NOVEL NEXT Chapter 52: Where is Francis!
Mercy handed Wade a thick file, her expression as unreadable as ever. "This has all the information we've gathered. But there's not much to go on."
Wade flipped the file open lazily, looking up as she continued.
"It seems no one can tell us exactly what happened. All the guards were killed." Her voice was flat, as if discussing routine office work. "We only know he's connected to the Court of Owls because of his mask...and our past connections to the Court."
Wade nodded, feigning an exaggerated yawn. "Yeah, yeah, Court of Owls, masks, spooky past connections. Got it, Mercy." He tucked the file under his arm and turned to leave, muttering, "Another day, another feathered freak to deal with."
With that, he strolled out of the room, his mind already buzzing with questions
Just as Wade turned to leave, he stopped, spinning back around with a grin. "Oh, and one more thing—pre-pay me half. You know, for the 'get me killed by mysterious owl-themed lunatics' fee."
Mercy raised an eyebrow, looking unimpressed. "We already deposited it to your card."
Wade blinked, then scratched his head. "Card? What card?"
She stared at him, silent for a moment, clearly contemplating whether or not to dig further into his finances—or lack thereof. With a sigh, she turned, opening a drawer in her desk and pulling out a fresh, shiny black LexCorp credit card. She handed it over, her professionalism holding firm even as her patience waned.
"Try not to destroy this one, Mr. Wilson," she said, her voice carrying an edge of resignation.
Wade took the card with a flourish, grinning from ear to ear. "Aw, Mercy, you really do care! See?
With a wink, he slipped the card into his suit hole(you don't wanna know where that is) and finally headed out while dancing
As he turned to leave, he broke into a little dance, swaying his hips and humming to himself, his steps light as he strutted out of the office. His voice echoed down the hallway as he sang, "I got a mission~, I got a mission~"
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Deadpool stands over a bleeding thug, the dim light casting eerie shadows over the bodies strewn across the floor. Broken furniture lies everywhere, remnants of a chaotic fight.
"Don't make me ask twice. Where's Owlman?!" Deadpool barks, eyes blazing with intensity.
Suddenly, another thug crashes into the scene, swinging a pool cue like a baseball bat.
WHACK!
The cue cracks against Deadpool's skull, but he barely flinches. With a swift motion, he snatches the broken cue and drives it into the thug's gut.
"Yeah, that tickled!" he quips, grinning madly.
A third thug staggers to his feet, pulling out a gun, his hands shaking. He fires several shots at Deadpool, who staggers back, blood blooming across his red new suit
The thug's eyes widen in disbelief. Deadpool looks down, unfazed, and processes the situation.
"I said, where's... fucking... OWL—" He pauses, suddenly realizing, "You made me ask twice."
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wade in his lair, a chaotic mess of weapons and crayon drawings of villains pinned to a corkboard. He stabs a knife into the picture of a goon, pinning it to the board with a flourish.
"I think I'm making progress," he mutters to himself, admiring his work.
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In the shadows of a dingy underground fight club, Deadpool observes two women trading blows in the center of the ring. The crowd roars with excitement, the air thick with sweat and anticipation.
Spotting his mark wade pulls down his mask and weaves through the throng, effortlessly tossing aside anyone who stands in his way.
Just as he reaches the mark, the man notices and draws a katana, swinging wildly. The blade sinks into the wall, pinning his hand as Deadpool closes in.
"Don't make me ask twice. Where's—"
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VARIOUS LOCATIONS - INTERROGATIONS/KILLS - MONTAGE
A rapid series of scenes flash by as Deadpool interrogates thug after thug.
"Donde esta Owlmano?" he demands, knife glinting ominously in the light.
"I don't speak Spanish!" the thug yells, panic rising in his voice.
"And I don't have time for you to learn," Deadpool retorts, plunging the knife into the thug's gut without hesitation.
"Take me to your leader," he commands, glancing around the room, eyes glinting with mischief. "I've always wanted to say that~."
As he shifts from one interrogation to the next, each thug spills more secrets, fear and desperation etched on their faces.
"Where's your boss? And where can I find good Indian food?" he quips, savoring the chaos he's creating.
With each question, another thug falls, blood splattering across the floor, creating a grotesque tapestry of violence.
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sorry guys.....exams was fucking me on hardcore
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