Marvel: The Game of Talents

Upon seeing Wade's grotesquely disfigured face, Weasel abandoned any hope of comforting him. That face was… well, "scary" was putting it kindly.

Weasel turned to Ethan, eyeing him curiously. "Wade said both of you have similar powers—why hasn't your face changed?"

Earlier, Wade had explained their abilities to Weasel, assuming that Ethan had undergone the same genetic mutation he did. But Ethan's powers weren't derived from any mutant gene—they were something altogether different, a high-level ability beyond ordinary mutation.

Between sips of soda, Ethan clarified, "Technically, Wade's cancer cells aren't fully gone. His healing factor just regenerates faster than the cancer spreads, which… well, let's just say it's left him with some 'unique' features."

"Yeah, a unique face that looks like a smashed avocado," Weasel said, shaking his head. "I mean, that's rough, man. But hey, maybe you've got a new calling—Nightmare on Elm Street remake? You and Freddy Krueger could practically be twins."

True to form, Weasel's "support" only made Wade's anger bubble up. With a loud slap of his hand on the bar, Wade stood up.

"Forget waiting to see Vanessa. I'm hunting down Francis first. I'll make him fix my face, then I'll pay him back for every sadistic thing he did. And when I'm done, I'll put a bullet through his skull and use his head as my personal—well, you get the idea."

Weasel grimaced. "I didn't need that visual, thank you. But, uh… Francis doesn't even know you're still alive, right?"

"Exactly. In his mind, both of us died in that fire," Ethan confirmed. They'd overheard Francis talking before they'd escaped. To Francis, they were probably just ashes in the wind.

"If you're planning on tracking him down, maybe disguise yourself a bit?" Weasel suggested. "I mean, no offense, Wade, but your face is… memorable."

Wade nodded. "Good call. I should give myself a stage name, like Captain America! Captain Wade—how's that sound?"

"It's terrible. You'd be better off with 'Captain Freddy.' Everyone would assume you're just on a movie set," Weasel retorted.

"Why not just go with 'Deadpool'?" Ethan pointed to the blackboard hanging above the bar, which was filled with names and bets. The game was simple: guess which mercenary would die next, and if you won, you doubled your money. At the top of the board, the bold letters spelled DEADPOOL.

Wade's eyes sparkled. "Deadpool… yeah, I like that. Let's go with Deadpool!"

Curious, Ethan asked, "But how are you going to find Francis? With the lab burned to the ground, there's no trail left."

Wade smirked. "Francis recruited a lot of test subjects on the sly. There's always a shady undercurrent to these experiments. All I have to do is follow that trail, and eventually, I'll find him."

"Fair enough. I'll help if you need it," Ethan offered.

Though Wade appreciated the thought, both men knew that Ethan's skills didn't lend themselves to firefights. This was America, where mercenaries like Wade dealt in bullets, not handshakes. Ethan's combat skills, or lack thereof, were barely suited to his own survival.

For now, they left it at that.

But Ethan had another priority—one even more urgent than revenge on Francis.

As a time traveler, he was completely undocumented in this world. And in America, where IDs were checked regularly, living a normal life would be impossible without some form of legitimate identification.

He turned his gaze to Weasel, who was watching the banter between the two with amusement.

"I hear you're recruiting mercenaries here," Ethan said, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. "Think I might be a good fit?"