Shatterworld #1

 "W'shar luv t'be buck home, b'hay, eh." Deadpool said, in a horrifically exaggerated accent that would have caused any casual listener lingering physical pain. Wade was the only one who loved the sound of his own voice, even the people most affectionate towards him would find it to be the auditory equivalent of having a steel needle being slowly driven into their skull. Nobody needed that effect exaggerated.

And they had been indeed, or a part of it anyway. Wolverine had, for reasons best known to him, but likely involving unresolved and unsubstantiated guilt, vanished into the wilderness and let it swallow him up. Here, the tall stark trees were more black then green, the ground was rough and uncertain, and roads were a dubious proposition. It wasn't quaint, there was no 'sylvan tranquility' or 'picturesque natural beauty', and certainly no 'peace and quiet'. It was a North American Jungle, and it was so far remote even God hadn't thought about it recently.

"Drop the accent. We crossed the border again," He glanced at his watch. "Half an hour ago."

"Tha's my background 'n all dat, y' hozer, eh."

"No it's not. You were born there, but we both grew up in Ohio, and you have no reason to pretend."

"I just want to fit in and be accepted." Deadpool said with a pout that was entirely wasted, since his brother didn't take his eye off the road, and besides, he was still wearing his mask. Slade had been driving eight hours nonstop, but didn't trust Deadpool to remain focussed on the job, so was looking forward to a sleepless night driving through the wilderness. Hopefully without killing anyone, but since they were both wanted fugitives who had remained on of Interpol's most wanted for decades at a time, that was unlikely in the extreme. He'd wanted to just hop a freight, but Wade had refused, and sometimes deferring to him was just less effort.

Slade liked big, powerful vehicles that could handle anything. He'd probably drive an all-terrain tank if he could find a cloaking device durable enough to let him get away with it. Even undercover, he drove a black hummer, and only because he'd lost his collection of muscle cars that he'd bought and carefully restored after an unfortunate explosion at one of his safe-houses. The thing barely made a mile to the gallon, but it was absurdly spacious, powerful, climate-controlled, had leather seats and had tinted windows so was passingly private, and made a fine improvised weapon. But once they'd gotten off the highways and into the wilderness they'd taken a ship along the coast, then swapped it for a jeep that was more suitable for handling the rugged Alaskan wilderness. Deadpool wanted him to buy Triphammer and get a flying car, but Slade was yet to be convinced of the soundness of the investment, and Wade was still broke, having spent the last of his savings on a crushed-velvet Austin Powers suit that had then gotten lost at customs, and was currently awaiting pickup in Nepal.

The jeep, if you feel comfortable calling it that, was in actuality a modified old Army truck; the thing’s chassis was about four feet off the ground, mounted on enormous all-terrain tires that one imagined could crush the Hulk. It had an eight-foot flatbed, full of all the guns for Slade decided he didn't need, and so much reinforcing and armour that you could drive it through a warzone without noticing.

It also came with a radio, which Deadpool couldn't find a station to settle on.

<…solid alibi. The man-hunt for his inter-dimensional duplicate, while initially promising, has failed to live up to initial…>

<…provoked an armed confrontation in Mexico City leaving dozens dead or in critical condition…>

<…has once again evaded jail-time despite overwhelming evidence against…>

<…five major insurance companies are declaring bankruptcy following the…>

<…tens of thousands thought to be dead in the wake of Brainiac's latest…>

<…Monstroso LaVey informed the court that he has no intention of co-operating with what he terms as 'character assassination', and has every intention, despite protest from legal correspondents that it makes a mockery of the proceedings, to represent himself…>

<…all residents in the greater Piqua, Ohio area are warned that their lives are in danger, as the marauding killers known as the Slaughterhouse 9 have been spotted in that area who are unlikely to…>

<…wanted for seventeen counts of…>

<…at least five banks into debt, was awarded a seven billion dollar bonus…>

<…for crimes against…>

<…The President has found that his predecessor…>

<…The investigation has not…>

<…his skrull impersonator was largely responsible for the work, therefore…>

<…and welcome back to 'Space Ghost from Coast to Coast'…>

"Oh come on. Is there anything on the news anymore but current events and politics? Where is the shallow entertainment and gossip?" Deadpool pouted. "Seriously, it's ridiculous. All I want to do is listen to something vapid and pointless and unsubstantial about people I'll never meet, but nobody is covering it."

"That's my bread and butter your whining about." Slade replied mildly.

Deadpool blew a raspberry.

"There's an eight-track." Slade offered as compromise.

Deadpool blinked. "You really are a creature of habit, aren't you." He shook his head. "Why do you have an eight-track?"

Slade shrugged. "Got used to it, I guess."

Deadpool sighed.

"There's plenty of Elton John and Bowie." Slade added.

Deadpool would have been lying if he claimed not to be a little tempted at that particular prospect. "Maybe later. So how long do you reckon before we run into Alpha Flight?" Deadpool asked.

"Hopefully we won't."

"Yes, but we inevitably will. You can't go through Canada without running into them, it's basic logic. I mean, what else is there in Canada?"

Slade didn't reply, though he was aware that, as questionable as his brother's reasoning was, meeting them thanks to some contrived circumstance would remain a distinct possibility.

Deadpool watched the landscape go by for as long as he could, which turned out to be a few minutes as it started sleeting with rain, turning it all a uniform drab grey and leaching the colour from everywhere, at which point he decided to try conversation again, for hope sprang eternal. The landscape was boring anyway, there were no signs of hockey, lumberjacks, or Mounties riding down ne'er do wells.

He'd tried a dozen times a minute since they'd started the trip, and nothing Slade had done shut him up for any length of time. If it was even possible to get Wade to shut-up, Slade had yet to find a way to do it that worked more than once.

"So, you're still single, huh?"

"What?" Slade said, thrown off by an entirely unexpected attack. Not even experience helped to predict Deadpool.

"Elementary, my dear Wilson. None of the other rooms in the house are being used, the house feels completely empty. It's just your stuff. And Wintergreens, unless that's your moustache wax. So you must be alone there." Deadpool wished he had a pipe to smoke. It would look so dignified when he showed off his awesome detective skills.

"I am. So what?"

"You called several people, but not one for personal reasons, therefore there's nobody expecting to see you."

"I am, so what?" Slade repeated patiently.

"Furthermore, the initially puzzling lack of any variety in your household waste suggests…"

"I am. So what?" Slade interrupted, finally getting though.

"So you should get some company you're not related to, given that after you abducted, or possibly adopted Robin, then Raven, not to mention that earth girl whatsherface, I have to keep telling people you're not another Max Damage."

"What, I don't get enough sleep, and I like to mass-murder?"

"No, pretty much everyone knows those two things. You know, like his sidekicks…" Deadpool trailed off meaningfully.

Slade blinked. Then he blinked again. The whole line of direction this conversation was suddenly taking was so unexpected, he didn't even get angry. It took him a moment to comprehend the suggestion. Then he tried to answer, but his soldier's vocabulary just didn't have the superlatives. As a man of action, he did the only thing that fitted. He swerved sharply, pulling the vehicle over by the side of the road. "Give me names." He said, in a voice that was dangerously quiet.

Deadool hadn't expected to get this far, and floundered a little, trying to think of where to go with it. "Look, that's a bad idea. If you do kill them they'll just get more convinced. It's a matter of appearances, and rumour. Well, Terra is pretty common knowledge, but first you abduct Robin, then you abduct Raven, people notice a pattern. And whatever makes a good story. I mean, not an actual story, but the sort of bullcrap people talk, you know? Hang on, I'm not explaining this very well. Think I got some finger puppets somewhere in here..."

He did, as a matter of fact, and took out his finger-puppets in order to demonstrate something. What exactly he expected Slade to get out of it is unknowable, but it seemed to make sense to him, and involved lots of wiggling. Why he carried around finger-puppets in his pouches is a big enough question on it's own. "Anyway, the best way to fight rumors like this is put them to sleep. Find a grown-up girl. Make a big deal about using her shamelessly."

Slade sighed. He closed his eye again for a long moment, and took a deep breath. Then he looked at his brother. "Look, Wade, I know you're trying to help me in your way. But shut up. And I don't need any distractions in my life right now."

"Distractions. Yeah, it would be a real tragedy if there was someone to interrupt all your working-out and brooding. How would you get anything done?" Deadpool replied, sarcastically, putting the finger-puppets away given he no longer needed visual aids. The two had a close, if bizarre, bond, and Wade honestly did want to help his brother. The problem was, he's the last person on any world who should be giving advice. "Seriously. Meet people. Treat yourself to a long vacation. Attend a convention or two, hook up with some young but still legally of age..."

"I mean it." Iron crept into Slade's tone. When he spoke like that, you either did what he said or got ready for a fight.

"Well have it your way." Deadpool said, exasperated, crossing his arms and looking out the window to sulk. It was really boring. There was nothing to look at but mile after mile of snow, trees, snow, rain, snow, road, and also snow. "Are there any discussions we can have? Or are you going to jump down my throat every time I say anything?"

"So how's Shiklah, by the way?"

Deadpool brightened. "She took me back! Turns out it was all a misunderstanding, and it's been great ever since. The whole war that I was worried about didn't happen, what with Dracula being abducted by the British, so everything is great. I mean, she wants to try for kids and I'm not quite ready for that, but…" He paused. He was forgetting something. Something important. Something that could ruin everything. Something about an old enemy… "She's spending some time with her side of the family. Morrigan and Lilith."

"Right." Slade said, and went quiet. A few minutes passed in silence.

"Thanks for the Dethklok CD, by the way. She loved it. Apparently, it reminds her of home."

"Thank Jericho. He picked it."

"I will." Silence again.

"I don't get why you're up for this. I mean, you always make a big deal about not actually killing targets unless it's safe, to avoid dangerous people who can juggle planets going after you for revenge that you can't handle."

"Sometimes you have to take risks." Slade replied noncommittally. He was still terse about the last conversational subject.

"So how are we going to actually kill him? I mean, put him in the ground, not just beat him up. In case you haven't noticed, he's A-list, and as awesome as we both are, A-list guys never get killed off for good."

"I've got a few tricks. Leave that to me."

"Seriously, this all screams expendable antagonist. Name one A-list guy you've killed permanently." Deadpool challenged. "And I mean world famous."

"Adrian Vedit, formerly known as Ozymandius. '99, knife to the solar plexus." Slade said. "First job I ever did for Darius Dax." It was a simpler time back then. The anti-mutant hysteria was coming to an end, the super-heroes, having lost their leadership were in a bit of a decline because the new ones hadn't really gotten organised and were always randomly attacking one another due to miscommunications, global communications had been a joke, and the world had seemed an endless potential. For some people, that had turned out to be the case, others - not so much.

Deadpool blinked. "Really? Darius Dax had Ozymandius killed? I had no idea. But now the truth is exposed, and sweet perversion Batman, that's indecent!"

"Pays the bills." Slade replied, chuckling a little at the spot-on impression of the first Robin - and the closest thing Slade probably had to a nemesis, as horribly unbalanced as that match-up would appear to be at first glance.

"OK, so that's pretty impressive, but even so he was a has been by then. Even if his original material is pretty highly regarded for some reason…"

"Don't you have anything better to do?"

"No I don't, as a matter of fact. I'm practically reduced to inventing imaginary friends in the form of brand new head voices in order to keep my sanity and not go mad from the isolation." Deadpool pouted. "Come on, killing is something we have in common. Kiss and tell, just this once."

"Define challenge."

"Easy. Tough fight."

"The Winter Soldier."

"Ah, hate to break it to you, but he's still kicking."

"No, I mean the original. Alpha Red.”

"Never heard of him."

"That's how good he was." Slade replied. "One of the toughest fights of my life."

"And it was against somebody nobody else as ever heard of. When you die nobody will remember him, it'll be like he never even existed."

"Fair."

"A-list, world famous, popular enough to hold his own comic." he paused. "And that business with Tommy Monaghan doesn't count, before you bring it up."

"That business with who?"

"Some guy you killed. Called himself Hitman. Shock-value masquerading as humor."

"I'm running a blank."

"Doesn't matter, he doesn't count."

Slade lost patience. "Oh, pick a name. Aztec? Mr Dark? Shaft, Chapel and the rest of that iteration of Youngblood?"

"Wait what? That was you? I always thought they died of apathy or schedule slip or something like that."

Slade wasn't done. "How about Dr Quest? Robert Kaufmann? Warblade, Zealot, and the rest of those Kherubian-blooded paramilitant idiots? The Elite - at least The Engineer and Midnighter?" He all but growled. "Seen any of them lately? Not to mention Martial Law? Tom Strong? Julius and Augustus Furst? Dr Jonas Venture?"

"You had nothing to do with…"

"Senior."

"You killed Jonas Senior? Why?"

"For money, obviously." Slade replied, rolling his eye.

"Right. Ask a stupid question." He paused, weighing their current circumstances in hand, then shrugged. That was too much psychoanalysing for him. "Alright, fine. I admit that's all very, very impressive, if a lot of them are ranging into a slightly different genre. And I'm curious how you killed Midnighter - believe me I'll ask you about it in a later issue. But still, Wolverine is basically an institution."

"If you trust me to do anything, trust me to kill people."

“Fair.” He paused. There was something bugging him. "So wait, isn't there going to be a flashback?"

"Brother, this isn't a movie."

"Oh? Who did you hear it from? That's a shame." Deadpool replied. "Must be a miniseries, or web-video or something. Still, in this economy, you do what you gotta do. Just as long as it is a live-action thing, that's all. They could have swapped out the particularly jacked Ron Perlman - who is who I presume they got to play you, for Manu Bennett guest-starring to play a younger you, in some retro-costume with lots of orange and pouches and buccaneer boots." Deadpool said wistfully. "How about at least a single action panel showing the brutality."

"You're not making any sense at all."

"Aren't I? Enough with all the talk. Yes, I talk a lot, it's kinda my thing, but this is a visual medium, damnit!"

"Is this your way of asking 'are we there yet'?"

"At least tell me how you killed the Midnighter, if you won't show me. That sounds really cool." He asked after a moment. "I always figured there must have been a kill switch or something, given his ridiculous abilities."

"Not to my knowledge. He wasn't particularly weak against successive application of blunt-force trauma to the face, but it got the job done eventually."

"That's it? You hit him in the face a lot?"

"There was more to it then that." He paused. "Well, not a lot more."

"Tell me anyway."

Slade didn't answer for a long moment. "Do you really want to go over that?"

"Actually? Yes. Yes, I'd like that very much." Deadpool replied. "Lets swap stories for a bit. I'll tell you all about the time I fought Bobba Fett in a rap battle."

"Who?"

"The coolest guy ever, at least according to one nerdy subculture."

"Like Joss Whedon, or Kevin Smith?"

"No, he's fictional."

“Joss Whedon or Kevin Smith?”

“I…” Deadpool paused. “You’re #%&@ing with me.”

“A little bit.”

“Well, if you don't want to share stories, I will. The thing about Bobba Fett is…”

Slade sighed. "Tell you what, I'll tell you a story if you promise you never do that."

"I'll take it. But you're missing out. Fett's got moves."

"Fine. This was about three years ago."

"It was a more innocent time, long ago, when America was a better place. People were still really enthused by new episodes of Game of Thrones, a number of celebrity marriages hadn't broken up by physical abuse and alcoholism, Politics might not have made sense, but at least they weren't a circus, the runaway craze was being mass-manufactured by soulless corporations but soon would be replaced another, Pluto… hadn’t been a planet for a long time, and everyone was still excited about…"

"Am I telling the story, or are you?"

"You're providing the facts, I'm making them interesting by providing context. People can't be expected to do that on their own, try and pay attention."

Slade didn't respond until Deadpool started nudging him. "Superman had broken up the Authority."

"Oh, actually, tell me about that. That sounds way more exciting."

Slade shrugged. "You know, it was mostly on the news."

"I was busy getting my heart broken. I didn't have time to watch the news."

"Fine. After two decades of talk, talk, talk, they finally got enough muscle to stop doing nothing but talk - complain about the status quo, and they got some public support as well. This made them upity. Anyway, this guy called Magog…"

"Cable's Evil Alternate future self! Heh, yeah I remember that."

"What, really?" Slade blinked, then paused thoughtfully. He mentally compared the two, and could only nod. "I can see that, actually. Now that you point it out, aside from the helmet they're practically identical."

"No." Deadpool said. "Nope, that's who we were looking for, and he'd just appeared, and with the biblical name referencing apocalypse it made sense so we targeted him. But it turns out it was all a huge coincidence, the design was inspired by Cable, and the guy we were looking for actually was some other guy. But don't worry, we killed him. I think Magog helped, I don't really remember that team-up all that well, because the timelines trying to remove it from continuity or something." He paused. "And I was still broken up about getting my heart broken. I was a total mess. I think I might have joined a cult."

"Really?"

"Yeah, but that was this other thing with Cable. We all turned blue. You don't want to hear about it."

Slade shook his head. "Should I go on?"

"You better."

"Fine. He almost caused a nuclear explosion in Kansas in a fight with Parasite, and Superman had enough, so he called them out. They tried to attack him, and Superman took off the kiddie gloves." He paused. "That's about it."

"And yet it got an entire animated movie." Deadpool raised an eyebrow. "OK, good first try. Now tell it again. And make it more exciting. And make the fights roughly 30% more elaborate and difficult, and change everyone's name."

"No."

"Well at least tell me the first story. You versus Midnighter."

"Fine."

"And my original advice. Make it more exciting."

"Be grateful you're getting the story you're getting." Slade replied. "I was approached by Prometheus, of all people. You know who that is, right? Well, he wanted to upgrade his tech, I guess. The Authority were history by then, Hawksmoor was executed, Manchester Black, Magog and Apollo were out of the picture, the rest that were still alive had mostly gone their separate ways. The remainder were trying to rebrand, they were going by 'The Elite'. Prometheus got someone to kill Midnighter's husband Apollo, can't remember who…"

"Neither can I, it's like whoever is making up the story you're telling can't be bothered to make something up…"

"But that didn't do much more then get him out of the way. Anyway, so I tracked him down and staked him out. It wasn't actually all that hard, he was too dependent on his implants warning him to know to keep his guard up, and he had a dozen or so social media accounts he used to pick up guys. So I took my time, kept an eye on him without doing a thing to set him off. When I'd figured out my plan of attack, I picked my ground, kidnapped a kid who looked a lot like that adopted girl of his, and sent him a tape through one of his social media accounts, and I used her as bait to lure him into a place I'd set up."

Deadpool blanched. This stroll down memory lane had taken a dark turn, and was now in some dark alleyway behind a cinema where a punk with a gun was threatening his parents for his mothers pearl necklace. Not that she'd ever had one - but his own origin story was less applicable to the metaphor. "You what?" He choked, genuinely horrified.

"For a self-proclaimed badass, he was a sentimental sort." Slade replied shamelessly. "Didn't even have to torture her or anything to get his attention, just threaten her a bit. He takes that about as well as you'd expect, and shows up all alone to the old bunker in the desert that I'm operating out of, that happened to be surrounded by a minefield. And me with a gatling gun, and he doesn't try to be intelligent. He lets his moral outrage do the thinking for him."

Deadpool blinked. He was now even less comfortable with the direction the story was taking. "Easy as that?"

"Not quite. He had to cross half a mile with no cover, dodging bullets and explosions the whole way. Which he did by the way - he was designed for that sort of thing I guess." Slade smiled and shook his head. "He must have really hated me. Anyway, when he got close, I tossed away the gun, and entered the bunker. The idiot followed me into it, figuring the worst was over and that he could depend on his enhancements for anything else I threw at him, instead of coming up with a plan, and I beat him to death with a lead-pipe."

Deadpool blinked. "How? Isn't his whole schtick that if there is a statistical possibility, no matter how small, that he can win, then he does?"

By now, Slade was quite enjoying himself. "Don't believe the hype. A billion calculations a second, sure, but that's nothing close to every possibility. That's brute force profiling, not determinism. But yeah, he wasn't going to lose in any sort of fair fight. So I fixed the odds. See, he still depends upon his senses for data his implants can interpret - classic example of over-engineered, over-priced useless, anyone with much in the way of actual combat experience rather then vicariously living it out through others would have known better then to build it. Whoever thought he was a viable replacement to me…"

It was that classic mono-myth, upgrade versus prototype, power versus experience. There was only one way that ever turns out. Deadpool thought. "Bendix. Who was stupid."

"…Yeah." Slade paused. "You have to be really smart to be as stupid as Bendix. Of course, the bunker was the trap. All I had to do was wait for him to enter, remotely sealed the hatch shut behind him, then switched on my helmets night-vision and turned out the lights, leaving him running blind. Then just in case, I cut my helmets sound receptors and flooded the bunker with noise." He paused meaningfully. "Rolling Stones 'Gimme Shelter'. Played out at 188 decibels. They'd lost their ship long since - The Authority, not the Rolling Stones - so he couldn't teleport out, and with no sight, smell or sound he didn't have any numbers to punch and couldn't make any calculations. He flailed around helplessly, like a fish on a chopping board or David Caradine at a kung-fu exhibition…"

"Harsh! But kinda dated."

"…and I beat him to death, and managed to make a profit hocking what was left of his fancy neuro-implants to some conservatorium of Italians, since Prometheus' money never materialised. The Italians were interested in making more of him apparently, but I haven't seen any, so I guess blunt force-trauma destroyed what was left of the inside of his head and they couldn't get anything usable. That or Prometheus got involved again." He shrugged. "Interesting intellectual exercise in rigging the fight in your favour, I guess, but nothing particularly exciting."  Nice. Imagine that, just as predicted, the original model smacks down the uppity new and improved. What a twist.

Deadpool dropped that train of thought, out of fear of straining his sarcasm muscle. "And the girl?"

"What? What girl?"

Deadpool suddenly felt a clammy feeling on the back of his neck sliding it's way down his spine. "The girl you kidnapped to bait the…"

"Right. Dropped her off at the police station with an ice-cream cone and a bag with six-hundred-thousand in uncut diamonds." Slade shrugged. "I'm not great with kids, even my own, but I didn't actually hurt her."

But you would have, Deadpool didn't need to say, not as relieved as he thought he would be. You would have. And no matter what, you'll never care, you'll just find some justification that works for you, and never think about it again. His head voices noted that given the exposure they weren't getting it was a shame to waste their cameo on something so banal, but it didn't translate in the medium.

Deadpool sighed, and gave up trying to get Slade to talk to him. He was just reaching for the radio to try and find a station to listen to where the static was less objectionable, when he saw a blur of something out of the corner of his eye. Something white. But when he turned to look, it was gone.

The engine gave a cough, then a splutter. "Not good." Slade said suddenly. The jeep's engine crackled then died completely. They rode to a halt in the shade of some black-trunked pine trees. Slade turned the key a few more times, but the engine only coughed and spluttered and refused to live.

Deadpool clambered out of his seat, and hurried around the front of the truck to pop the hood. Slade followed him patiently.

Wade looked down, tapped a few things and made sucking noises, trying to give the impression that it all meant something to him, then turned to Slade. This was his chance to be a proper bloke, and bond with his brother over proper bloke things. Eat lots of red meat, drive pick-up trucks, adjust some really large nuts (with a spanner. Probably), that sort of thing. He wasn't going to screw it up. "If you ask me," he said, in a voice deeper then usual, thumbs in his belt-loops "we should try to fill it with bananas. I don't think anyone's tried that before, so who's to say it won't work? So what do you think?"

"In all the time we've known each other, what gives you the impression that I have the slightest idea how to fix a car's engine?" Slade replied with a shrug. "I can about switch a tire."

Deadpool groaned. So much for that. "Oh come on. I've seen you build robots and complex explosives, and gadgets at least as cool as Batmans. You can fly planes and boats and WW2 submarines. How much harder can this be?"

Slade only shrugged. When it came to advanced technology, or even not so advanced, Slade preferred stealing or coercing from others. "Do you see a fully stocked workshop anywhere around here? Or even schematics, what it's supposed to look like?"

"Well don't look at me! As a problem solver I pretty much shoot things and stab things - and occasionally annoy them to the point that they trigger a mental collapse followed by a psychotic break, or when I'm on a roll make them laugh so hard they spurt malt liquor out of their noses. And while we can keep that in reserve, I don't think my methods will motivate the engine to start again." Deadpool said, drawing a magnum that looked like it had just come off the set of a western, and cocking back the hammer. "Hey, isn't this a rental? Oh, you are so losing your deposit."

Slade growled. "We don't need this. It will be dark soon, and we're a hundred miles from nowhere." The sky above was still clear and pale, but the heavy shadow of the hills ahead was fast approaching as the sun sank.

"Hey, relax, nothing scarier in these big bad woods then you or I. I even brought beer, so we can look at the stars and do some male-bonding - talk about our feelings and our hopes and dreams, that sort of thing. It'll do us good, make up for wasted time. Hey, want to see me tempt fate?" Deadpool cleared his throat. "What's the worst that could happen?" The close woodland around them became heavy and mauve. The shadow was close now, and the feeble sunlight had turned the heavy clouds crimson as the sun slunk below the horizon.

Slade stood up straight. He was alert, tightly coiled, straining for a sound, eye darting hither and yon, trying to fix on movement.

Deadpool leaned casually against the jeep. "Relax. I did it ironically. I think we're safe."

A deep roar cut the air, a predatory howl that echoed through the cold glades. Twilight enclosed them. In the dark thickets nearby, something massive was moving closer.

"This is totally not my fault."