knock knock (where'd he come from?)
“Hey,” Darcy spits with too much blood in her mouth and a wide grin that stretches way too wide, “Fuck you.” Her wrists are scraped raw against the handcuffs, and the thin chain, the agent thinks, the chain attaching them to the wall is the only thing that stops her from ripping his head off.
There’s an almost comically loud crash behind him. When the agent turns around, he’s greeted with a shotgun directly to the face and a black and red mask that reeks of blood and rot. “Hey,” Deadpool says, “Wassup? Someone called for a convenient plot device?”
“Wade you absolute fucker ,” The glob of spit arcs up and lands barely an inch from the toe of Wade’s boot. He looks down at it, before staring at Darcy, betrayed. “Don’t give me that- so we- I hate you so fucking much.” Darcy says, before pulling at the chains, slowly and surely pulling them out from the wall.
The agent opens his mouth. Wade, without taking his eyes from Darcy, shoves the shotgun in. The agent would close his mouth, if he wasn’t certain that he would shatter all of his teeth.
Darcy pulls the brick that the chain’s attached too out of the wall. She steps aside in time to watch it fall, cracking on the easily-powerwashed cement floor. She takes the time to take a deep breath, let it out. The tension falls from her shoulders. “Get his keys.”
“Ooh, sexy, taking control like that,” Wade replies, and shoves his hand into the agent’s back pocket. He pulls the trigger in the same motion.
Darcy shrieks and ducks, avoiding the worst of the spray, though she’ll be picking the bits of brain from her hair for weeks. Wade squats and frisks the corpse, tossing her the keys when he finds them. After Darcy unlocks the cuffs, Wade gets the keys back, but also with about three pounds of chains and mega-duty cuffs thrown directly into his face.
The impact knocks him ass over teakettle. Darcy walks over, kicks him. He doesn’t move.
On her way out of the cell, Darcy takes the keys back.