07-28-2016, 06:11 PM
This was usually when Deadpool would abandon whatever associates he had, and let their struggles for life propel his own escape; but he needed the pair—they provided a consistent fodder for his outlandish humor (plus, having a black friend increased his street cred, and Karl provided him the exemption to make gay jokes without being labeled a homophobe).
Throwing his Hello Kitty backpack over his shoulder, the mercenary booted out his door, knocking down a duo of flesheaters—the slab of coated metal slammed into their chests—as he jumped from his seat.
”Geronimo!" he cheered, and looking back at his motley crew, he yelled, “Minoriteam, ASSEMBLE!”
Another ghoul came from his side, but he adjusted in time to run his katana through the snarling monstrosity's cranium, ensanguining his blade with its liquids. The partially headless creature dropped to the pavement like a toppled building.
Karl casually got out of the jalopy. A flesheater sprinted towards him like a maniac, but the executive simply kept his composure; when the thing got close enough, he stiff-armed it, and hacked his machete into the top of its skull. A torrent of blood shot from the wound as if the executive had struck oil, spraying his uniform with crimson, and transforming his white polo into some sort of hippie monochrome tie-dye. Karl scowled.
Hiro followed, pulling himself from the backseats and leaping from the jeep. The leather sheathe around his waist ripped as he drew the machete from it, bashing the edge into the face of the first unalive person hew saw. He reached a hand back into the jalopy to pull out a briefcase.
The item caught the mercenary's eye.
”What's in there anyways?” Deadpool inquired.
A naked flesheater raced towards his flank, but the mercenary made her deepthroat his sword. It exited through her crown, and ripped upwards as he retracted it, splitting the top part of woman's head, vertically. Her large breasts jiggled in place as she collapsed.
“Can we pick another time to talk—you always choose the worst times!” Hiro yelled.
It's a date!” Deadpool replied.
“Are White Lightning and Chocolate Thunder making dinner reservations without Daddy?” Karl spoke.
A flesheater tried to pin him against the hood of the jeep, but the executive shielded it off with his machete, then sawed the creature's throat until he felt the blade carve passed its cervical. More blood stained his attire, but this time he seemed to take delight in it.
Deadpool watched Karl with admiration; now that he wasn't the recipient of the executive's fury, he could appreciate it. The two of them shared an interest in mayhem. Prior to this competition (if he could still call it that), the mercenary always judged Karl through the spectrum of an ordinary rich sociopath, who would rather spectate carnage than involve himself in it. The mercenary had the wrong impression. Karl was a man who enjoyed violence in general—regardless if he were watching it on a wall of monitors, or experiencing it firsthand. It made him respect Karl more.
”You're gonna need a change of clothes if you plan on whining and dining me,” Deadpool jabbed at the executive. ”I know you're steaming about your outfit.”
“If you're going to play with the big boys then you have to accept that some of their fluids are going to get on you,” Karl quipped. “But keep an eye on your rear . . . seriously.” He gestured his head towards the mercenary's rearward.
A cold hand wrapped around Deadpool's shoulder; he winced as he felt a fingernail dip into the bullet cavity, reminding him of the .50 caliber he had taken earlier.
”NOO!” he cried. PINEAPPLES!
Swinging an elbow, he cracked the creature across the temple, jolting himself free. The ghoul staggered to the ground, falling and skidding on its hands. It looked back and revealed a mouthful of decaying teeth as it hissed.
”You son of a bitch!”
The mercenary clenched his katana with both hands, raising it above his head before he thrusted it into the creature's visage. He didn't cease until the recoil of metal against asphalt shook the hilt of his sword.
After disposing of another rotting ghoul, Hiro dashed away from the jalopy, and up the road; his briefcase dragged behind him, flailing like a flag in the wind. He touched the side of his visor with an index and shouted to his comrades, “I got the map right here; follow me!”
Karl and Deadpool trailed directly behind the bronze samurai, making haste up the street. Duplexes lined either side of the road, all painted in different bright colors, which popped in the lightless night. The mercenary envisioned the community as one that used to thrive (ordinary housewife Becky would cook dinner while watching little buckeroo Todd, as they both anticipated Dad to pull-up in the driveway), but some time before the survivors had arrived, the community vanished, leaving just hollow homes as monuments.
Throwing his Hello Kitty backpack over his shoulder, the mercenary booted out his door, knocking down a duo of flesheaters—the slab of coated metal slammed into their chests—as he jumped from his seat.
”Geronimo!" he cheered, and looking back at his motley crew, he yelled, “Minoriteam, ASSEMBLE!”
Another ghoul came from his side, but he adjusted in time to run his katana through the snarling monstrosity's cranium, ensanguining his blade with its liquids. The partially headless creature dropped to the pavement like a toppled building.
Karl casually got out of the jalopy. A flesheater sprinted towards him like a maniac, but the executive simply kept his composure; when the thing got close enough, he stiff-armed it, and hacked his machete into the top of its skull. A torrent of blood shot from the wound as if the executive had struck oil, spraying his uniform with crimson, and transforming his white polo into some sort of hippie monochrome tie-dye. Karl scowled.
Hiro followed, pulling himself from the backseats and leaping from the jeep. The leather sheathe around his waist ripped as he drew the machete from it, bashing the edge into the face of the first unalive person hew saw. He reached a hand back into the jalopy to pull out a briefcase.
The item caught the mercenary's eye.
”What's in there anyways?” Deadpool inquired.
A naked flesheater raced towards his flank, but the mercenary made her deepthroat his sword. It exited through her crown, and ripped upwards as he retracted it, splitting the top part of woman's head, vertically. Her large breasts jiggled in place as she collapsed.
“Can we pick another time to talk—you always choose the worst times!” Hiro yelled.
It's a date!” Deadpool replied.
“Are White Lightning and Chocolate Thunder making dinner reservations without Daddy?” Karl spoke.
A flesheater tried to pin him against the hood of the jeep, but the executive shielded it off with his machete, then sawed the creature's throat until he felt the blade carve passed its cervical. More blood stained his attire, but this time he seemed to take delight in it.
Deadpool watched Karl with admiration; now that he wasn't the recipient of the executive's fury, he could appreciate it. The two of them shared an interest in mayhem. Prior to this competition (if he could still call it that), the mercenary always judged Karl through the spectrum of an ordinary rich sociopath, who would rather spectate carnage than involve himself in it. The mercenary had the wrong impression. Karl was a man who enjoyed violence in general—regardless if he were watching it on a wall of monitors, or experiencing it firsthand. It made him respect Karl more.
”You're gonna need a change of clothes if you plan on whining and dining me,” Deadpool jabbed at the executive. ”I know you're steaming about your outfit.”
“If you're going to play with the big boys then you have to accept that some of their fluids are going to get on you,” Karl quipped. “But keep an eye on your rear . . . seriously.” He gestured his head towards the mercenary's rearward.
A cold hand wrapped around Deadpool's shoulder; he winced as he felt a fingernail dip into the bullet cavity, reminding him of the .50 caliber he had taken earlier.
”NOO!” he cried. PINEAPPLES!
Swinging an elbow, he cracked the creature across the temple, jolting himself free. The ghoul staggered to the ground, falling and skidding on its hands. It looked back and revealed a mouthful of decaying teeth as it hissed.
”You son of a bitch!”
The mercenary clenched his katana with both hands, raising it above his head before he thrusted it into the creature's visage. He didn't cease until the recoil of metal against asphalt shook the hilt of his sword.
After disposing of another rotting ghoul, Hiro dashed away from the jalopy, and up the road; his briefcase dragged behind him, flailing like a flag in the wind. He touched the side of his visor with an index and shouted to his comrades, “I got the map right here; follow me!”
Karl and Deadpool trailed directly behind the bronze samurai, making haste up the street. Duplexes lined either side of the road, all painted in different bright colors, which popped in the lightless night. The mercenary envisioned the community as one that used to thrive (ordinary housewife Becky would cook dinner while watching little buckeroo Todd, as they both anticipated Dad to pull-up in the driveway), but some time before the survivors had arrived, the community vanished, leaving just hollow homes as monuments.
Quote:Site Count: 866
Round Count (by site): 2349
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![[Image: Deadpool_Funny.png]](http://i137.photobucket.com/albums/q218/Aerogfx/sigs/Deadpool_Funny.png)
Dante's Abyss Placings
2015 - 4th
2015 - 4th
2016 - 2nd
2017 - 4th
PVP Combat Record
(One-on-One)
3W - 0L - 0D
3W - 0L - 0D
(TAG-TEAM)
1W - 1L - 0D
[/float]![[Image: Deadpool_Funny.png]](http://s137.photobucket.com/user/Aerogfx/media/sigs/Deadpool_Funny.png.html)