Marvel: The Game of Talents

"New York Journal, February 13, 2009."

"The military announced today that Tony Stark, chairman of Stark Industries, was attacked by terrorists in Afghanistan yesterday after demonstrating the newly developed Jericho missile. All 13 American soldiers accompanying him died, and Stark's whereabouts are currently unknown. The military has vowed to continue search and rescue operations…"

Ethan stood alone at the entrance of an alleyway in Brooklyn, New York. He had ditched his shredded uniform for a hoodie and slacks he'd picked up on the way after escaping from the hidden research lab. Now, as he scanned the headlines of an old newspaper, a name jumped out at him.

Tony Stark.

The future Iron Man. The lynchpin of the Avengers!

For anyone familiar with the Marvel movies, this was a name you didn't just read; you recognized it. After all, Iron Man was where the entire saga began. Based on the newspaper's date, though, this was over a month old. That meant Ethan had landed in a time just before Iron Man's debut—and long before the Avengers had even formed. The world wasn't yet the battleground he remembered from the movies.

At that moment, Ethan spotted a hooded figure approaching.

"So… did you find her?" he asked as Wade drew closer.

"Yeah, I found her," Wade replied, though his eyes were cast downward. "But I couldn't bring myself to actually go near her. I mean, look at me—I'm a freaking monster now. I was getting looks from random people like I was a zombie, and if Vanessa sees me like this… there's a good chance she'd pull a gun on me."

Ethan clapped him on the shoulder, trying to reassure him. "Don't worry. You've got regenerative healing, one gunshot won't kill you."

Wade stared at him, deadpan. "Wow, thanks for that comforting thought."

"Enough about that. I want you to meet a friend of mine," Wade said, and turned to walk down the alley, Ethan following in silence.

Soon, they arrived at an iron door. Wade banged on it, shouting, "Weasel, your daddy Wade is back! Open up!"

Ethan glanced at the sign beside the door, which read Sister Margaret's School for Wayward Children. It wasn't much of a school—this was the infamous mercenary bar Wade frequented.

After a moment, the door opened, revealing a disheveled man with glasses and an incredulous look on his face.

"Wade? You actually crawled out of your grave?"

======

Not long after, the three of them sat at the bar, munching on lunch. Weasel sighed as he listened to Wade's retelling of their escape from the lab.

"So, you cured your cancer, broke out of some Mutant club with your new friend, and now you're here," Weasel summarized, shaking his head.

"Yep, that's right!" Wade replied through a mouthful of food. He then reached across the bar, grabbed an unopened bottle of whiskey, and started drinking, oblivious to Weasel's pained expression.

Meanwhile, Ethan wasn't interested in alcohol, so he opened the fridge, pulled out a soda, and took a long swig. Weasel shot him a look, feeling slightly miffed that they'd both come here to eat and drink on his dime. But as Wade's friend, he was used to it.

He looked at Wade, who still had his hood on. "Listen, Wade, Vanessa loves you. She spent a year looking for you when you were gone. I don't think she'd care what you look like—"

Before Weasel could finish, Wade yanked off his hood, revealing his scarred face.

"Do you think she'd like seeing me looking like this?" Wade asked, his tone laced with sarcasm.

"Nope," Weasel replied without a moment's hesitation.

Wade turned to Ethan. "And you? What do you think?"

Ethan thought it over. As Wade's friend, he didn't want to be harsh, but the truth was hard to sugarcoat. Choosing his words carefully, he said, "You… look pretty unique. Kind of special."

To his surprise, the comment seemed to lift Wade's spirits a bit. Wade raised his head, some hope rekindled. "Really? What's so special about it?"

Ethan glanced around, trying to find something positive to say. Finally, he just sighed and admitted, "Well… it's special in that… it's really ugly."

Wade: "…"

Weasel: "…"