[3] There Goes the Sun (Tail Escape)

[Deadpool]

The walkers lumbered towards the mercenary; through the downpour of rain, they trudged over the slushy dunes of sand. The first to reach him—a one-armed stewardess with red hair (a stone-cold fox before her death)—drew her mouth back in a snarl. Her black eyes burned holes through the mercenary as she tried to decipher whether or not he was food.

Deadpool tilted his head and croaked. The woman stretched her neck, flaring her nostrils. She took a good whiff of the mercenary's scent, and then walked passed him. The walkers behind her followed suit, drifting over to some of the other survivors.

It fucking worked; while the crews of characters fought desperately to keep themselves from being devoured, the mercenary circumvented Karl's obstacle. He watched as the other survivors split into groups, all conjuring their own plans to overcome the situation. The mercenary considered helping them, but the was Dante's Abyss, and though this year's rendition already proved to be vastly different than its predecessor, there could only be one survivor.

Deadpool imagined Karl Jak hiding in some bunker shrouded in shrubbery, deep within the forest; the homosexual smirking as he observes a wall of of monitors. He's swishing around a cocktail in his hand, occasionally bringing it to his lips. I've done it again, banking off the success of popular shows—Lost plus zombies, it's a no-brainer million dollar idea.

As rain continued to assault the island, the coating of blood and organs on Deadpool's suit began to wash away. One of the walkers following the herd stopped, and turned towards him. Slowly, he headed towards the mercenary, attracting the attention of nearby brethen to accompany him.

Deadpool basked in his own greatness, relishing in the awesomeness of his wits as he spewed mental compliments to himself—Who's the man? I'm the man. Who can coax your daughter out of her panties? You got it, me.. He pelvic thrusted the air, picturing a faceless man's daughter bent over on the receiving end. You like that don't you?! Oh Ye—

The ravenous walker lunged at the mercenary, grabbing hold of an arm. He treated it like a drumstick, and sank his teeth in, grabbing a mouthful of meat and ripping it from the forearm.

Deadpool yelled, ”Sonovabitch!” He took his free arm and drilled the walker's temple with a fist, knocking the undead into the sand.

The other walkers marched forward in a crooked column, bumping shoulders as they gathered in numbers. It was almost as if they were doing so intentionally, walling off any hopes of escaping into the forest behind them. Even their groans seemed to be more synchronized.

Deadpool looked over his shoulder at the rising tides behind him. The horde of undead had pinned him between themselves and the coastline. He knew there was no running, and a twisted smile curled behind his mask.

The sound of cold steel pierced the pounding of rain as the mercenary unsheathed both of his swords. He slid the blades against one another like chef sharpening his knives, sweeping a gaze across the wall of walkers.

”So, would you fine ladies and gentlemen like to be filleted, of skewered?” he quipped.

One after the other, he slaughtered the undead like oblivious lambs wandering into a butcher's den. The first walker outstretched his hands in an attempt to grasp the mercenary, but fell collapsed when one of the katanas went from his collarbone to the opposite side of his hip, dividing him in half. Deadpool swung his other katana through the crown of the second walker's head; blood shot from the top like a wild water hose. He pivoted and impaled another walker who attempted to attack his flank, twisting his hilt and spilling the woman's ovaries.

The mercenary couldn't help but cackle as lifeless bodies accumulated around him; it had been a long while since Deadpool enjoyed a good ole hack'n'slash, and all the mayhem was beginning to form a tent in the center of his pants.

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