Deadpool's Iris

Chapter 3

Me and it fell. But not on the wooden floor of the apartment. The room had been destroyed. We fell through a huge hole where the wall on the right of the room used to be. I screamed and held on tight to the thing for dear life. I was going to fall to my death!

Me and the thing landed on the sidewalk. Luckily, the thing broke my fall. I catched my breath for a moment, still on top of what saved me. I looked down at it. It appeared to be a person, most likely male. He was wearing a red and black costume with a mask to match and a brown holster around his waist. He was quite muscular. But not big muscular.

As I looked at him closer, I came to a realization as to who had saved me. I had heard about him all over the news before. What was his name again?

I scrambled away from him. He didn't move. Oh no, was he dead? Had he died trying to save me? I started to cry. He was dead, he was dead. It was all my fau-

"BOO!" he shouted, sitting up abruptly.

I jumped to my feet, nearly having a heart attack and let out a scream. He laughed.

"Got you!" he said with another hearty laugh.

I had never heard a voice as cheerful as his before. His voice was manly but also childish. He sounded like a child trapped in a grown man's body. He stood.

"Deadpool! Or Wade Wilson. You can call me both if you want to! It's the writer's choice though," he said.

I didn't know what the hell he meant by 'the writer' but I didn't care. I didn't know if I should run or talk to the man who had saved me. I decided to choose the latter.

"I'm Irene, but people call me Iris," I said.

"Iris? That's a funny name! Isn't that the name of the thing in your eye?" he asked.

I was used to people saying that. But I for one liked my name so I didn't care what anyone thought about it.

I couldn't take my usual route due to all of the debris from the destroyed building and the fact that Spider-Man and the black figure were still fighting. So I started to walk the other way. I would have to take the long way home. That meant I had 7 MORE blocks to go.

"So where are you going?" asked Deadpool, starting to follow me.

"Home," I said.

"Where do you live?" he asked.

"Not too far from here."

"I used to live in Hollywood but I decided to come and live here for a while. Mainly because the writer was forced to make me live here so all of this could happen because if she didn't, I would never be here with you in the first pla-"

"What writer? What are you talking about?" I asked.

He sighed.

"Gosh, I'm surrounded by idiots," he mumbled.

I started walking faster. I wanted to get home as fast as possible. It was starting to get dark. I knew it was dangerous when it was dark here. Especially on the streets. Empty ones.

"Hey, do you like pancakes? Because I know this great pancake house. It has lots of different types of syrups and-"

"No thanks. I already got asked out by my conceited boss," I said.

"I wasn't asking you out. At least not yet. Are you sure? How about tacos? I know this great taco truck where they serve the most delicious tacos and-"

I stopped and turned to face the man. This guy was irritating the hell out of me!

"Look Wade, Wilson, Deadpool, whoever you are. Can you leave me alone?" I asked.

"What do I get if I leave you alone?" he asked.

"Whatever you want. Just name it."

He crossed his arms and thought for a moment. I noticed a smile spread across his face from under the mask. He winked under the mask then nudged at me.

"Come on," he said.

He pointed at a vacant motel across the street from us. I gasped and slapped him. He laughed.

"What do I look like, some type of prostitute?" I asked angrily.

"Well...maybe a little..." he said.

I slapped him again.

"Freak."

I started walking again.

"Okay, maybe that was too much to ask someone I just met," he said.

"Maybe? No, it was too much," I said.

I should have ran earlier. Why I didn't, I don't know. He kept on following me. Okay, he was starting to creep me out. I reached into my coat pocket and pulled out my stun gun I always had. My brothers taught me how to use one when I was only 11. They also taught me how to shoot a gun.

I had never left the house without a weapon. Ever.

"By the way, I like your New York accent!" he said.

"I don't even have one," I said.

"Well...I like your voice," he said.

If I was going to get away from this guy, now was the time to do it. I aimed the gun. I expected him to get scared and run away. Instead, he just started jumping up and down like a little child.

"Shoot me! Please! Please! Do it!" he begged.

At this point, I was convinced this man was crazy. Well, I guess I was going to have to shoot him. I aimed at his chest.

"Go on! Do it!" he begged again.

I sighed and shot it. Two bullet like things fired out of the gun and connected to him, shocking him. He fell over and laughed as he was being electrocuted.

"This is fun!" he cried.

"That's it!" I yelled. This was madness! I dropped the gun and took off.

"Wait, you dropped your gun!" he called out.

I was now sprinting. Forget about the stupid gun! I didn't care anymore. I had real ones at home.

I ignored the various curses and comments I got when I bumped into people while running. I wasn't going to stop until I reached my home. I ran inside the complex, ran to the second floor, went to my door, unlocked it, entered and locked the door. Out of breath, I sank into my chair in my bedroom/living room/kitchen. New York apartments. So small.

"That was...strange," I said aloud to myself.