07-26-2016, 05:36 PM
“Maybe right now I cant,” Hiro said. He waddled over to one of the swivel chairs and collapsed into it, limbs sprawled as he laid in the seat awkwardly. “Just give me a couple, then I'll hack this baby deeper than its ever been hacked before.”
“As much as I'd love to watch you do anything that involves going deep, we don't have time for that,” Karl replied matter-of-factly. “This isn't just some basic server problem—I could call customer service for that—so the combination of the time it would take you to sober up AND crack the issue is time my sweet ass doesn't have.”
Hiro sighed. He pulled himself up and stooped forward, resting his arms on his knees. “How far is this city?”
Karl rolled his tongue around the insides of his cheeks as he guesstimated the distance. “A dozen kilometers or so, give or take.”
”Hi, I'm still here.” Deadpool waved his hand from the back of the bunker; the two of them turned to him. ”Sorry to cut your 120+ word conversation short, but you need to take a look over these maps and logs.”
He walked over to his associates and removed his backpack, placing it down on the console. The front of it displayed the face of an adorable white kitten with a sparkling red bowtie in front of her left ear. Karl glanced at the bag, then shifted his eyes to Deadpool and nodded. The mercenary unzipped the bag and delved a hand inside, pulling out a gibbous journal which he handed to Karl.
“Why're you carrying a girl's bag?” Hiro inquired.
An instinctual sensation to backhand the dopefiend flared up within the mercenary. He glared at Hiro and flashed the front of his palm. ”This is a Hello Kitty backpack,” he retorted, ”from the mid 90's.”
“You might be the weirdest guy I've met in the big O so far.” The bronze samurai leaned back in his seat, lacing his hands behind his head as he bowed the spine of chair backwards. “Go ahead and get this multiple Karl thing out the way, so we can get to the next bunker.”
While Deadpool and Hiro bickered, Karl had been mulling over the contents that the mercenary forwarded him. The executive unfolded the maps and gave them quick surveys, dismissing to the console afterwards, unsurprised by what he saw. The log was another story; with raised eyes, he meticulously read each word individually, scoping particular details.
Deadpool noticed the quizzical expression plastered over Karl's face. ”Believe me now?” He felt wrinkles pervade the sides of his mask as he smirked widely.
For once, he had the type of proof he needed to validate the nonsense he spewed. He watched the executive closely examine the journal. His faded blue eyes were great at curtaining his emotions, but this time they displayed them like a clean window; they captured feelings of shock, bewilderment, and curiosity.
Karl closed the book and nonchalantly tossed it on the console, near the unfolded maps. “I admit that's my handwriting in there,” he replied, shrugging his shoulders. “But it's not MY handwriting. Understand?”
”Yeah, the bold all caps made it pretty obvious,” Deadpool quipped. ”But that's all you gotta say about it?”
“Unless I see this other Karl standing in front of me with my own two eyes, I don't see hoopla—it could have been anything with the ability to shape-shift.” Karl answered. “I just want to know what happened to this imposter.”
”I penetrated him with my long, strong katana,” Deadpool said with a leering grin cutting into his mask. ”He couldn't take it, so he went overboard; after that, I'm not sure.”
Karl laughed. “Must have been a very weak copy of me then . . . but let's table this conversation.” He shuffled through the unfolded maps on the console until he found the one he wanted, separating it from the pile and pointing his index near the middle. “This is where the city is, I'm certain of it.” His finger slid down, curving to the right before stopping near the southern shore. “And this is where we are.”
“That's gotta be less than twelve kilometers,” Hiro interrupted. He bent forward; a light blinked on the side of his visor as he studied the map.
The executive sent him a light smile. “We're going to take a winding detour.” He zigzagged his finger back up to the city. “Taking the way already paved could lead us to more pirates, so we will go off course to make sure we don't have any tails.”
”I don't mean to burst your bubble,” Deadpool said, ”but I read someone calling it a jalopy, which I'm pretty sure means it's piece of shit.”
“It's a piece of shit, that's for sure,” Hiro agreed, chuckling. “It was a rough ride even on the beaten paths getting here.”
“We'll be fine,” Karl replied. “Plus, I like it a little rough.” He refolded the maps and placed them on top of the journal, shoving them across to the mercenary in a neat pile, waiting for him to return them to his Hello Kitty backpack; he did. “Great, now let's blow this popsicle stand.”
”That's what she said,” Deadpool muttered as he lent Hiro a hand to assist him out of the seat.
“No sweetie, that's what I said.” Karl undid the top bottom of his polo, exposing a thin patch of chest hair sprouting up as he winked. Then he headed for the stairs.
“Yo, mind helping me up the stairs?” Hiro asked the mercenary. “The morphine is wearing off, but my legs still feel noodly.”
”Sure,” Deadpool replied, ”as long as you don't try to pickpocket me.” He threw Hiro's arm over his shoulders and started to walk him out of the bunker.
The bronze swordsman pulled close to Deadpool's ear and whispered, “Do you think our Karl is a copy too?”
The mercenary had zero reasons to believe it, nor did he care to find out. He recalled his last feud with a Karl, and remembered how it momentarily left him looking like Chris Elliot during Scary Movie 2—My strong hand!!!
”Not sure, skinny Booker T.”
The duo made it out of the bunker and towards the vehicle. The back door and passenger side door were already conveniently left opened. Karl sat behind the wheel, staring at the pair.
“You two make a fine couple of bodyguards,” the executive told them in a flirtatious voice, “White Lightning and Chocolate Thunder—I like the sound of that.” He patted his hand against the passenger seat. “White Lightning, up front with me.”
Deadpool sat Hiro at the end of the rear seats, and closed the door once the samurai scooted to the far end. ”Oh, and lemme guess, you're Daddy?” he scoffed while getting into the passenger side.
Karl cackled with delight. “You said it, not me.”
The executive twisted the keys in the ignition. The engine hiccuped as it struggled to start, but he persisted; tapping against the pedal, he continued to turn the ignition until the engine came to a dull roar. It snarled and whined when Karl shifted gears, but calmed to a grumble afterwards.
“Let's say we listen to some tunes,” Karl said, barely audible over the sound of the jalopy. He pulled a cassette (a mythical old version of MP3s created in the 1960s, kids) from a compartment under his radio and inserted it inside—Free Fallin', by Tom Petty.
Karl followed along with each verse of the song, tapping his hands against the steering wheel as he swerved around trees and crushed small shrubbery. The jalopy rumbled violently across the rugged terrain with the bed of it screaming softly over every jutting stone. From the back seat, Hiro—who now looked well enough to hack Megatron—tinkered with his visor. His mid-length dreadlocks blew in the air like waving tall grass.
Deadpool gazed out the window with his fist propping his head, watching the skyline of the city steadily climb over the horizon, enlarging with every kilometer they traveled. A sweet anxiety churned inside of him. He wondered what type of adventures loomed there. Perhaps other survivors were already posted in the town, waiting to ambush whoever arrived. The possibilities exhilarated him; they turned him on like a woman in a latex bodysuit, bound and gagged.
“As much as I'd love to watch you do anything that involves going deep, we don't have time for that,” Karl replied matter-of-factly. “This isn't just some basic server problem—I could call customer service for that—so the combination of the time it would take you to sober up AND crack the issue is time my sweet ass doesn't have.”
Hiro sighed. He pulled himself up and stooped forward, resting his arms on his knees. “How far is this city?”
Karl rolled his tongue around the insides of his cheeks as he guesstimated the distance. “A dozen kilometers or so, give or take.”
”Hi, I'm still here.” Deadpool waved his hand from the back of the bunker; the two of them turned to him. ”Sorry to cut your 120+ word conversation short, but you need to take a look over these maps and logs.”
He walked over to his associates and removed his backpack, placing it down on the console. The front of it displayed the face of an adorable white kitten with a sparkling red bowtie in front of her left ear. Karl glanced at the bag, then shifted his eyes to Deadpool and nodded. The mercenary unzipped the bag and delved a hand inside, pulling out a gibbous journal which he handed to Karl.
“Why're you carrying a girl's bag?” Hiro inquired.
An instinctual sensation to backhand the dopefiend flared up within the mercenary. He glared at Hiro and flashed the front of his palm. ”This is a Hello Kitty backpack,” he retorted, ”from the mid 90's.”
“You might be the weirdest guy I've met in the big O so far.” The bronze samurai leaned back in his seat, lacing his hands behind his head as he bowed the spine of chair backwards. “Go ahead and get this multiple Karl thing out the way, so we can get to the next bunker.”
While Deadpool and Hiro bickered, Karl had been mulling over the contents that the mercenary forwarded him. The executive unfolded the maps and gave them quick surveys, dismissing to the console afterwards, unsurprised by what he saw. The log was another story; with raised eyes, he meticulously read each word individually, scoping particular details.
Deadpool noticed the quizzical expression plastered over Karl's face. ”Believe me now?” He felt wrinkles pervade the sides of his mask as he smirked widely.
For once, he had the type of proof he needed to validate the nonsense he spewed. He watched the executive closely examine the journal. His faded blue eyes were great at curtaining his emotions, but this time they displayed them like a clean window; they captured feelings of shock, bewilderment, and curiosity.
Karl closed the book and nonchalantly tossed it on the console, near the unfolded maps. “I admit that's my handwriting in there,” he replied, shrugging his shoulders. “But it's not MY handwriting. Understand?”
”Yeah, the bold all caps made it pretty obvious,” Deadpool quipped. ”But that's all you gotta say about it?”
“Unless I see this other Karl standing in front of me with my own two eyes, I don't see hoopla—it could have been anything with the ability to shape-shift.” Karl answered. “I just want to know what happened to this imposter.”
”I penetrated him with my long, strong katana,” Deadpool said with a leering grin cutting into his mask. ”He couldn't take it, so he went overboard; after that, I'm not sure.”
Karl laughed. “Must have been a very weak copy of me then . . . but let's table this conversation.” He shuffled through the unfolded maps on the console until he found the one he wanted, separating it from the pile and pointing his index near the middle. “This is where the city is, I'm certain of it.” His finger slid down, curving to the right before stopping near the southern shore. “And this is where we are.”
“That's gotta be less than twelve kilometers,” Hiro interrupted. He bent forward; a light blinked on the side of his visor as he studied the map.
The executive sent him a light smile. “We're going to take a winding detour.” He zigzagged his finger back up to the city. “Taking the way already paved could lead us to more pirates, so we will go off course to make sure we don't have any tails.”
”I don't mean to burst your bubble,” Deadpool said, ”but I read someone calling it a jalopy, which I'm pretty sure means it's piece of shit.”
“It's a piece of shit, that's for sure,” Hiro agreed, chuckling. “It was a rough ride even on the beaten paths getting here.”
“We'll be fine,” Karl replied. “Plus, I like it a little rough.” He refolded the maps and placed them on top of the journal, shoving them across to the mercenary in a neat pile, waiting for him to return them to his Hello Kitty backpack; he did. “Great, now let's blow this popsicle stand.”
”That's what she said,” Deadpool muttered as he lent Hiro a hand to assist him out of the seat.
“No sweetie, that's what I said.” Karl undid the top bottom of his polo, exposing a thin patch of chest hair sprouting up as he winked. Then he headed for the stairs.
“Yo, mind helping me up the stairs?” Hiro asked the mercenary. “The morphine is wearing off, but my legs still feel noodly.”
”Sure,” Deadpool replied, ”as long as you don't try to pickpocket me.” He threw Hiro's arm over his shoulders and started to walk him out of the bunker.
The bronze swordsman pulled close to Deadpool's ear and whispered, “Do you think our Karl is a copy too?”
The mercenary had zero reasons to believe it, nor did he care to find out. He recalled his last feud with a Karl, and remembered how it momentarily left him looking like Chris Elliot during Scary Movie 2—My strong hand!!!
”Not sure, skinny Booker T.”
The duo made it out of the bunker and towards the vehicle. The back door and passenger side door were already conveniently left opened. Karl sat behind the wheel, staring at the pair.
“You two make a fine couple of bodyguards,” the executive told them in a flirtatious voice, “White Lightning and Chocolate Thunder—I like the sound of that.” He patted his hand against the passenger seat. “White Lightning, up front with me.”
Deadpool sat Hiro at the end of the rear seats, and closed the door once the samurai scooted to the far end. ”Oh, and lemme guess, you're Daddy?” he scoffed while getting into the passenger side.
Karl cackled with delight. “You said it, not me.”
The executive twisted the keys in the ignition. The engine hiccuped as it struggled to start, but he persisted; tapping against the pedal, he continued to turn the ignition until the engine came to a dull roar. It snarled and whined when Karl shifted gears, but calmed to a grumble afterwards.
“Let's say we listen to some tunes,” Karl said, barely audible over the sound of the jalopy. He pulled a cassette (a mythical old version of MP3s created in the 1960s, kids) from a compartment under his radio and inserted it inside—Free Fallin', by Tom Petty.
* * *
Karl followed along with each verse of the song, tapping his hands against the steering wheel as he swerved around trees and crushed small shrubbery. The jalopy rumbled violently across the rugged terrain with the bed of it screaming softly over every jutting stone. From the back seat, Hiro—who now looked well enough to hack Megatron—tinkered with his visor. His mid-length dreadlocks blew in the air like waving tall grass.
Deadpool gazed out the window with his fist propping his head, watching the skyline of the city steadily climb over the horizon, enlarging with every kilometer they traveled. A sweet anxiety churned inside of him. He wondered what type of adventures loomed there. Perhaps other survivors were already posted in the town, waiting to ambush whoever arrived. The possibilities exhilarated him; they turned him on like a woman in a latex bodysuit, bound and gagged.
Quote:My Count: 1405/ Site Count: 1483
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Dante's Abyss Placings
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3W - 0L - 0D
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(TAG-TEAM)
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