This is a dried-up inland delta bed. Canyon mesas surround it. Gulleys and ravines empty into it; this is how the delta was filled back when this land was still going through a different geological epoch.
This is the egg. It's gotten very big. It hasn't taken up all of the dried-up delta's space...yet. And again, it's also unclear as to whether it's still growing. Either way, at this point, the egg poses just as much a threat by hatching as it does not doing so. And that's why the Dreadpool Corps is on its way...if they aren't here already. It certainly seems unlikely that stealth is their forte; hence, if they can't be seen (or heard), odds are greater that they're still too far away than they are that they're hiding.
In small batteries, the self-propelled howitzers are parked in well-fortified spots, both atop the mesas and within the gulleys/ravines, throughout the canyonlands. There'll be no need to send in artillery observers; the target is in plain sight...and won't likely resist getting destroyed.
This is a combat vehicle. It's an MGS (i.e. mobile gun system). It's smaller than a self-propelled howitzer, and a lot more mobile...hence what it's called. As things are, its front bumper faces one of the battery bivouacs.
Behind it, the tailgate has been lowered. Another tailgate party, it seems, is on. It's unclear as to whether this is a continuation of such a party from before, or a new one altogether. It makes little difference; this party's "guests" are just as likely to be drunk from the first round of parties as they are to be having their first drink of the day at this one.
As the party is in motion, a Dreadpool almost walks past. He has steel mimicry powers...which he almost always uses. (None of the other Dreadpools have seen him in his non-steel form.) His name is Wade Steel...and in the world where he's from, he's akin to the villain Michael Steel (a person who, in the world that most Marvel fans would know, bears the alias Ironclad, and is one of the U-Foes).
Steel stops, and studies the tailgate party's guests, as the carouse. They barely look at him...or notice him. The few who do also do a pathetic job of looking innocent. Their Bambi eyes could certainly use an upgrade...starting with the curing of their bloodshot condition...
Steel only sighs, shakes his head, and keeps working. In his absence, of course, the tailgate party continues.
Personal interview sequence:
This is Wade Steel. He comes from a world that's protected by the Fantastic Four...with infrequent situational help from ARMOR. He once duped the Fantastic Four into letting him visit the Negative Zone. While there, though, he got stuck in a labyrinth. Years passed. The Four attempted to send several instruments to the labyrinth to try to rescue him...but for a very long time, nothing worked.
While in the labyrinth, though, Steel profited in two ways. First, he made the entire labyrinth his home...and became close to several of the maze's denizens; this would've included many moloid mutants and dartayan Morlocks. Second, he ultimately challenged a minotaur that kept bullying him and a lot of the other denizens...and defeated it. And at long last, HERBIE and Powerhouse, from that world, (Sue was still pregnant with Franklin when Steel got stuck in the NZ) finally found a way to Steel and brought him back to his own non-NZ world...where it was soon revealed that he'd gotten steel-mimicry powers.
Steel fought and defeated Thing before going on the run...for the then-present staff at the Baxter Complex seemed to think that locking Steel up and studying him was a higher priority; one which Steel clearly wasn't as ambitious about. And as it is with his brother Mike in other realities, Wade has fought Hulk; except Wade, by contrast, was alone while fighting Hulk; Mike had help from the rest of his U-Foes. Wade only wishes that fighting Omega Hulk and/or Merged Hulk was just as easy...
As Steel begins the interview, he sighs. "I understand why they'd want to do it," he speaks. "I would to. It's just that... Battery fires go a lot badly than some would think. Our efforts could backfire. We might get counterattacked by a secondary enemy." He pauses. "They're too drunk to see that. In the Dreadpool Corps, the liquor always belongs in a fireproof vault on the top shelves of the mess tents and the chuckwagons. Either that, or we should never bring it along at all." Silence follows... "God, that sounds miserable..."
One of the birdfolk in the Corps is a Pesquet's parrot-man. He's a very talented musician...and does a very convincing Duane Allman impersonation. But then, as a parrotfellow who's so akin to an African grey parrot, all of his impersonations are convincing. Hence, his Inhuman power must be vocal replication. (Again, all of the birdfolk of Aerie are akin to Inhumans.)
Into a nearby dying maple tree, Wade Hedren, the parrot-man (who, within the Corps, is known as Allmanpool, Tippipool, Marnipool, Greypool, Buffetpool, Margaritapool, Five-o-Clock-Somewisepool, or Pesquetpool), ascends. With him, he takes his guitar. All around him, other Dreadpools help him set up the surround-sound... As this happens, Hedren strums his guitar, and tunes it... Soon he'll be doing a sound-check with the amps; that'll get noisy. Good thing these are all Dreadpools; pestilence is their middle name. And yet, if Apocalypse has ever made one of the Dreadpools his Horseman of Pestilence, that'd be news to the Corps. At least it would certainly be long-awaited news.
The air- and hover-artillery soon takes to the sky. This'd include the White Room mutant, the AmStaff mutant, the siamang mutant, a vorm mutant, a technarch, a technarch mutant, a shi'ar mutant, a Shadowknight, a Sentinel, a Scarlet Warlock, a saurian, a red howler monkey mutant, a Psylocke, a Moord mutant, a mephitisoid, a makluuan, a liguar halfworlder, a Mandarin-9 (i.e. a martial arts magus who wields the Lightning ring), a lemon shark atlantean mutant, a jerboa mutant, a Jack O'Lantern, an irradiated brood mutant, an Inhuman mutant, a Mandarin-2 (i.e. a martial arts magus who wields the Influence ring), Igor, a grass puffer lemurian, a giant otter mutant, the Singapura flerken, an Electro, a Doombot, a direst wraith mutant, a dire wraith, a Deviant, a Deviant xartan, a Madripoorian martial artist, a Blackout, a time-traveling Atomic Age fighter pilot, a 3D toon, a Vapor, a Vector, a Valencian separatist, a kree mutant, an Eternal eyungian, a time-traveling British dancer from the 1960s, and an anime toon. All wear a Dreadpool suit, and most are armed with either a mega-rifle or a mega-GL in the absence of their respective powers' "airborne artillery" capability.
This'd also include Dreadpool suit-clad multiversal variants of Igor, Cr'reee, Vin, Tactical Force, Power Broker, an avatar of Mephisto, Quentin Quire, Reddwyn, Simon Williams, Taneleer Tivan, Nathaniel Essex, an avatar of Chthon, Ikol Laufeyson, Hannibal King, an avatar of Entropy, Kevin Sidney, Bentley Wittman, Ebenezer Laughton, Arachknight, Omega Hulk, Deidre Wentworth, Franklin Richards, Alex Power, Sam Alexander, an avatar of Nightmare, Jamie Braddock, Maximus Boltagon, Michael Korvac, Malekith, Beyonder, Bowwoman, Nadia Van Dyne, Andrea von Strucker, Illyana Rasputina, Monica Rambeau, Jubes Lee, Daisy Johnson, Agatha Harkness, and Nori Ashida. They all come from worlds where they, respectively, become Dreadpool...and they all have "airborne artillery" talents. They're all also willing...to various extents...to abort an embryo while it's still in its egg.
Everyone else in the Corps mans the many ground batteries, which, as this narrative is being read, are being aimed at the giant target. The gunners are equipped, and at the ready. They only await for the battery commanders' signals...
First, though, a test must be taken. For that, a specialist has been rallied.
He's a Turkish Cypriot separatist...and a variant of Dreadpool. He's armed with a GL; the kind that can fire surface-to-surface missiles at long-range targets. In contrast to nukes, these grenades, despite their long-range capability, can't do too much damage...for a weapon if their scope. Either way, that's sort of what makes it the perfect "herald weapon;" to see if it's going to take more than one shot to destroy the target. Otherwise, the Dreadpool Corps hates wasting ammo...on targets that absorb and spit it out, that is.
And so, this Turkish Cypriot separatist...who's sometimes called Northpool or Nicosipool by the rest of the Corps..."takes the mound," if one will. He aims. He calms himself. He fires when he's ready; a lot of smoke comes out of the grenade's afterburner, as it's launched. Like a true Dreadpool, though, Northpool barely flinches against the weapon's recoil.
Across a great chasm, the grenade flies. It's almost hard to believe that the chasm wouldn't be half as big if the Dreadpool took any longer to get here than they did.
From above, Essex attempts to use his (possibly self-grafted) superhuman vision, to keep track of the grenade's progress... All around him, fellow aerial gunners with similar powers attempt to do the same... Sam Alexander does this with his Nova helmet...to much greater effect. Wittman wears a special visor, to accomplish the same feat. Bowwoman wears a special eyepatch that magnifies the telescopic vision of her already-superhuman dominant eye...
It takes the grenade a suspenseful while...but it does hit the side of its target. On the downside, it doesn't destroy the target. On the upside, it does leave a dent within the albumen; it's very wide, and slightly rounded. Small cracks radiate from the grenade's impact point.
Via the comm links within the Dreadpool suits, word gets around, about how chances seem, now that the test has been taken. After very little thought (as villains, after all, the Dreadpool Corps is notorious for under-thinking things), the Corps' big-shots decide to go through with Plan Alpha. They might as well; most of them are too dim and/or too ambitious to ever come up with a Plan Bravo, Charlie, Delta, Echo, yada-yada-yada.
The first howitzer fires. As this happens, Allmanpool, still sitting in the dying maple tree, begins playing his music. He plays his rendition of "Midnight Rider;" not the one recorded by his brothers' band, but the rendition that he once recorded solo; it has a slower tempo and a much more sepulchral feel to it. As the instrumental opening of the song is played, the howitzers, within sync, fire, within a certain pattern, one-by-one, depending on the song's largo tempo.
The music/guns take a short breather. As this happens, the ammo hits the side of the target, continuing the beat. Less predictably, the howitzers start going off again...but they still stay in-sync with the music. Far away, the gunnery ammo does, too, as it hits certain parts of the target, making smoke as it goes.
As the barrage continues, Allmanpool sings...and sounds almost exactly like Duane himself while doing so. And with his guitar and his music (wherever the rest of it comes from, if not his guitar), he mimics Allman's solo rendition of the song almost perfectly. It's also a good thing that he's sitting in that tree; just as the song's title suggests, this barrage will very likely be a midnight-hauler...and it won't make a difference if they destroy the target before then.
Aloft, the hover- and air-artillery begins its part of the barrage, as well. Generally, if they don't constantly shoot hand blasts at the egg, they use chest reactors harnessed to their suits to channel constant rays of weaponized energy at the egg; these chest reactors, generally, would use a variant of the Bloodstone as their power source. (A few of these chest reactors wield the Reality Stone, one of the six Infinity Stones, in lieu.) If certain Dreadpools are electrokinetic (many are), they constantly try to hit the egg with bolts of lightning at a time. (Ikol seriously considers deserting, as this happens; he has an adoptive brother, who he hates, who can command lightning.) If they have psi power (many do), they attempt to dupe the egg's embryo into relaxing, while everyone else tries to kill it.
Vin, the synthezoid son of Vision, uses the solar gem in his head to maintain a constant ray of weaponized energy...which he directs at the egg. Reddwyn points a maple staff at the egg, and maintains a similar ray of energy, aimed at the egg; Jamie Braddock and Illyana Rasputina both do the same thing, each, with another maple staff; Malekith and Agatha Harkness all do the same thing, each, with a spruce staff; Malekith's staff is of black spruce; Canadian black spruce, to be more specific (and not to mention more patriotic)... Nadia Van Dyne becomes a giantess and keeps a ray of energy from her stinger-blasters aimed at the egg. Daisy Johnson aims a constant ray of seismic energy at the egg and maintains it.
Mimicking a pump with his belly, Entropy's avatar constantly squeezes grenade-like muntions from his navel; one by one, they fall from his navel, land on the egg, and explode. Oh well; at least they're not coming out of his rear... And at least he can do this with his BannerTech stretchy pants pulled up...
And so, the onslaught has begun. No one's going home early. And hopefully, by the time the barrage concludes, there'll be no phoenix to arise from the ashes. (And some of these Dreadpools would wish, slightly less, for revenants...or nelapsis...)
All night, the barrage continues...as does Allmanpool's stylishly-accompanying performance.
From the gravel that covers the dried-up delta bed, heat rides. A hot glow, the gravel emits too. The Egg, it seems, has embraced much hardship. Good thing, then that all of this gravel doesn't become lava, due to overheating... Nobody in the Corps, after all, is a lavafellow of Subterranea... There is at least one moloid mutant, though... A gnome from Otherworld, too, there is...
In the dying maple tree, Allmanpool still sits, playing his music. He hasn't stopped playing the same song...but at least he can keep the batteries in-sync.
Aloft, some of the airborne Dreadpools' exertions glow; especially the hand blasts, Bloodstone rays, electric bolts, and plasma rays.
Williams, being made of Cherenkov radiation, never stops glowing. To exert his powers, he's turned both of his arms into ray guns...and keeps both guns aimed and their triggers pulled throughout the night. For him, there's no such thing as burning the midnight oil; he's made of Cherenkov radiation, which is both longer-lasting and renewable. He knows a few mercs in the Seesaw 1970s who'd kill for his powers. One of them, in fact, is up here with him, aiding in the aerial barrage. (He's a time-traveler...and an Arab from al-Anbar Governorate.)
In tents within the bivouacs, some of the gunners take breaks. And yes, there's often coffee. Unlike as it is within the Deadpool Corps, though, the entire battle doesn't take a recess during these coffee breaks; only certain specimens who can't fight indefinitely.
A lot of these tents' inhabitants are Morlocks; mutants who are fugitives/outcasts in their respective worlds, whether that be because of their appearances or because of the idea, commonly had by their respective races' majorities, that their mutant powers give them an unfair advantage over the population. Funny; no one in the human race ever becomes a misandrist because of this...
One of these Morlocks is a Sentinel. Because of his size, he gets a tent all to himself. Either way, he can also brew coffee a lot better than most of the other Morlocks/Dreadpools in general. Hence, he's often the designated scuttlebutt. Like most of the Dreadpools, he'd rather be not a designated driver on a guys' night out.
In a tent all alone, the pierrot sits, with his arms crossed. Tears flow from his eyes; whether he's actually grieving or just putting on some sort of sick performance is unclear. He might not know either, actually... Either way, his joke...if it is that...seems to have to do with the abortion that's being committed outside...egg-borne and non-human though it is. At least most conservative voters, in the US, are highly likely to live and die without ever hearing about this. It's also a good thing that most of the Dreadpools love fighting so much that most of them are more likely to die by the pulwar than they are to so much as stand of chance of becoming any country's MoD (i.e. Minister of Defense; the Americans call their own the Secretary of Defense).
In another tent, two Morlocks sit. Both are Eternals; one a human, and the other an eyungian. Both, alas, are purple; all Eternal mutants, it seems, bear the purple-rendering mark of the Deviant Syndrome. (This would, in fact, be the reason why Thanos the Mad Titan is purple.)
Many of the Dreadpools on-break stick around and are ready to resume gunnery duty...if they have to, or simply if one of the active gunners gets tired. Others, alas, are somehow too emotionally disturbed to partake in what happens...and hence, if their backs aren't turned, they're hiding. (One would expect most Dreadpools to be too insensitive to weep for such affairs. Alas, it's a cold hard fact in life that just because villains are expected to not have souls doesn't mean that they always pass the test, whenever the gang leader of their respective youths dares them to commit the crime that would admit them entry into the gang's ranks.)
Not too far away, among rocks, all alone, a centaurian Morlock probes for precognition. (He's a Dreadpool, too.) Most centaurians are natural seers; this one, Wade Udonta, often called Xeerpool by his fellow Dreadpools, is no exception.
His eyes closed, Xeerpool draws figures in the sand before him. He attempts to draw whatever he dreams of. For this, he uses an enchanted paintbrush; one which merely casts a spell on the sand, and compels it to, almost instantly, take the shape of whatever Xeerpool imagines.
Something approaches; Xeerpool can sense it. He's...not having a vision of it; it's very real, and it's very close to where he's sitting. And based on how much it stinks and on how heavily it breathes...Xeerpool's got a very tough hunch that whatever this fiend is, he is not here to sell cookies...
From the shadows, a great lupine face peers, with lit green eyes, at the Morlock. He's a eucyon warg; a great canine beast...and, in this world, often an apocalyptic pest to the livestock. Whenever the ranches are manned, though, the herds stand a chance. Alas, this ranch is not manned, and there are no herds; and that, it seems, puts the Dreadpools up a river without paddles.
Into his right hand, Xeerpool conjures a laser shashka. He keeps the glowing blade pointed at the great lupine, praying against prayer that he'll get the hint...
Sure enough, the eucyon warg seems intimidated. Whimpering softly, he scurries away. Xeerpool, though, doesn't know how he feels about the way the eucyon makes his exit. There's...just something non-convinced about it that he can't help but detect...
Nonetheless, for the time being, Xeerpool vanishes the laser-shashka, and returns to his meditation. The welfare of the Corps potentially depends on him, after all... It's strange, though; lately he's been having visions of swarms upon swarms of cockroaches... And sadly, he can't seem to finish having one of these visions without desperately seeking a cesspit...into which to hurl. In moments like these, Xeerpool often wishes he was Zeitgeist, a human mutant who vomits acid.
Nearby, the barrage continues. Much smoke rises from where the ammo lands; few can tell what lies beyond the smoky curtain. By dawn, though, all concerns will be addressed...including the ones that most Dreadpools are too mentally ill...or otherwise too hasty...to have.
These are other canyons. They're not far from the barrage. They're also no less strange to eucyon wargs. Carbineer wars were once fought here...before, during, and after this place became a ranch. Hence, the eucyon wargs initially arrived to feast on the carnage...and forgot to leave once the scent from the last corpse faded to nothing. But then, the herds' lingering, it seems, is just as much a suspect, as to the mystery of why the wargs are still here. It's been too soon after the herds' evacuation; that, then, is the most likely reason why the eucyon wargs still linger, despite the herds' absence. Plus, the Dreadpool Corps is in the area...and many of them smell like bluebucks...and then some.
Atop a nearby mesa, a trebuchet sits. It doesn't look a day over the 15th century...or the fall of Constantinople. Unclear, as to what it's doing out here... But then, this is a chaos world, isn't it? Plus, whoever was using it last probably didn't take enough time...for themselves, if nothing else...to store the thing before evacuating the ranch because of the Egg.
Through nearby gullies, two men make way. Both are clad in Dreadpool suits. They straggle...but they'll soon be of use. Their powers have a tendency to demand a lot of space, just to be wielded. Hence, it should be less of a surprise that one of their powers once belonged to the Mandarin of his own world.
One of them steps on something...and freezes. It's made a noise; a noise which many mercs know anywhere. It's never a bell of joy...for the unlucky son of a bitch that steps on it. It is, in fact, an omen of amazing doom.
It's an antipersonnel mine. It was made by the Villengard Corp, on the planet Villengard. In the 6th millennium, the weapons companies on Villengard are both famous and infamous. Their weaponry (and First Aid) are a lot more modular than the same of today. Alas, like any other stratocracy, Villengard is not immune to corruption...or sabotage.
Mandarin-3, the other Dreadpool, becomes aware of his companion's sitch. Hence, he rushes towards the gunnery bivouacs to summon help. He might take too long. Then again, he does wear the Mandarin's Spin ring...
In his companion's absence, Cannon waits...and despairs. This mine will stay inactive for a while... Alas, there are many nano-lights that make up a ring that surrounds the side of the mine. As soon as the final light lights up, this Cannon will be so loose, his parts will be all over the place. And as some would probably already guess, this particular Dreadpool does not have anatomical liberation powers... He does, in fact, have retroactive immortality powers; most of them do. Alas, such powers are useless when you're not constituted enough to be of consequence to anyone or anything. And to think that all of the Hand ninjas only require decapitation... (To be killed, that is.)