Who: Deadpool. What: A routine job with Warren is as normal as wheels on a shark. Where: A corporate office in the business area of Seattle. When: Late Friday night. Warnings: Death and slight dementia. What did you expect from him, fluffy bunnies? Notes: [Insert Rorschach and Deadpool theme song here.]
Ah, the night. For some it was their time to unwind, relax, reflect on their day's work and retire to start another. Others began moving about, the night owls preening their feathers in hopes that everyone would see them until the harshness of the light exposed them for what they really were. For Deadpool, the world was his middle ground, the balance he chose to take advantage of and despite the fact he had been up all day, as the sun set, it was time to get out and play. At least, that was what he liked to call it. For the men who hired him they considered it 'serious business' but really, what did they know?
Grinning under his mask, Deadpool leaned over the edge of the rooftop to see a dim light still glowing, alerting anyone in the area that a certain corrupt corporation executive was either burning the midnight oil or having the loneliest little lamp party with his pretty princess dolls. "Or he's drinking his liver to death." Or choking the chicken. Spanking the monkey. Double clicking the mouse. Bashing the bishop-- "ALRIGHT. If I wanted masturbating terms I'd go to Facebook. Time to go to work."
Crawling down the side of the building, he waited for the exec to be out of sight before he pushed the unlocked window up, enough to slide in through quietly and unseen. Looking up as the man finished a phone conversation Probably with a Russian sex operator, he raised his gun, pleased at his stealthy skills before purposefully slamming the window closed again. WHAM.
"Now see here, see this is a stick-up!" Never let it be said he didn't know how to make a dramatic entrance.
Bob Tillman spun around so fast he dropped his phone. Standing still in shock, he could do nothing but stammer at the weird masked stranger holding a gun at his face. "Wh-what do you want?"
Nice job numbnuts. Now he's pissing his pants like a little girl. "Shut up!" he snapped back before shaking his head at Bob, "No, not you. He's a moody bitch." And you're a lameass cheesy bastard. No more movie quotes! "You ruin everything." Pthhhbbt.
Bob couldn't help but blink at the crazy man arguing with, well, no one. "I'm sorry, but who are you?"
Deadpool sighed and scratched the side of his head with the barrel of his gun. "Lemme start again. Hi, I'm Deadpool, and I've been hired to kill you! Probably because you've been a naughty boy, I'm not sure, probably doing something bad. Then again I'd shoot you just because of that tie. What the hell is that?" Looks like a gay flamingo threw up on it. "Yeah I know right?" For once we agree on something. Perhaps you're not as stupid as I thought. "Of cour--HEY." I'm sorry, did the truth hurt? "If I could punch your face I would." That'd be amusing to see!
The tie in question hung loosely about Bob's neck, but to him it felt like an extremely tightening noose the longer the crazy man waved his gun about, not to mention the whole 'hired to kill' part. As the mercenary continued to talk to or argue with himself, Bob slowly inched his way toward the door. A great plan really.
It lasted a few moments before he dropped to the floor, a bullet hole in his forehead. Deadpool sighed.
"Hate it when they think they're clever enough to beat me. Like I don't know how to multitask."
Thanks to me.
"Don't be so full of yourself. We're getting out of here."
First great plan in your life. I think I hear security.