As the elevator doors slid shut, the prison guards outside all let out long breaths of relief.
Only after Lady Deathstrike had gone did they feel safe enough to move again.
Then, almost at once, they rushed into her office.
The moment they stepped inside, every one of them froze.
Blood.
There was blood everywhere.
It covered the floor, splashed across the walls, and stained the desk and cabinets in thick dark smears. The whole room looked less like an office and more like the aftermath of a butcher's workshop.
And in the center of the room, lying twisted on the floor, was something none of them had expected to see.
A small metallic skeleton.
Or at least, that was what it looked like at first glance.
But once they looked more closely, it became clear that this was not a simple machine, nor was it a normal body stripped of flesh. Inside the metal frame was a grotesque fusion of mechanical components and biological tissue. Wires, artificial organs, synthetic nerves, pulsing flesh, and steel supports were all tangled together in a horrifying mess.
Even worse, those severed mechanical-organic parts were still twitching.
Slightly.
Rhythmically.
As if whatever it was had not fully died yet.
The sight sent a chill through the entire group.
Then one of the guards—Prometheus, the poor fool Deadpool had framed minutes earlier—felt his anger flare all over again.
This thing had ruined his life for the day.
It had tricked him, framed him, and nearly gotten him beaten half to death by his own coworkers. The more he thought about it, the angrier he became.
So, while the others were distracted, he suddenly lunged forward and delivered a furious kick straight at the skeletal remains.
CLANG!
The sound that echoed through the room was not the soft crunch of breaking bones.
It was the hard, brutal sound of metal striking something harder.
"AAAHHH!"
Prometheus immediately hopped backward, clutching his foot and howling in pain.
The other guards turned to look at him, then at the skeleton, and then at each other.
That was no ordinary frame.
That was Adamantium.
And Adamantium was not something a human foot was meant to challenge.
For a moment, no one said anything.
Then one of the guards muttered, "So… even in this state, it's still that tough?"
Another looked down at the twitching body and swallowed hard.
At first, they had assumed Lady Deathstrike had spared the intruder because she wanted to interrogate him later.
But looking at the evidence now, a more unsettling possibility emerged.
Maybe she hadn't been able to kill him at all.
That thought was enough to make the room feel colder.
No one wanted to take chances.
Without wasting any more time, they pulled out a spare inhibitor collar and locked it around the skeleton's neck. Then, following Lady Deathstrike's exact instructions, they transported the remains to the prison's highest-security holding cell.
As for Prometheus, whose foot now felt like it had been smashed with a sledgehammer, two guards dragged him away toward the infirmary.
He cursed all the way down the hall.
---
Meanwhile, inside the elevator descending toward the lowest level of the prison, "Lady Deathstrike" leaned against the wall with her eyes half closed, looking calm and composed.
Outwardly, she appeared as cold and elegant as ever.
Inside, however, Deadpool was practically exploding with joy.
This felt amazing.
No, not just amazing.
Ridiculously amazing.
The person standing in the elevator now was not the real Lady Deathstrike at all.
It was Deadpool, disguised with Raven's shapeshifting serum.
And the torn-apart metallic skeleton left behind in the office?
That was the real Lady Deathstrike.
Deadpool had ambushed her, carved her up with his carbon steel knives, and then taken her place so smoothly it almost brought tears to his eyes.
He could already imagine what would happen next.
Eventually, Lady Deathstrike would recover enough to wake up.
She would discover that she was wearing an inhibitor collar.
She would realize she had been thrown into a maximum-security prison cell.
And then?
Deadpool nearly laughed out loud just picturing it.
Would she stand there with that icy, expressionless face and say, "I'm innocent"?
Would she demand surveillance footage?
Would she insist on seeing Stryker personally?
Would she try to explain that she was actually Lady Deathstrike, only for everyone to ignore her because the "real" Lady Deathstrike had just walked downstairs?
The thought was so funny that Deadpool nearly bit his tongue trying not to laugh.
His cheeks hurt.
Then he touched his face.
Right.
At the moment, he was still using Lady Deathstrike's face.
He probably shouldn't grin too much.
It would ruin the character.
Still, one thing bothered him.
Lady Deathstrike was not a pure mutant in the traditional sense. She was more like a technological hybrid—a woman fused with machinery, enhanced beyond normal biology.
That meant his carbon steel knives, while very effective against healing abilities, could not completely shut down her mechanical side.
That immediately made him think of another old acquaintance.
A one-eyed jerk with a glowing eye, a robotic arm, and enough daddy issues to fill three timelines.
That's right.
Cable.
Then, because Deadpool's brain never stopped producing nonsense, the thought quickly jumped sideways.
Cable was played by Josh Brolin.
Thanos was also played by Josh Brolin.
Thanos was in love with Death.
Deadpool was also in love with Death.
And whenever he wanted, Deadpool could go to the Realm of Death and spend romantic time with her.
Which meant…
By a certain deeply unreasonable but emotionally satisfying logic…
It felt like he had stolen his buddy's crush.
Deadpool adjusted his pants slightly and sighed.
"Man, this is getting me even more excited."
Then he paused.
Little Wade was currently out of service.
Offline.
Temporarily unavailable.
No problem.
After this mission, he would definitely go visit Death again and make up for lost time.
At that moment, the elevator reached the bottom floor.
Ding.
The doors opened.
Instantly, several rifles were raised and aimed straight at the elevator.
The guards outside had been ready for trouble.
But when they saw Lady Deathstrike step forward, the weapons lowered just as quickly.
One of the guards—clearly the captain on duty—stepped forward and saluted respectfully.
"Ms. Koyama," he said. "How may I assist you?"
Deadpool kept his face cold and his voice colder.
"An enemy infiltrated the prison and was captured by me just now. I need to personally confirm the status of the prisoner below."
He delivered the line so smoothly that even he was impressed.
Honestly, if someone ever adapted this into a movie and he didn't win an Oscar, it would be proof of corruption in the entertainment industry.
At once, a tiny red version of Deadpool appeared on his left shoulder in his imagination.
Little Devil Deadpool crossed his arms and scoffed.
"Please. Even if they filmed this scene, it would still be Lady Deathstrike's actress getting the credit."
"Do you really think Marvel would pay for expensive full-body CGI just so you could have acting recognition?"
Deadpool's eyebrow twitched.
Then he raised his hand and flicked the tiny devil right off his shoulder.
"Damn you," he muttered internally. "Why are you making sense?"
There went the Oscar.
Gone again.
The prison captain hesitated.
"But…"
Deadpool's expression became even icier.
"No buts."
The captain immediately straightened.
"Of course. Understood."
Then, in a lower voice, he leaned closer and said, with the kind of conspiratorial tone that instantly made Deadpool suspicious, "As expected of someone Mr. Stryker values, Ms. Koyama. Very thorough."
Deadpool's brain hit the brakes.
…What?
What exactly had he supposedly meant?
Why did this guy sound like he understood some deeper meaning that Deadpool himself did not understand?
This was exactly the kind of thing he hated.
Riddlers.
Everywhere.
People who acted like they knew the plot before explaining it.
Deadpool screamed internally:
Riddlers get out of Gotham!
Outwardly, though, he only gave a small nod and said in a cool voice, "Good. Then you understand."
The captain nodded eagerly, clearly believing he had passed some invisible test.
After another round of identity verification, the guards stepped aside and cleared a path.
And ahead of Deadpool was the final stretch.
---
At the very bottom of the prison, in the special containment chamber, Magneto—Erik Lehnsherr—sat alone in silence.
A large blue-transparent force field surrounded him, enclosing an area of roughly one hundred square meters.
It shimmered softly, creating a barrier between him and the rest of the world.
Everything around him was plastic.
Plastic chair.
Plastic table.
Plastic toilet.
Plastic sink.
Plastic walls.
Plastic everything.
Deadpool couldn't help muttering under his breath as he approached:
"My God. As expected of the world's greatest metal seller."
"This place is so plastic I feel like I just stepped into one of those cheap fake future sets."
He stepped up to the edge of the force field and waved brightly.
"Hi, Erik! I'm here to save you!"
Magneto did not move.
He didn't even blink.
He sat there like a statue carved from disappointment.
Deadpool looked down at himself.
"Oh. Right."
"I'm still using the wrong face."
His body rippled, and in an instant he returned to his usual tall, broad-shouldered form.
"There," he said. "Better?"
Still nothing.
Deadpool frowned.
"Hello?"
No answer.
"Do I seriously have to turn into Raven before you acknowledge me?"
He spread his hands.
"Come on, don't be so stubborn. It shouldn't matter who rescues you as long as you get rescued."
Then, in a coaxing tone like he was talking to a grumpy toddler, he added, "Worst-case scenario, after we escape, I'll lock you in a room and wait for Raven or Charles to come pick you up. Okay?"
Just to make the whole thing weirder, he transformed his clothes into a priest's robe and made the sign of the cross over himself.
Then he said solemnly, "Don't worry. I swear in God's name, I will treat you gently. Like a child."
At last, Magneto opened his eyes.
He looked at Deadpool calmly.
Too calmly.
There was no surprise in his expression.
No confusion.
No relief.
Just stillness.
Then he said, "I've been waiting for you."
Deadpool's smile faded.
A bad feeling rose in his chest.
Very bad.
The kind of bad feeling that usually appeared three seconds before everything exploded.
So he acted immediately.
No more talking.
No more jokes.
He drew his sword and slashed at the exposed conduits feeding energy into the force field.
The tubes snapped cleanly.
The force field flickered.
Then it began to dissolve.
But as it faded, Deadpool's pupils shrank.
Because it wasn't just the field that disappeared.
Magneto disappeared too.
The chair was empty.
The chamber was empty.
And before Deadpool could even process what had happened—
A much larger force field erupted around him.
It rose from the floor in a dome, sealing off the entire area and trapping him inside.
Deadpool stared at it for half a second.
Then he shouted at the top of his lungs:
"SON OF A BITCH!!!"
--------------------------------------
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