Day Three

[Deadpool]

”No Dr. McNinja to stitch you up, huh?!”the mercenary bantered with a cackle. As his shovel sliced through Jak’s scalp—with surgical precision!—he cocked the digging tool back once more. ”Sorry, but I need a weapon!”

Deadpool slammed the flat side of his shovel into the aspiring Pokèmon trainer’s temple, face-planting him into the sloped terrain of the forest. Brain matter and skull bits littered the dark soil of the ground, and squished under Deadpool’s post was he shuffled forward for the kill. First kill. Jak tried to plea as his blood flowed farther from his skull, but it came out in mostly gurgles and slurs. Deadpool raised the shovel above his head, and drove its pointed tip through Jak’s skull.

”I guess its safe to say . . . you will not be catchin’ them all. Pokèmon, that is. “ He grunted, and reached a hand to feel a chunk of flesh missing from his shoulder. ”Fuck, damn second-tier videogame mascot did more damage that I thought.”

But Deadpool was still alive. He had endured it all—the crafty Delsin, Mickey stabbing betraying him, now the wildcard green-haired elfin—and even gained a new item in the process. It lay next to Jak’s fresh corpse, right near between his knees. The mercenary plundered it.

Reciting the words he told Vincent, he kept moving onward.

* * * * *

Fucking mouse, that self-righteous prick. I bet no one would think he’s such a goldenboy if they read ‘Mickey Mouse and the boy called Thursday’.



The mercenary hobbled through the forest, using his shovel as a cane to keep upright while traveling. The past six hours had been far more chaotic than the preceding day, and his physique showed it—wounds from his face to his abdomen, and every limb in-between. God bless Karl’s collar, and its perpetual flow of energy. Without the collar, death’s knock would have echoed off Deadpool’s door long ago. But Death was on the way; the claps from her heels could be heard approaching the porch.



The same Death I used to have sexual relations with?

No.

Yay! You talked to me! Should I expect this to be a more frequent occurrence?

No.

Aw . .


It was around midday now, and as the sun elevated higher into the sky, humidity began to clot the air. Deadpool urged forward, but every step felt more and more like his last; his pecked arm could barely wield the shovel he used it to guide his feet. It was time to stop . . . just for a second. He lodged his shovel into the earth and dropped to his ass with a thump.

”Just need a drink,” Deadpool convinced himself. He pulled his bag from his side to his lap and unzipped it. ”Just some water . . .” Holding back wince, he sent his hand into the bag and clawed his remaining bottles of water out—one pure Aquafina and two Mark’s Special piss bottles. His cracked lips faintly curled into a smile. Son of a bitch.

Suddenly, Karl Jak’s voice boomed across the island. Deadpool never cared enough to listen to the prior announcements, but this one was different—he wanted to hear the names of those he witnessed die. The sounds of Jak’s name and Delsin’s name made his smile turn into a smirk; but the name Vincent Valentine brought the burning sensation of withheld tears to his face. Vincent was a loyal teammate. In his debilitated state he risked his health and life for Deadpool to acquire Furbypool.

The mercenary glanced back to his lap full of bottles. Without hesitation, and grabbed a yellow liquid one and untwisted the cap. ”For you, Pale Prime". He toasted the bottle to the sky and downed a hefty swig.