Zone C -- Megacity One

[Deadpool]

This scene takes place before Madbull is culled into the Colosseum.

The mercenary burst into laughter.

“What's so funny?” Jak asked, hanging his hands on his hips.

The eco warrior looked sharp in his black Tom Ford blazer, and matching colored Ferragamo dress shoes (in fact, dare Deadpool say, Jak looked like he needed to be renamed Karl Jak); they gleaned under the dim fluorescent lighting. The humor that Deadpool found was in his deep-blue skinny jeans—the bulge he prophesied was on full display, nestled against his inner-thigh.

“It's my shoes, isn't it?” Jak worried. “I KNEW they would look like banana boats!”

Nah, you're shoes look fine,” Deadpool dismissed, and then pointed towards the eco warrior's crotch. “I feel sorry for whoever you decide to sling sausage at; with some Omnilium creativity, you could probably develop some techniques for it—bone-breaking constrictions, devastating climactical explosions, endless possibilities.”

Jak was scowling, but it dissolved when a groan interjected them.

Deadpool turned around, and looked at the leather couch; laying on his back, a familiar face stared indistinctly at the ceiling fan swirling above him—the mercenary's favorite stereotypical policeman, Pimp-C.

The officer's clothing had been torn and charred, exposing his raw flesh, which bubbled with blisters. One of his legs was broken badly; a makeshift stint kept it straight, but Deadpool could clearly see the awkward indentations zig-zagging through his calf.

”What the fuck happened to you?” the mercenary asked with raised eyes.

Whatever trance the officer put himself in snapped. He looked at the mercenary, took a long and hard blink, then smiled faintly. “Hey, it's the crazy guy,” he muttered. His voice was cracked and weak.

Deadpool walked over to him and dropped to one knee. ”I'm not gonna lie to you man, you look worse than I do underneath this outfit. What happened?”

Pimp-C struggled to muster the energy to speak. “Werewolf guy . . .” he winced as he cleared his throat, “hit me with some sort of compressed sun, then ran off with everything.”

Deadpool growled. ”So he's got the shit I left you too, huh?”

The officer slowly nodded.

”I'll get our shit back,” he said, standing to his feet. The heat of anger burned into him. ”No one takes my shit. Not without taking if from me personally.”

“Wait,” the officer said; he reached out to tug at Deadpool's utility belt. “Be careful.” A sudden rush of blood exited his mouth like a waterfall.  “Groups of people out there—bug people, and blue-skinned aliens.”

The mercenary smirked. ”I'll be a lot more careful than you, that's for sure.”

And before the officer could respond, his body dematerialized into radiant dust that flashed, then vanished.