08-06-2016, 11:15 PM
After listening to Karl’s revelation, and absorbing every word of it, the mercenary had but one question: did this mean he won Dante’s Abyss?
He looked at the real executive as they left the elevator and asked, ”So I get the grand reward, right?”
“Grand reward?” Karl scoffed. “For what?”
Counsellor Karl opened the briefcase that he had grabbed from the bunker; Prime Karl pulled clothes out of it—a casual outfit consisting of a black button-down, blue jeans, and black sneakers—and began to dress himself.
”For saving you,” Deadpool replied. ”This isn't the slaughter-fest of old D.A.'s, so I'm presuming that the reward—the one that motivated half of the survivors to come here—is claimed by finding and saving you.”
“I don't mean to burst your cancerous balls, but you haven't saved anything yet.”
”After the census building then.”
“After we're off this damn island,” the executive retorted, rolling back his sleeves. “How about that?”
At their current pace, the mercenary deduced that arriving to the census building could take another month. He massaged his temples with his hand.
“Tell ya what.” Karl reached into his slacks and pulled out a tube of ointment, handing it to the mercenary. “Take this.”
Deadpool picked his head up to look at the product. ”Bengay?”
“No, Wade.” The executive rolled his eyes over to the gunshot crater in the mercenary's shoulder—it looked like a bleeding asshole. “It will help with your wound, since you seem so reluctant to self-heal.”
Deadpool wrinkled a smile into his mask. ”Thanks, I didn't really wanna use my remaining SP to regenerate.”
The executive looked at Deadpool as if he knew what the mercenary meant, and returned the smile. “I'm gonna need my favorite merc’ in top-form—“ he giggled at how he phrased the comment “—who knows what awaits us.”
Hiro walked back over to the rest of them, confidence exuding from his visage; a piece of cloth wrapped his forehead—black and yellow stripes ran diagonally like a chevron sign. In combination with his goggles, he reminded the mercenary of a highway worker signaling people to merge left.
”Bro, you don't look like Afro Samurai, you look like Captain Roadway-tape”
Both Karls laughed in an irksome synchrony, then shared the same remark: “Cute.”
“By the way, Karl,” the executive turned to his clone, “any sight of Christa and the dog?” The copy shook his head. “I see . . . well If they arrive, update them on the situation; same with anyone else.”
Counsellor Karl nodded. “You didn't drink all the Karlmeleon, did you?”
“Nope. Help yourself.”
The two embraced, sharing a few compliments of narcissistic affection before Karl patted his clone on the shoulder. “This is farewell, me. If you somehow don’t live through this, I’ll make sure to recreate you just as you were—an exact duplicate of my sexy self.”
The slightly revised trio made their way out of the building. They retraced their steps down the stairwell, stopping one floor above the sewage disposal level Hiro and Deadpool entered through earlier.
Deadpool spent the time catering to his gunshot wound. The mercenary squeezed some of the medi-gel onto the tip of his finger, and stuck it into his wound. He winced, triggering Karl to make a slick remark: it's just a little pressure, sweetie.
“There's the exit!” Hiro pointed at the revolving door, and strode across the lobby; Deadpool and Karl followed his lead.
As they neared the door, Deadpool saw a truck covered in flesheater insides pull up out front. It swerved down the street before abruptly stopping with a sharp skid and trail of tire marks—skurrrrd!. The person in the flatbed flew back, slamming into the rear window.
”That onomatopoeia means company, folks,” the mercenary said; reaching a hand near his utility belt, he passed through the revolving door.
The shotgun window of the pickup slowly winded down, revealing a middle-aged man with a woman beside him. Deadpool tried to depict the driver as she poked her head to gaze at them, but couldn't find anything on the forum that described her features.
More survivors meant more people; more people meant more slices of pie out of the mercenary’s reward. He was fine sharing 1% with Hiro, but no one else; and something told him that these new arrivals wouldn't be too fond of the idea.
”Fuck this.” The mercenary unclasped the Furby doll clipped to his utility belt, and pressed the button between its furry, plastic cheeks. ”Better luck next year!”
He overhanded the Furby towards the truck as if trying to catch a runner at home-plate. The doll twirled through the air, eyes pulsing a blue that glowed faintly in the soft fog. It bounced off the sidewalk and rolled under the truck.
Fire erupted from beneath the vehicle, engulfing it whole as flames rolled across the asphalt. The mercenary heard the sounds coming from the passengers—sharp screams, and pleas for help—and spectated with deep content. The man riding shotgun bashed the butt of his fists against the window, but his efforts did little more than make the glass quiver; the robot keeled over in the flatbed, gurgling electrical nonsense while its limbs welded to the truck; faceless lady broke her nails clawing at the door-handle.
BOOM!!
Under a mushroom of smoke and combustion, the truck shot into the air like a rocket lifting off. A rush of wind lashed out, and afterwards, the vehicle crashed back to earth in a clump of fiery, twisted metal. The flame crackled and spit glints of steel from its pit; everyone inside had been charred to the bone.
More pie for the mercenary.
“There's Christa!” Karl cheered. “And she has friends, how delightful. We’re gonna need all the help we can get.”
Deadpool eased his hand away from the bomb. ”You know these losers?”
“Of course I do, I brought all of you here. While I must admit, I didn't expect this many people to still be alive, the more the merrier.” Karl walked down the steps, waving at the truck. “Would you happen to have room for three more?” He shouted.
Through her overgrown blond bangs, Christa peered at the executive; after a brief gaze, her blue eyes widened to the size of golfballs, and her lips drew over her teeth to snarl. “Karl!”
Oh ok, that's how she looks.
“The one and only,” the executive replied. “Why the long face, thought I was dead?” He reached the back door and opened it.
A man in a Syntech uniform sat on the other side; his eyes popped once he saw his boss staring at him. “Mr. Karl, sir, nice to see you!”
“Nice to see you too . . .” the man's name eluded Karl until he found the nametag pinned to his shirt. “. . .Trent. Mind if I sit here? By the look on Christa’s face, I assume she has a few words for me.”
“Y-yeah, sure!” the employee stammered; walking to the tail of the truck, he climbed into the flatbed.
Karl looked back before he stepped inside. “Chocolate Thunder, White Lightning, hop in the back with Trent. I like the idea of you two behind me, looking overtop of me.”
The robot stationed in the flatbed gave the two swordsmen a firm nod as they hopped in the rear of the pickup. “Pleasure to meet both of you.”
"Domo arigato misuta Robotto,” Deadpool replied. ”I remember you from the plane wreckage—you were the guy caught on the edge of that cliff with Geodude. I’m sure I could find the link for you, if ya want. It was ‘Rounds 1 - 2, The Tail’.”
The robot stared at him blankly.
“Don’t mind Deadpool,” Hiro said while chuckling. “It takes a while to get used to him.”
The bronze hacker then ignited a small conversation between he and the robot. Deadpool figured it was because of Hiro’s love for all things tech (he’d probably finger a usb port if he could). They exchanged names—the robot call itself Colonel—and began to converse about electronics. The hacker was visibly enamored by Colonel, and curious to learn how the robot functioned.
“Wher’re we headed?” the man riding shotgun asked.
“Census Building,” Karl answered. “I'm sure you all have loads of questions, and I'm prepared to take them.”
He looked at the real executive as they left the elevator and asked, ”So I get the grand reward, right?”
“Grand reward?” Karl scoffed. “For what?”
Counsellor Karl opened the briefcase that he had grabbed from the bunker; Prime Karl pulled clothes out of it—a casual outfit consisting of a black button-down, blue jeans, and black sneakers—and began to dress himself.
”For saving you,” Deadpool replied. ”This isn't the slaughter-fest of old D.A.'s, so I'm presuming that the reward—the one that motivated half of the survivors to come here—is claimed by finding and saving you.”
“I don't mean to burst your cancerous balls, but you haven't saved anything yet.”
”After the census building then.”
“After we're off this damn island,” the executive retorted, rolling back his sleeves. “How about that?”
At their current pace, the mercenary deduced that arriving to the census building could take another month. He massaged his temples with his hand.
“Tell ya what.” Karl reached into his slacks and pulled out a tube of ointment, handing it to the mercenary. “Take this.”
Deadpool picked his head up to look at the product. ”Bengay?”
“No, Wade.” The executive rolled his eyes over to the gunshot crater in the mercenary's shoulder—it looked like a bleeding asshole. “It will help with your wound, since you seem so reluctant to self-heal.”
Deadpool wrinkled a smile into his mask. ”Thanks, I didn't really wanna use my remaining SP to regenerate.”
The executive looked at Deadpool as if he knew what the mercenary meant, and returned the smile. “I'm gonna need my favorite merc’ in top-form—“ he giggled at how he phrased the comment “—who knows what awaits us.”
Hiro walked back over to the rest of them, confidence exuding from his visage; a piece of cloth wrapped his forehead—black and yellow stripes ran diagonally like a chevron sign. In combination with his goggles, he reminded the mercenary of a highway worker signaling people to merge left.
”Bro, you don't look like Afro Samurai, you look like Captain Roadway-tape”
Both Karls laughed in an irksome synchrony, then shared the same remark: “Cute.”
“By the way, Karl,” the executive turned to his clone, “any sight of Christa and the dog?” The copy shook his head. “I see . . . well If they arrive, update them on the situation; same with anyone else.”
Counsellor Karl nodded. “You didn't drink all the Karlmeleon, did you?”
“Nope. Help yourself.”
The two embraced, sharing a few compliments of narcissistic affection before Karl patted his clone on the shoulder. “This is farewell, me. If you somehow don’t live through this, I’ll make sure to recreate you just as you were—an exact duplicate of my sexy self.”
The slightly revised trio made their way out of the building. They retraced their steps down the stairwell, stopping one floor above the sewage disposal level Hiro and Deadpool entered through earlier.
Deadpool spent the time catering to his gunshot wound. The mercenary squeezed some of the medi-gel onto the tip of his finger, and stuck it into his wound. He winced, triggering Karl to make a slick remark: it's just a little pressure, sweetie.
“There's the exit!” Hiro pointed at the revolving door, and strode across the lobby; Deadpool and Karl followed his lead.
As they neared the door, Deadpool saw a truck covered in flesheater insides pull up out front. It swerved down the street before abruptly stopping with a sharp skid and trail of tire marks—skurrrrd!. The person in the flatbed flew back, slamming into the rear window.
”That onomatopoeia means company, folks,” the mercenary said; reaching a hand near his utility belt, he passed through the revolving door.
The shotgun window of the pickup slowly winded down, revealing a middle-aged man with a woman beside him. Deadpool tried to depict the driver as she poked her head to gaze at them, but couldn't find anything on the forum that described her features.
More survivors meant more people; more people meant more slices of pie out of the mercenary’s reward. He was fine sharing 1% with Hiro, but no one else; and something told him that these new arrivals wouldn't be too fond of the idea.
”Fuck this.” The mercenary unclasped the Furby doll clipped to his utility belt, and pressed the button between its furry, plastic cheeks. ”Better luck next year!”
He overhanded the Furby towards the truck as if trying to catch a runner at home-plate. The doll twirled through the air, eyes pulsing a blue that glowed faintly in the soft fog. It bounced off the sidewalk and rolled under the truck.
Fire erupted from beneath the vehicle, engulfing it whole as flames rolled across the asphalt. The mercenary heard the sounds coming from the passengers—sharp screams, and pleas for help—and spectated with deep content. The man riding shotgun bashed the butt of his fists against the window, but his efforts did little more than make the glass quiver; the robot keeled over in the flatbed, gurgling electrical nonsense while its limbs welded to the truck; faceless lady broke her nails clawing at the door-handle.
BOOM!!
Under a mushroom of smoke and combustion, the truck shot into the air like a rocket lifting off. A rush of wind lashed out, and afterwards, the vehicle crashed back to earth in a clump of fiery, twisted metal. The flame crackled and spit glints of steel from its pit; everyone inside had been charred to the bone.
More pie for the mercenary.
“There's Christa!” Karl cheered. “And she has friends, how delightful. We’re gonna need all the help we can get.”
Deadpool eased his hand away from the bomb. ”You know these losers?”
“Of course I do, I brought all of you here. While I must admit, I didn't expect this many people to still be alive, the more the merrier.” Karl walked down the steps, waving at the truck. “Would you happen to have room for three more?” He shouted.
Through her overgrown blond bangs, Christa peered at the executive; after a brief gaze, her blue eyes widened to the size of golfballs, and her lips drew over her teeth to snarl. “Karl!”
Oh ok, that's how she looks.
“The one and only,” the executive replied. “Why the long face, thought I was dead?” He reached the back door and opened it.
A man in a Syntech uniform sat on the other side; his eyes popped once he saw his boss staring at him. “Mr. Karl, sir, nice to see you!”
“Nice to see you too . . .” the man's name eluded Karl until he found the nametag pinned to his shirt. “. . .Trent. Mind if I sit here? By the look on Christa’s face, I assume she has a few words for me.”
“Y-yeah, sure!” the employee stammered; walking to the tail of the truck, he climbed into the flatbed.
Karl looked back before he stepped inside. “Chocolate Thunder, White Lightning, hop in the back with Trent. I like the idea of you two behind me, looking overtop of me.”
The robot stationed in the flatbed gave the two swordsmen a firm nod as they hopped in the rear of the pickup. “Pleasure to meet both of you.”
"Domo arigato misuta Robotto,” Deadpool replied. ”I remember you from the plane wreckage—you were the guy caught on the edge of that cliff with Geodude. I’m sure I could find the link for you, if ya want. It was ‘Rounds 1 - 2, The Tail’.”
The robot stared at him blankly.
“Don’t mind Deadpool,” Hiro said while chuckling. “It takes a while to get used to him.”
The bronze hacker then ignited a small conversation between he and the robot. Deadpool figured it was because of Hiro’s love for all things tech (he’d probably finger a usb port if he could). They exchanged names—the robot call itself Colonel—and began to converse about electronics. The hacker was visibly enamored by Colonel, and curious to learn how the robot functioned.
“Wher’re we headed?” the man riding shotgun asked.
“Census Building,” Karl answered. “I'm sure you all have loads of questions, and I'm prepared to take them.”
Quote:Word Count: 1473
Medigel used: +1 SP
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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)