"Ooh, neat. Somewhere new. The reboots were getting old. Blank slate it is!"
The forest is vibrant, alive with the sounds of life. A small stream burbles along peacefully through the dense trees. Nearby, a deer nibbles softly at the undergrowth.
Suddenly, the sharp tang of ozone fills the air, and the forest grows eerily still. Too late, the deer rises and turns to run. The stench grows stronger, and the forest is filled with a blinding flash of light, like a hundred million bolts of lightning.
When the light fades, the stream and the deer are gone, vaporized almost instantly. A steaming crater lies in their place, smoke rolling menacingly from the scorched earth. A single red boot emerges from the smoke as the legendary mercenary Deadpool--
"The fuck is this? Are you narrating me?"
Uh...yes?
"Really? Let me have a go."
That's, uh...not how this works. I'm not sure how you would even do--
Deadpool steps from the fucking awesome crater he made just by showing up, steam hissing off of his perfect six-pack abs and gigantic, bulging crotchplate, which buckles from stress. The air around him pulses with mystery and sexual tension, and each deep breath causes his massive, head-sized pecs to heave. Think Arnold Schwarzenegger when he was Mr. Universe, but with more sex appeal.
What the hell--
He takes a slow look around, his piercing eyes impregnating the air as they swivel through it. His musk is so masculine that the trees break into heat as his gaze passes through them. As he takes a step forward, his skintight latex outfit ripples as his gigantic muscles threaten to rip it to shreds.
No. No, no, no. No.
No.
Just...no.
"Fine. Spoilsport."
Deadpool sighs heavily and looks around at the decidedly non-impregnated trees. His average-sized crotchplate makes no movement (certainly not anything that could be described as bulging), as he takes a step forward and surveys his surroundings. The sound of engines and honking horns echoes dimly from the east, and to the west he can just make out some sort of industrial building.
"Where am I, anyhow? Wait, wait, wait, don't answer that. I was an Eagle Scout, so I know how to track anything, including myself."
Deadpool stoops down and grabs some dirt from the forest floor. He mashes it to his mask and takes a long, deep sniff.
"Mmmmm. Maple sap...rich soil...and just a hint of nationally funded healthcare."
Deadpool rises to his feet, dirt clutched triumphantly in his fist.
"I'd recognize that dried deer crap anywhere. This is Canada! The Great White North! The Land of the Mounties!"
There is a soft whistling sound, and then the tree nearest to Deadpool explodes in a spray of wood and shrapnel. Moments later, the one next to it does the same.
"Huh. Don't remember--"
Deadpool jerks, cut off. A dark red stain begins to spread across the stomach of his crimson costume. He lowers his eyes towards the wound and lets out a heavy sigh. With a grunt of effort, he sticks a finger into his newest hole and digs out the offending particle. As the wound seals up, he raises the gleaming hunk of metal to his mask and sniffs deeply.
"Bullets. Definitely bullets. Y'know, is it too much to ask that I don't get shot at everywhere I go? I mean re--"
Another bullet slams into his trachea, which he winces and picks out, coughing. After a few seconds, his throat knits back together, and he resumes speaking.
"I mean really, I'm not asking for a lot. Just a few short moments of my day where lead isn't making new orfices in my supple flesh."
Another dull thud, this time in his arm. The source of the bullets grows closer, the retort of gunfire echoing in the woods.
"Okay, that one hurt. Can I call a time-out?"
A bullet whistles over his head, and he sighs, sliding both of his swords from their sheaths on his back. "Alright, punks, it's your funeral."
"Wait, no, that sucked."
He slides into an overexaggerated pose in the general direction of the gunshots, which grow louder with every second.
"It's Clobberin Time!"
"...nah, too overused."
He lowers his swords and scratches the top of his head.
"DEADPOOL SMASH? Nah, too cliche. Big green ruined it for everyone. How about..."
The forest in front of him explodes in a spray of bullets, and a group of masked men emerges into sight some distance away. They are advancing in tight formation, firing their assault rifles rapidly. In front of them, a wiry girl of about nineteen dances through the spray of bullets, her brown hair bobbing as she runs. Despite her agility, she is bleeding from several spots across her body, and her chest rises and falls heavily. As Deadpool muses over his one-liner, she darts behind a tree in front of him, her attention so focused on the advancing soldiers that she doesn't even notice the heavily-armed crimson merc.
"Hey, you. What do you think I should say while I carve these guys up? I dunno, I'm leaning towards yippee-ki-yay, motherf--"
The girl's head swivels, and her eyes widen in sheer terror. Her fist darts out, lashing Deadpool in the gut, and in the same movement, she yanks his glove down and grabs his bare hand.
"I'm sorry.", she chokes, her voice trembling. "But it's you or me, and I'm not going to let you capture me."
She squeezes Deadpool's hand tightly.
Nothing happens.
"Uh...usually you ask first. Y'know, treat me a little. Dinner and a movie. Bit raunchy, skipping right to the hand-holding, don't you think?"
The girl stares in disbelief. "You're supposed to be dead. Or...or passed out. Or...in a coma. How are you still talking?"
Deadpool blinks. "Your breath isn't that bad."
"What?" The girl frowns, temporarily distracted from the threat of the approaching hunters.
"I mean, sure, you could use a Tic-Tac....or five. Nobody's perfect."
The girl stares into Deadpool's eyes, her own pale green ones wide with disbelief. "I...kill...people."
He grins, though it looks considerably more malicious than intended under the mask. "Hey, so do I! See, we're making friends already!"
She stares at him again, baffled. "You really don't feel anything?"
"...uh...Indigestion? I was lying about the breath to make you feel better, really."
She looks behind her at the approaching men, then shoves Deadpool into a nearby ditch with a strength that should be impossible for someone of her size.
"Ow. Jerk."
"I wasn't planning to fight them here, but...you're something else. I've killed every person I've touched since I was seventeen years old. You, whoever or whatever you are, you might be the cure for this fucking....mutant thing."
"Stay here. Please."
With that the girl dashes out of sight in the direction of the soldiers. Their screams start shortly after, and the loud bratt-a-bratt of gunfire echoes in the otherwise still forest.
Deadpool stares out into empty space for a long moment.
Synapses fire. Neurons connect.
"...Rogue?"
Well, that was weird. I get teleported to forest and narrated at, and then Rogue, one of the X-Men I happen to dislike the least, shows up. She's pretty young, though, and doesn't seem to, uh, actually be an X-Man yet.
Hey, just how blank was this blank slate, anyway? I didn't sign up for an origin story! If I meet McAvoy, all bets are off.
Anyhow, this ditch is pretty boring. I should do something.
[] Y'know, we should hop out and help 'Rogue' kill her pursuers. Nothing like a little incredibly exorbitant and unnecessary slaughter to get to know an alternate-universe version of someone.
[] Waiting is boring, and unfun, and just sucks. I say we get up and walk off into the forest. There's the faint sound of traffic coming from the east, and where there's cars, there's people, and where there's people, there's food. And I'm always hungry.
[] Hey, screw origin stories and get out of here. Haul ass to the west. That industrial facility looked pretty interesting. It's Canada, so there's probably an illegal clandestine government operation or two working out of there. Why, just such an operation created yours truly.
[] Write-In. Hey, you're the voices in my head, not me. Pitch some ideas for what I should do.