Marvel: Life is Good

I pick up the pistol lying by the door. The metal ball? It's rolled somewhere under the cabinets. Screw it—any metal surface can serve as ammunition. Ignoring the twitching, convulsing body of the chatty lab coat lady, I open the door. From Deadpool's direction, the gunfire and screams have almost died down. Either the soldiers are running out, or Wanda's taking a smoke break.

The door obscured the hallway in the direction I was heading, so the group of four soldiers emerging from an office further down the corridor caught me off guard. Just as much as I, a naked dude with a massive gun, covered in blood and with a face twisted in rabid fury, surprised them.

Honestly? I was thrilled to see them. Overjoyed, even—like I'd be if Magneto and Charlene showed up with a squad of Ultramarines to back me up. With a grin that screamed I'm going to squeeze the life out of you, I launched myself at them, shifting the pistol to my left hand and heating up my right. I'd need those Colt bullets later. Military weapons didn't pack the same stopping power as a .45, and I might need that extra oomph to slow down that cutie Oyama—Lady Deathstrike, or Deathstab, or whatever she's called.

Speaking of death, I delivered plenty of it.

I crossed the ten meters to the soldiers, taking two bursts of gunfire to the chest. First miss? Face full of molten fingers. Heat. The pop of a bursting skull. Blood rain. Second? Kick to the gut, but she blocked it with her rifle. The ammo in her clip detonated—like a grenade going off. Shrapnel shredded her own arms and hit the soldier next to her, who took a chunk of metal to the eye. The fourth jumped back, unloading her weapon point-blank. Bullets pinged off my scalp, shoulders, and torso like hailstones. A step closer, then another—she turned to run. Oh, honey, here's a fiery kick to send you off. The kind of kick that splits asses.

I turned to survey my handiwork. Four bodies. One headless, one assless, one eyeless, and one with charred hands. The last one whimpered, trying to crawl away. My eyes locked onto a doorplate: Colonel W. Stryker. Jackpot, bitches.

Rage consumed everything—fear, pity, humanity. I wanted to roast her alive. I wanted her dead for ripping away my peace, for the electric chair, for every mutant tortured in this concentration camp, for all the humans who died because of her actions, for that little red-haired girl. Monsters like her don't get prison sentences. They get burned. Because money and connections always save people like her. But not this time. She's going to burn.

My gaze fell on the soldiers' gear. The headless one still had a grenade hanging off her belt—the same kind I'd dodged earlier while climbing the stairs. Tucking the Colt under my arm, I snatched the flashbang, yanked the pin, punched a melted hole in the door, and tossed the cylinder inside. I pulled back a step, pistol now in both hands—just in time.

The flashbang went off, and the door slammed open. Lucky for me, Oyama hadn't just failed to leave the blast zone; she'd been right next to it. Stunned and disoriented, she stumbled, making it easy to line up her torso in my sights. The shot sent her sprawling. Recoil kicked my aim up slightly—thanks for the lessons, Sabretooth. I stepped forward and aimed for her head. One shot—a clean headshot—knocked her out cold. Another shot to her forehead, just to be sure. Rushing now, I burned her shoulders and knees. Adamantium might not melt—it supposedly only liquefies once, then becomes indestructible—but I didn't need to melt it. I just needed to slow her regeneration. Burns would take longer to heal than simple wounds.

It all happened in seconds.

I burst into the office to find the fat pig with colonel insignia squinting and trying to aim a pistol at me. Oh, no, you don't. Firing from the hip as I moved, I missed—so did she. Her shot whizzed between my legs, close enough for me to feel the breeze on my balls. I NEED ADAMANTIUM UNDERWEAR!

The second shot wasn't necessary. A swing of my pistol deflected her aim. With my free hand, I jabbed a finger, burning through her elbow joint. She screamed like a stuck pig. Dropping the pistol, I jabbed her other elbow, leaving her flailing. Perfect. Wriggle all you want, you bloated cow.

A gut punch made her stumble back a couple of steps, though her bulk kept her from falling over. I stepped forward and burned through her knees—no running for you, sweetheart. The room stank of burnt flesh, and Stryker's high-pitched squeals filled the air. Monitors on one wall were dark, either shut off or disabled. Deadpool's work? Or whoever was causing those explosions above? Maybe it was me messing with that cable earlier. Whatever. Fewer reinforcements for me to deal with.

The office was a mess. Papers and files scattered everywhere, an open safe, a laptop on the desk—shut and powered down—and an open suitcase. Behind me, I heard a noise. Turning, I saw Oyama trying to move, her regeneration kicking in. Unbelievably fast, but not fast enough.

I crouched beside the colonel, grabbing her forearm and slowly heating it up as I stared into her eyes.

"Good afternoon, Colonel. Or is it morning? Night, perhaps? Hard to tell in this lovely little dungeon of yours without a clock." My grip tightened as I cranked up the heat. She screamed and thrashed—good. "Now, Miss Stryker," I continued, smiling, "tell your lady friend over there not to move. I'd hate for my little spat with her to harm such an important hostage. Plus, you still have to face the law for your actions."

Her eyes gleamed with a flicker of hope. Was she imagining a courtroom where her connections could get her out of this? Oh, honey. Sure, let's pretend.

"Listen, ki-… AAAAAAAHHH, YOU FUCKING BASTARD!" I turned up the heat, not caring to hear the usual spiel—"You're dead, boy. Do you even know who you're messing with? They'll find you, blah blah blah." Not interested.

"I can do this all day, but can you?" I smiled wider and cranked the heat again. Another scream. "Say it. SAY IT!"

"Fine… Fine! Oyama, don't move! Just stay still, you hear me?!"

The woman froze, glaring at me but obeying. Perfect. I needed her to stay put until her body worked through whatever crap Stryker had pumped into it. That's the only reason I'd wasted time with this "hostage" nonsense.

Turning back to Stryker, I burned through her cheek with my fingers, sizzling away her tongue and most of her mouth.

Something's wrong with me, right? I shouldn't be enjoying this. Should I? Then again, I didn't feel a shred of joy burning Oyama earlier...

Standing up, I exhale in relief. The first and most fantastical part of the plan is complete. I wasn't entirely sure I'd find Stryker here, and defeating the Japanese woman? That felt like a long shot. Luck was on my side today. Finally, some luck…

In a distant universe, in a certain scientific town, an unusual Japanese schoolboy felt the sharp pang of losing someone close to him… As if he'd been betrayed by a brother he never had. Sighing, Kamijou Touma braced himself for yet another batch of troubles, the kind life so generously gifted him. Hmm… What's that noise on the balcony? (1)

I start rummaging through the office. Inside the case are some documents, files, flash drives, and a couple of disks. Looks important—might come in handy later. I stumble across two vials of liquid. Interesting... The colors are different. One's milky, the other transparent with a bluish tint. Could this be… the control serum and the neutralizer? Time to experiment.

Both vials have droppers. Alright. Where to drop it? Let's try the eyes. I sit down next to Stryker, who's wheezing and whining. Seems like she's in no state to notice—barely breathing. Her panicked, desperate gaze is so intense you could probably boil a kettle and brew tea on it. Heh, despair tea…

I drop some of the milky liquid into one eye. Nothing. She's still rasping. The blue one? Same lack of results. Crap. Does this stuff even work on non-mutants? Or maybe this pig is too messed up? Or does it need time to kick in? Hell if I know what the movies said about this, and the canon I'm familiar with is garbage. Still… If there's no negative effect, why not try it on Oyama too?

But should I? If the control breaks, she might come after me. What if she's already… well, you know… Beyond saving? Then again… She clearly understands everything but can't disobey Stryker. I sit next to her, adjusting my position so my crotch isn't awkwardly close to her face. Don't need to give her a "Broadway view." Catching her gaze, I try to look earnest. I just want to help her—because she's a mutant, because slavery sucks, and mostly because I want to. Hopefully, she'll appreciate it. If not… I've got more bullets.

"Ma'am, I know you can hear me, and I know you're under the serum's influence," I say, holding up both vials—the blue one in my right hand and the milky one in my left. "If you know which one neutralizes the effect, blink twice for the left hand and three times for the right. If neither works, blink four times, and we'll just wait for it to wear off before we get out of here."

The Japanese woman stares at me without blinking.

"Miss, all I'm asking is for you to blink. That doesn't contradict the colonel's orders. You're lying there calmly and just blinking. It's a natural bodily function. If you don't blink, your eyeballs will dry out, and your efficiency will decrease." Yeah, it's total bullshit, but worth a shot, right? Who knows—it might.

She blinks slowly. Once, twice, three times. No fourth. Perfect. So, the blue one it is.

"If I put drops in your eyes, will it work? Blink twice if yes." Two blinks. Excellent, thank you. "And ma'am… when you regain control… uh… please don't kill me. I'm a mutant too, like you, and I just want to get out of here."

Exhaling, I put a drop of the blue liquid into each eye. I look at her. She looks at me. I look at her. Now what? How do I know if it's working?

"Need more? Blink three times if yes, two if this is enough." Two blinks. "Good, so we just need time?" She closes her eyes. Seems like agreement. Great, now for Stryker…

Leaving her for a trial? Don't make me laugh. I'd bet all my teeth she's got top-notch protection, and her research probably benefits either S.H.I.E.L.D. or Hydra. And upstairs? She's definitely got strong backing. So yeah, fuck that idea. Using her as a hostage? Equally pointless. Her second-in-command would likely shoot us all during a "rescue attempt" and then claim the boss's seat. Which means… I'm just going to burn her.

The face of that little red-haired girl flashes in my mind. Before and after… I didn't even remember the kid's name… And the rage, barely contained while "talking" with the Asian woman, flares up anew. Fury, hatred, a thirst for revenge.

I approach the bitch and grab her face in my hands. I pour the milky liquid down her throat. Drink up. Watch her eyes—pain and fear mingling with anger. I smile. A wicked, malicious grin. Oh yes. Probably how a serial killer smiles before gutting a victim.

"There won't be a trial, no investigation—just PUNISHMENT." I growl in her face, watching the understanding dawn in her eyes. Words fitting the moment rise in my head: "You are guilty. Look into my eyes. Your soul is stained with the blood of the innocent. FEEL! THEIR!!! PAAAAIN!!!!!!" I scream the last words at her, drowning out her rasping as her face chars. And before my eyes is the red-haired girl again, her face so much like my G's. Tears stream down my cheeks, but my lips twist into a smile of satisfaction.

I stand over the corpse, her head reduced to a charred lump. One kick crushes the skull. My body trembles, heart pounding wildly. Yes. The first kill feels like losing your virginity. Not pointless death of some nameless nobody who did nothing to you, but someone like this—a true ENEMY. Not just murder—an EXECUTION.

A sharp laugh from behind snaps me back. Turning, I see Lady Deathstrike watching me, her eyes… thrilled? Is it because of Stryker's death or her newfound freedom? Applause comes from the doorway. Who…?

"Tobi, baby. That was… awesome!" Deadpool stands in the doorway, clapping. Seeing the shock in my eyes, she adds, "No, I'm serious! Ten out of ten on the style! You were so dark, so… sexy! A real Antihero! But that haircut? A mistake." She dodges to the side just as metal claws slash through the air where her legs were. "Whoa, whoa, claws—behave yourself! I'm here to help, jeez!"

Oyama looks at me with a questioning expression… and something else I can't quite place. But it doesn't seem bad. I nod.

"Ahem… Miss, this is Deadpool—we're acquainted. By the way, how are you feeling?"

The woman doesn't answer, instead getting to her feet. Well… judging by the shredded holes in her outfit… and how her pants now resemble shorts… she's fine. Me? Not so much. Between Stryker's execution, Deadpool, and the Japanese woman who no longer seems eager to kill me… It's like all the tension built up until now just evaporated, leaving me completely drained. Everything I've been through during these… minutes? Hours? It all slams into me at once, crashing down on my body and mind.

I just sit down. Right on Stryker's corpse. My body trembles, but I don't cry… I just… let myself relax. I know if more shit hits the fan right now, I'll pull myself together and go… full blaze. But for now? Just a small break. Just a couple of minutes.

Yuriko sat down next to me without a word. She just perched herself on the colonel's chest and rested a hand on my shoulder. Deadpool, meanwhile, sauntered into the room, gave the place a quick glance, muttered, "Huh, kinda cozy," and then leaned against the wall, watching us. About a minute passed. I was starting to feel a little less wound up when she broke the silence:

"So… a naked dude and a Japanese chick in ripped clothes giving him emotional support while sitting on a fat, headless corpse… You guys have no idea how creepy this looks."

That was it. I lost it. I laughed so hard I leaned into Yuriko, not that I was anywhere near clean at this point. She wrapped an arm around my shoulders, holding me steady as I laughed like a lunatic. Even she managed a faint smile, patiently waiting for me to calm down. Wilson just snorted from her spot by the wall.

"Thanks, Miss Wanda," I managed once the laughter subsided—yeah, that's how she'd introduced herself earlier. "There are kids locked in cells on sublevel five, probably here too. We've gotta clear this whole—"

"Tobi, relax, sweetheart," Deadpool cut me off, waving a hand like it was no big deal. "Good girls are already on it. You just ran off too fast for me to tell you. Your mutant buddies are storming the front as we speak."

As if to confirm her words, an explosion rumbled somewhere near the elevators.

Grabbing both guns just in case, I stepped into the corridor with the ladies. Why not? I had some armor on, and if I was playing reckless idiot, well, both of them were regenerators. We moved casually, taking our time.

Then I saw them—the group by the elevator. Magneto in her iconic helmet and cape, complete with some slick new body armor; Sabretooth, Blob, Wolverine. The heavy hitters, leading the charge.

I smiled, a genuine one this time. No grimace, no wild edge, just relief. My fingers went slack, and the pistols slipped from my grip. I broke into a jog, explaining to Yuriko as I moved: "They're ours. They'll get us out of here."

Praise the Goddess and the Emperor.

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(1) Reference to "A Certain Magical Index".