Back to GatefoldAnnual 2002 by Brad Horton
"Cologne of Clone" |
DEADPOOL69: run that by me again
TaSkMaStEr420: there's a group of mercs called the klingers. word is they killed a bunch of other mercs. apparently it's down to me, you, and elektra. well, actually, turns out elektra's dead again...but they didn't kill her...somethin' else did.
DEADPOOL69: damn
TaSkMaStEr420: yeah...which means they're after you now.
DEADPOOL69: fuck...why me?
TaSkMaStEr420: i was fighting all four of them...couldn't read their moves at all...i jumped off a 100 floor building. the only way i had out. they think i'm dead, which is why they're after you
DEADPOOL69: so you just thought you'd give me the heads up? why? don't we hate each other?
TaSkMaStEr420: wilson, when are you ever gonna learn? it's like the pro bowl with the NFL
DEADPOOL69: i'm canadian...i watch hockey, not football
TaSkMaStEr420: the NFC has teams within its portion that are opponents, so does the AFC. come time for the pro bowl, the NFC unites to take on the united AFC.
DEADPOOL69: so, you and me are fried chicken?
TaSkMaStEr420: that's KFC...ugh just listen! only you can take these things down. i couldn't read their moves. you have a healing factor, so you might stand a chance
DEADPOOL69: well, this is real spy-like. yeah, let's talk on AOL Instant Messenger!
TaSkMaStEr420: why'd you make your screen name your merc name?
DEADPOOL69: why'd you?
TaSkMaStEr420: i alternated the caps, so it doesn't matter.
DEADPOOL69: run that by me again
TaSkMaStEr420: it doesn't matter...just watch out for them. btw, nice one with the ten mill. i'm out.
# # # # #
Ten million dollars.
What the hell am I gonna do with $10,000,000.00?!?
Wade Wilson here, also known as the hired gun, Deadpool.
A miniature version of me crashes through my apartment window. Okay. That's about $9,999,800.00 left. That's still a lot. Wait...I can just buy a mansion with Plexiglas windows so midgets can't crash through them. Thinking maybe something in upstate New York. I could build it into a school and use it to train other mercs so that one day, mercs and non-mercs could live together in pieces. Nah, that wouldn't fly.
Waitaminute! This little fuck-nut has my old costume on!
Hm...for some reason, I can't shake that one scene from Austin Powers 2 out of my head, the one where Dr. Evil and Mini-Me are dancin' it up to "Just The Two Of Us."
"All right, you son of a fucked up cracked out bitch! Here's the story," the mini-me shouts. "There were five clones made from your chopped off hands by a shadow government agency in upper Michigan. Four of them formed into the Klingers. They're trying to take out the competition."
"Juuuust the twooo oooff usssss...what?! The Klingers?!" I shout. Damn, Tasky was right. "What happened to the fifth one?"
"You're lookin' at him, cock-sucker!" Mini-DP shouts.
I smirk, "Strange...you don't look like me. Unless clone means slap my old costume on a seven year old with a <i>caca</i> mouth."
He pulls his mask off, revealing a scabby appearance like mine. Okay, he is my clone...one-eighth my size. Breathtaking. I shall call him...Mini-Deadpool! *THUNDER* Nah, that's just too fuckin' corny.
"They ran out of growth hormones for me...fuckin' assholes, but it doesn't matter. I am like Mini-Deadpool, the Clit Hunter. I can find that fuckin' clit and just lick it up and down with my--"
Hm. His name really is Mini-Deadpool. "Hold it. That's way too much info, pal. Just...stop talking," I say.
"But the Klingers are after you!" Mini-DP shouts. "And me...once they figure out I'm alive."
"Wait, you mean to tell me this shadow government thing got a hold of my severed hands?" I ask.
"Yeah."
"That's when my healing factor got amped...," I discover.
"Maybe they injected you with something?" Mini-DP suggests.
"No, I'd remember something like that. The healing just suddenly kicked into overdrive after the blood flow increased...maybe some kind of chemical reaction set to go off, altering my powers?"
"Come on, you gotta get outta here, they know where you live!" the mini-clone shouts. Man, I hope this thing is paper-trained. The last Kid-Deadpool didn't turn out so well. Plus, I'm...not very good with taking care of kids...not that I hate kids...
DUDE! This Mini-DP is the Boba to my Jango! Sweet!
I smile at the kid, "All right. Grab some weapons, we're gonna take these bad mothers out. Can I name you Boba Pool?"
"...No. I look seven, but I'm mentally as old as you are. Don't degrade me by thinking I'm your cloned son, asswipe."
"But I can be Jango," I plead.
"Jango got his head chopped off," Mini-DP says. "Fucking cock-sucker thought he could win against a Jedi."
"Yeah, I noticed that; that was...weird," I comment.
Mini-DP crosses his arms, "Well, they had to establish Boba for the original trilogy."
"Yeah...Why the hell are we talking about Star Wars?" I ask.
"Well, someone's gotta talk about it...and you brought it up."
"Ah. Well, uh...let's...kill...or something," I say as I open the door to my laundry area/armory.
# # # # #
Crochet, Musk, Pornet, and Oddity walk through the door which their leader and number one in the pecking order, Crochet, kicked open. They all have their guns drawn in each hand, with various other weapons strapped to their costumes: from knives, explosives, to more and more guns. The apartment was empty. They had made sure by emptying at least sixteen clips each into the place. Various neighbors had ran out of their apartments and ran off by going down the fire escapes.
"He's not here," Crochet observes.
Musk's brow lowers under his black mask, "Bastard got out in a hurry. Look at the mess."
"Maybe our template is a complete slob?" Pornet suggests.
"Does that mean...we're slobs?" Oddity asks.
"Oddity...?" Crochet asks. Oddity simply looks at the boss. It wasn't his turn to speak. Crochet looks over to Musk, the next in line.
"Um....fuck. There, I said something," Musk sighs.
"Hm, I get to say whatever I want...hehehehehehehehehehehe.....um....I like to rub my nipples....heehehehheehehehe...," Pornet smirks.
"Yes, boss?" Oddity asks, finally getting his chance to speak and respond to Crochet's original question.
Crochet stares blankly at the number-four man of the Klingers, "Um...shit, I forgot what I was going to say now...dammit. Um...oh yeah, SHUT THE FUCK UP, ASSHOLE, WE ARE NOT SLOBS, JUST A LITTLE DISORGANIZED!! We are NOTHING like Deadpool. We're better, faster, stronger..."
# # # # #
Deadpool stands on top of a roof directly overlooking his apartment. He looks through a pair of binoculars, switching it to night vision, making everything appear green. He can see the four assassins in his apartment, appearing to be listening to one of them giving a speech. Either that, or he's singing.
Mini-Deadpool approaches him from behind, with an M-16 equipped with a laser scope, pointed at the window just a block away, "I think I got a clear shot at Crochet, the leader."
"What good will that do?" Deadpool asks.
"They all have numbers, one through four, on their foreheads. They're so fucked up, that they're programmed to speak in order," Mini-DP explains. "Take the leader out, they won't know what the fuck to do."
"That might make the rest even more unstable. Screwing up their order would create disorder. And we don't know how advanced their healing factors are compared to mine," Wade explains. "Which is why I'm going to blow them to hell all at once."
Deadpool picks up a detonation device and presses the red button with his thumb...
# # # # #
"...Better-looking, less able to get drunk off of cough drops, better hygiene...," Crochet says as he fires down the list of reasons they're better than Wade Wilson...which isn't really a reason to celebrate. I mean...come on.
A small duffle bag seems to light up as tiny red lights inside of it come to life. Musk notices this and his eyes widen, "Uh...boss...?"
"Damn it, you interrupted him! I wanted to hear the list! Quick, say something, Oddity!" Pornet shouts.
"Who gives a shit, that thing's gonna bl--"
*BOOOOOM!*
# # # # #
Four fiery bodies are thrusted through the window of Wade's apartment, falling to the street below. Wade and Mini-DP hoot and give each other a high-five.
"Oh, man, that was too easy!" Mini-DP laughs.
"Shit," Wade says, pulling his mask off and wiping the top of his head of sweat, "I hope the other tenants got out all right. I mean...I've been pretty good at keeping them out of danger, you know. I mean, y'know, since...they've been pretty um...nice to me for being such a freak. Some of them are cool, too. They never narked to the cops or anything. Not once."
"Well, you just blew up their homes," Mini-DP says. "I don't think they'll be nice to you from now on, if they find out, that is. Or if they didn't get out in time...they'll haunt you."
Deadpool sighs as he glares at his miniature clone, "Just like all the ghosts of the innocents I've killed over the years."
"Dude, you're a fuckin' mercenary, what's your problem?" Mini-Deadpool shouts. "What the fuck do you expect?"
"You might have memory implants, kid, but not the experience!" Wade shouts. "Yes, I kill people, but they really...usually deserve it. Usually mob bosses, drug dealers, corrupt business people, cheating fiancees, lawyers, politicians, terrorists...never innocents. I mean, I know I'm a fuckin' sociopath, but...I really try to leave the normal, clean people alone. They don't deserve an abnormal death by a bullet...not by me. Not when I could recover from the wounds that would kill them...and ruin their perfect Nick At Nite TV Land life. It wouldn't fair."
Mini-Deadpool snickers, "Are you gettin' emotional on me? You fuckin' pussy! HAHAHAHA!"
Deadpool glares, "How developed is your healing factor?"
"Not as developed as I would think, I can heal twice as fast as a regular human. Why?" Mini-DP asks trying to breathe from the hysterical laughter.
"I don't usually kill kids...," Deadpool confesses.
"HAHAHAHAHA!" Mini-DP laughs, "Wait, let me get that on tape."
"...but I'm going to throw you off this roof," Wade mutters coldly.
Mini-DP suddenly regains a bit of his composure, wiping away tears, "Okay, sorry. Don't get all psycho on me. Get the crazy Michael Jackson pedophile look out of your eyes." He sighs, "I have a confession to make, I know how they amped your healing."
Deadpool stops his deadly approach towards his clone, "Okay. Enlighten me."
"It was a chemical reaction like you said, but they didn't inject it into you," Mini-DP explains. "They had the chemical cooked with the hamburger meat of every fast food joint in Manhattan. It would only react with your DNA. And it would only kick in once you had a serious wound, like losing your hands."
Deadpool glares off into the distance, "They were <i>anticipating</i> that I lose a body part...AND that I had unhealthy eating habits. Those fucks." He rubs his eyes as he puts his mask over his head, "And they were going to recover the healing-enhanced abilities from the severed body part or parts and create a bunch of clones which they would control. Just. Fucking. Great!"
"I know, it's a lot to absorb," Mini-DP explains.
"Why don't you try to absorb the impact of asphalt, asshole!" Wade shouts as he grabs Mini-DP by the wrist and dangles him over the ledge. "I am sick and tired of being manipulated by those smarter or stronger than me..."
"Or smaller...?" Mini-DP snickers.
"SHUT UP!" Wade shouts.
Suddenly, Wade's skull explodes. He drops Mini-DP as he helplessly falls into a bloody heap on the ground seventy feet below. He grips his head wound. He peers downward and sees -- barely -- four charred bodies beyond recognition. They hit him in the chest with some kind of electro-bullet, sending a shock to his nervous system. Wade twitches uncontrollably as he falls seventy feet as well.
He lands on Mini-DP's corpse, damaging his own spine, "Argh....fuck...," he grunts.
Suddenly, four separate barrels of four separate guns are pointed at his already bleeding skull. They pull the trigger simultaneously which produces a brief flash from the zinc and gunpowder. Deadpool's head was nothing but a bloody stump.
"It..."
"Is..."
"Finally..."
"Done..."
They speak with such a tone that is horrifying. They were like four sons that killed their father.
"Not...quite!" said a small voice gurgling with blood in his throat. To the Klingers' surprise, Mini-Deadpool had a bomb strapped to his chest. He had crawled over after Wade had his head blown off. With his last ounce of strength, Mini-DP presses a button on Wade's belt, teleporting him back to the safety of the roof. He smiles as the count hits zero.
"Fuckers...go to hell," Mini-DP smirks with blood dripping from his mouth.
With that, they were gone in a fiery explosion.
Back on the roof, something strange happens with the headless body of Wade Wilson. Technically, he should be dead, but he isn't. His healing factor was so advanced, that his DNA would replicate every dead cell EXACTLY as it was before it died. That included bone tissue, muscles, (scabby) skin, nerves...even neurons. The brain cells were replicated to the "T," preserving the essence, memories, and persona that is the Merc With A Mouth.
A quagulate mass of skin swirls and slops until it forms Deadpool's head, whole again. "Shit..." he mutters, gasping for breath. "That was...weird." He grips his head and looks down at the fiery mass down below. He recalls what happened, sort of...except for the brief moment he was brain dead.
He sighs, remembering the tenants of his apartment building. There were at least one-hundred of them...
# # # # #
Ten million dollars.
What the hell am I gonna do with $10,000,000.00?!?
Wade Wilson here, also known as the hired gun, Deadpool.
I've made my decision. Having my head blown off and surviving gave me some perspective on the situation. I'm giving the money to the tenants of my former building. It'll be $100,000 for each of them. That should be enough for all of them to get a fresh start.
It's the least I can do.
It's like, what the hell, right? There are a few less mercs around the world. I'll get work. The ten mill doesn't matter.
I am also wearing my old costume again. I know it sticks out like a sore thumb and it's a little "male ice skater-ish," but it's the only clothes I got now, so shut your mouth.
Besides, I had to get back to basics for the next writer.
Excelsior, beeotches!
WRITER'S NOTES
Thus ends my run on Deadpool. It's been a fun ride while it lasted, but it got to the point where it was too damn hard. It wasn't the deadlines that were tough, it's just that writing Deadpool in prose is tough. You don't get all the visual gags you do with the comics. I tried my best, watched almost every show on Comedy Central and other shows to get the comedic influence, and judging from the mainly positive reviews I received, I think it paid off. So, I'd like to thank you for reading and giving me all the critiques you did (mainly from Russ Anderson and Mike Exner...you guys rock).
I'd also like to thank Dino Pollard, a former DP (heh..."DP"...his initials!) scribe himself, for letting me write the title in the first place, and Logan Trent Kuraishi, a DP expert, for giving me advice on how to better capture Wade Wilson's character. And to Dave Wheatley, for giving Deadpool #18 an Editor's Choice award, that was a pretty momentous occasion. (Debate is still up on whether or not that was given to me under pity.)
To everyone else...while you were reading this, I fucked all of your moms. If she's dead and/or butt-ugly, I passed on tappin' that and moved onto the next luscious MILF.
Yeah. I fucked them good. Jealous?
TaSkMaStEr420: there's a group of mercs called the klingers. word is they killed a bunch of other mercs. apparently it's down to me, you, and elektra. well, actually, turns out elektra's dead again...but they didn't kill her...somethin' else did.
DEADPOOL69: damn
TaSkMaStEr420: yeah...which means they're after you now.
DEADPOOL69: fuck...why me?
TaSkMaStEr420: i was fighting all four of them...couldn't read their moves at all...i jumped off a 100 floor building. the only way i had out. they think i'm dead, which is why they're after you
DEADPOOL69: so you just thought you'd give me the heads up? why? don't we hate each other?
TaSkMaStEr420: wilson, when are you ever gonna learn? it's like the pro bowl with the NFL
DEADPOOL69: i'm canadian...i watch hockey, not football
TaSkMaStEr420: the NFC has teams within its portion that are opponents, so does the AFC. come time for the pro bowl, the NFC unites to take on the united AFC.
DEADPOOL69: so, you and me are fried chicken?
TaSkMaStEr420: that's KFC...ugh just listen! only you can take these things down. i couldn't read their moves. you have a healing factor, so you might stand a chance
DEADPOOL69: well, this is real spy-like. yeah, let's talk on AOL Instant Messenger!
TaSkMaStEr420: why'd you make your screen name your merc name?
DEADPOOL69: why'd you?
TaSkMaStEr420: i alternated the caps, so it doesn't matter.
DEADPOOL69: run that by me again
TaSkMaStEr420: it doesn't matter...just watch out for them. btw, nice one with the ten mill. i'm out.
# # # # #
Ten million dollars.
What the hell am I gonna do with $10,000,000.00?!?
Wade Wilson here, also known as the hired gun, Deadpool.
A miniature version of me crashes through my apartment window. Okay. That's about $9,999,800.00 left. That's still a lot. Wait...I can just buy a mansion with Plexiglas windows so midgets can't crash through them. Thinking maybe something in upstate New York. I could build it into a school and use it to train other mercs so that one day, mercs and non-mercs could live together in pieces. Nah, that wouldn't fly.
Waitaminute! This little fuck-nut has my old costume on!
Hm...for some reason, I can't shake that one scene from Austin Powers 2 out of my head, the one where Dr. Evil and Mini-Me are dancin' it up to "Just The Two Of Us."
"All right, you son of a fucked up cracked out bitch! Here's the story," the mini-me shouts. "There were five clones made from your chopped off hands by a shadow government agency in upper Michigan. Four of them formed into the Klingers. They're trying to take out the competition."
"Juuuust the twooo oooff usssss...what?! The Klingers?!" I shout. Damn, Tasky was right. "What happened to the fifth one?"
"You're lookin' at him, cock-sucker!" Mini-DP shouts.
I smirk, "Strange...you don't look like me. Unless clone means slap my old costume on a seven year old with a <i>caca</i> mouth."
He pulls his mask off, revealing a scabby appearance like mine. Okay, he is my clone...one-eighth my size. Breathtaking. I shall call him...Mini-Deadpool! *THUNDER* Nah, that's just too fuckin' corny.
"They ran out of growth hormones for me...fuckin' assholes, but it doesn't matter. I am like Mini-Deadpool, the Clit Hunter. I can find that fuckin' clit and just lick it up and down with my--"
Hm. His name really is Mini-Deadpool. "Hold it. That's way too much info, pal. Just...stop talking," I say.
"But the Klingers are after you!" Mini-DP shouts. "And me...once they figure out I'm alive."
"Wait, you mean to tell me this shadow government thing got a hold of my severed hands?" I ask.
"Yeah."
"That's when my healing factor got amped...," I discover.
"Maybe they injected you with something?" Mini-DP suggests.
"No, I'd remember something like that. The healing just suddenly kicked into overdrive after the blood flow increased...maybe some kind of chemical reaction set to go off, altering my powers?"
"Come on, you gotta get outta here, they know where you live!" the mini-clone shouts. Man, I hope this thing is paper-trained. The last Kid-Deadpool didn't turn out so well. Plus, I'm...not very good with taking care of kids...not that I hate kids...
DUDE! This Mini-DP is the Boba to my Jango! Sweet!
I smile at the kid, "All right. Grab some weapons, we're gonna take these bad mothers out. Can I name you Boba Pool?"
"...No. I look seven, but I'm mentally as old as you are. Don't degrade me by thinking I'm your cloned son, asswipe."
"But I can be Jango," I plead.
"Jango got his head chopped off," Mini-DP says. "Fucking cock-sucker thought he could win against a Jedi."
"Yeah, I noticed that; that was...weird," I comment.
Mini-DP crosses his arms, "Well, they had to establish Boba for the original trilogy."
"Yeah...Why the hell are we talking about Star Wars?" I ask.
"Well, someone's gotta talk about it...and you brought it up."
"Ah. Well, uh...let's...kill...or something," I say as I open the door to my laundry area/armory.
# # # # #
Crochet, Musk, Pornet, and Oddity walk through the door which their leader and number one in the pecking order, Crochet, kicked open. They all have their guns drawn in each hand, with various other weapons strapped to their costumes: from knives, explosives, to more and more guns. The apartment was empty. They had made sure by emptying at least sixteen clips each into the place. Various neighbors had ran out of their apartments and ran off by going down the fire escapes.
"He's not here," Crochet observes.
Musk's brow lowers under his black mask, "Bastard got out in a hurry. Look at the mess."
"Maybe our template is a complete slob?" Pornet suggests.
"Does that mean...we're slobs?" Oddity asks.
"Oddity...?" Crochet asks. Oddity simply looks at the boss. It wasn't his turn to speak. Crochet looks over to Musk, the next in line.
"Um....fuck. There, I said something," Musk sighs.
"Hm, I get to say whatever I want...hehehehehehehehehehehe.....um....I like to rub my nipples....heehehehheehehehe...," Pornet smirks.
"Yes, boss?" Oddity asks, finally getting his chance to speak and respond to Crochet's original question.
Crochet stares blankly at the number-four man of the Klingers, "Um...shit, I forgot what I was going to say now...dammit. Um...oh yeah, SHUT THE FUCK UP, ASSHOLE, WE ARE NOT SLOBS, JUST A LITTLE DISORGANIZED!! We are NOTHING like Deadpool. We're better, faster, stronger..."
# # # # #
Deadpool stands on top of a roof directly overlooking his apartment. He looks through a pair of binoculars, switching it to night vision, making everything appear green. He can see the four assassins in his apartment, appearing to be listening to one of them giving a speech. Either that, or he's singing.
Mini-Deadpool approaches him from behind, with an M-16 equipped with a laser scope, pointed at the window just a block away, "I think I got a clear shot at Crochet, the leader."
"What good will that do?" Deadpool asks.
"They all have numbers, one through four, on their foreheads. They're so fucked up, that they're programmed to speak in order," Mini-DP explains. "Take the leader out, they won't know what the fuck to do."
"That might make the rest even more unstable. Screwing up their order would create disorder. And we don't know how advanced their healing factors are compared to mine," Wade explains. "Which is why I'm going to blow them to hell all at once."
Deadpool picks up a detonation device and presses the red button with his thumb...
# # # # #
"...Better-looking, less able to get drunk off of cough drops, better hygiene...," Crochet says as he fires down the list of reasons they're better than Wade Wilson...which isn't really a reason to celebrate. I mean...come on.
A small duffle bag seems to light up as tiny red lights inside of it come to life. Musk notices this and his eyes widen, "Uh...boss...?"
"Damn it, you interrupted him! I wanted to hear the list! Quick, say something, Oddity!" Pornet shouts.
"Who gives a shit, that thing's gonna bl--"
*BOOOOOM!*
# # # # #
Four fiery bodies are thrusted through the window of Wade's apartment, falling to the street below. Wade and Mini-DP hoot and give each other a high-five.
"Oh, man, that was too easy!" Mini-DP laughs.
"Shit," Wade says, pulling his mask off and wiping the top of his head of sweat, "I hope the other tenants got out all right. I mean...I've been pretty good at keeping them out of danger, you know. I mean, y'know, since...they've been pretty um...nice to me for being such a freak. Some of them are cool, too. They never narked to the cops or anything. Not once."
"Well, you just blew up their homes," Mini-DP says. "I don't think they'll be nice to you from now on, if they find out, that is. Or if they didn't get out in time...they'll haunt you."
Deadpool sighs as he glares at his miniature clone, "Just like all the ghosts of the innocents I've killed over the years."
"Dude, you're a fuckin' mercenary, what's your problem?" Mini-Deadpool shouts. "What the fuck do you expect?"
"You might have memory implants, kid, but not the experience!" Wade shouts. "Yes, I kill people, but they really...usually deserve it. Usually mob bosses, drug dealers, corrupt business people, cheating fiancees, lawyers, politicians, terrorists...never innocents. I mean, I know I'm a fuckin' sociopath, but...I really try to leave the normal, clean people alone. They don't deserve an abnormal death by a bullet...not by me. Not when I could recover from the wounds that would kill them...and ruin their perfect Nick At Nite TV Land life. It wouldn't fair."
Mini-Deadpool snickers, "Are you gettin' emotional on me? You fuckin' pussy! HAHAHAHA!"
Deadpool glares, "How developed is your healing factor?"
"Not as developed as I would think, I can heal twice as fast as a regular human. Why?" Mini-DP asks trying to breathe from the hysterical laughter.
"I don't usually kill kids...," Deadpool confesses.
"HAHAHAHAHA!" Mini-DP laughs, "Wait, let me get that on tape."
"...but I'm going to throw you off this roof," Wade mutters coldly.
Mini-DP suddenly regains a bit of his composure, wiping away tears, "Okay, sorry. Don't get all psycho on me. Get the crazy Michael Jackson pedophile look out of your eyes." He sighs, "I have a confession to make, I know how they amped your healing."
Deadpool stops his deadly approach towards his clone, "Okay. Enlighten me."
"It was a chemical reaction like you said, but they didn't inject it into you," Mini-DP explains. "They had the chemical cooked with the hamburger meat of every fast food joint in Manhattan. It would only react with your DNA. And it would only kick in once you had a serious wound, like losing your hands."
Deadpool glares off into the distance, "They were <i>anticipating</i> that I lose a body part...AND that I had unhealthy eating habits. Those fucks." He rubs his eyes as he puts his mask over his head, "And they were going to recover the healing-enhanced abilities from the severed body part or parts and create a bunch of clones which they would control. Just. Fucking. Great!"
"I know, it's a lot to absorb," Mini-DP explains.
"Why don't you try to absorb the impact of asphalt, asshole!" Wade shouts as he grabs Mini-DP by the wrist and dangles him over the ledge. "I am sick and tired of being manipulated by those smarter or stronger than me..."
"Or smaller...?" Mini-DP snickers.
"SHUT UP!" Wade shouts.
Suddenly, Wade's skull explodes. He drops Mini-DP as he helplessly falls into a bloody heap on the ground seventy feet below. He grips his head wound. He peers downward and sees -- barely -- four charred bodies beyond recognition. They hit him in the chest with some kind of electro-bullet, sending a shock to his nervous system. Wade twitches uncontrollably as he falls seventy feet as well.
He lands on Mini-DP's corpse, damaging his own spine, "Argh....fuck...," he grunts.
Suddenly, four separate barrels of four separate guns are pointed at his already bleeding skull. They pull the trigger simultaneously which produces a brief flash from the zinc and gunpowder. Deadpool's head was nothing but a bloody stump.
"It..."
"Is..."
"Finally..."
"Done..."
They speak with such a tone that is horrifying. They were like four sons that killed their father.
"Not...quite!" said a small voice gurgling with blood in his throat. To the Klingers' surprise, Mini-Deadpool had a bomb strapped to his chest. He had crawled over after Wade had his head blown off. With his last ounce of strength, Mini-DP presses a button on Wade's belt, teleporting him back to the safety of the roof. He smiles as the count hits zero.
"Fuckers...go to hell," Mini-DP smirks with blood dripping from his mouth.
With that, they were gone in a fiery explosion.
Back on the roof, something strange happens with the headless body of Wade Wilson. Technically, he should be dead, but he isn't. His healing factor was so advanced, that his DNA would replicate every dead cell EXACTLY as it was before it died. That included bone tissue, muscles, (scabby) skin, nerves...even neurons. The brain cells were replicated to the "T," preserving the essence, memories, and persona that is the Merc With A Mouth.
A quagulate mass of skin swirls and slops until it forms Deadpool's head, whole again. "Shit..." he mutters, gasping for breath. "That was...weird." He grips his head and looks down at the fiery mass down below. He recalls what happened, sort of...except for the brief moment he was brain dead.
He sighs, remembering the tenants of his apartment building. There were at least one-hundred of them...
# # # # #
Ten million dollars.
What the hell am I gonna do with $10,000,000.00?!?
Wade Wilson here, also known as the hired gun, Deadpool.
I've made my decision. Having my head blown off and surviving gave me some perspective on the situation. I'm giving the money to the tenants of my former building. It'll be $100,000 for each of them. That should be enough for all of them to get a fresh start.
It's the least I can do.
It's like, what the hell, right? There are a few less mercs around the world. I'll get work. The ten mill doesn't matter.
I am also wearing my old costume again. I know it sticks out like a sore thumb and it's a little "male ice skater-ish," but it's the only clothes I got now, so shut your mouth.
Besides, I had to get back to basics for the next writer.
Excelsior, beeotches!
WRITER'S NOTES
Thus ends my run on Deadpool. It's been a fun ride while it lasted, but it got to the point where it was too damn hard. It wasn't the deadlines that were tough, it's just that writing Deadpool in prose is tough. You don't get all the visual gags you do with the comics. I tried my best, watched almost every show on Comedy Central and other shows to get the comedic influence, and judging from the mainly positive reviews I received, I think it paid off. So, I'd like to thank you for reading and giving me all the critiques you did (mainly from Russ Anderson and Mike Exner...you guys rock).
I'd also like to thank Dino Pollard, a former DP (heh..."DP"...his initials!) scribe himself, for letting me write the title in the first place, and Logan Trent Kuraishi, a DP expert, for giving me advice on how to better capture Wade Wilson's character. And to Dave Wheatley, for giving Deadpool #18 an Editor's Choice award, that was a pretty momentous occasion. (Debate is still up on whether or not that was given to me under pity.)
To everyone else...while you were reading this, I fucked all of your moms. If she's dead and/or butt-ugly, I passed on tappin' that and moved onto the next luscious MILF.
Yeah. I fucked them good. Jealous?