leapt into action, springing from the roof onto the makeshift dance floor, each of them picking targets with the ease of seasoned pros.
The mercenary took on a pair of vampires with a wild flourish, slashing his swords in a showy figure-eight. "Taste cold steel, Draculas!"
Buffy spun around, dispatching a vampire with a quick stake to the heart, dust spraying around her in a fine mist. "Dude, they're just vampires, not... whatever you say they are," she corrected, but Deadpool was having none of it.
"Fine, but I reserve the right to give them terrible nicknames."
The two of them moved like a choreographed dance team, instinctively falling into a rhythm of attacks and retreats, protecting each other's backs without a second thought. Buffy darted to one side, pulling a vampire off Deadpool's shoulder just before it lunged for his throat.
"Nice save! You made it through your job interview for my official backup!" he shouted, tossing her a mock salute as he jammed a sword into another vampire's chest, watching it dissolve into dust.
Buffy rolled her eyes but couldn't help smiling as she ducked beneath a vampire's arm, swinging herself up to deliver a high kick to another's face. "You're...decent, for a rookie," she admitted, reluctant but impressed.
"Decent…for a rookie? Okay, I'll take it. But I'm better at quips," he insisted, swinging a blade around to intercept two more vampires closing in on them.
They were breathing hard but victorious within minutes. Dust floated through the air around them like strange, glittering confetti.
Deadpool paused, catching his breath and sheathing his swords with a triumphant grin. "That was disturbingly fun. You and me? Natural duo. So do we high-five now, or do you, like, brood or something?"
Buffy arched a brow, resting her hands on her hips. "Actually…I might consider it." She held out her hand. "Buffy Summers."
He tucked his gloved hand into hers for a shake. "Deadpool, but my Canadian government name is Wade Wilson."
They both share a light chuckle, the city's skyline framing their shared moment of victory. It was as if they'd been partners for years, rather than a few violent moments.