[The Afghan Desert - En Route]
"Does this thing really work?"
Wade Wilson shook the brass compass violently, like a maraca. The needle spun for a moment before snapping back to the same direction: North-East.
"I think the British guy is pranking us," Wade muttered to himself. "He probably sold us a Happy Meal toy. I bet it just points to the nearest chimichanga."
He glared at the sleeping figure in the back seat. John Constantine snored softly, oblivious to the slander.
Wade shrugged, slamming his foot on the gas. The Fun-Vee roared, kicking up a rooster tail of sand as they ventured deeper into the wasteland.
[The Ten Rings Cave - Kunar Province]
Time was running out.
Tony Stark hammered a piece of scrap metal, sparks flying in the dim cave light. His chest ached constantly—a dull, throbbing reminder of the shrapnel inching toward his heart.
He had stalled for weeks. He feigned compliance, pretending to build the Jericho missile. But under the nose of his captors, he was building something else.
The Mark I.
Outside the heavy iron door, angry voices shouted in Hungarian and Arabic. The deadline was up.
"I'll buy you some time," Yinsen said, grabbing a rifle.
"Stick to the plan!" Tony yelled, his hands fumbling with the code compilation. "Yinsen! Don't!"
"This was always the plan, Stark."
Yinsen gave him a sad smile and ran toward the tunnel.
Gunfire erupted.
Tony screamed in frustration, waiting for the progress bar to hit 100%.
Ding.
The lights in the cave flickered and died. The suit powered up with a mechanical whine.
Tony stomped toward the entrance, the heavy armor clanking with every step.
He found Yinsen near the mouth of the cave, lying in a pool of his own blood, riddled with bullets.
"Yinsen!" Tony knelt, the servos in his suit groaning.
"Don't waste it..." Yinsen whispered, his breath shallow. "Don't waste your life."
Yinsen's eyes glazed over. The man who had saved him—the man who had given him a second chance—was gone.
Grief turned to cold, hard rage.
Tony stood up. He turned toward the tunnel exit.
The terrorists were waiting. They had set up a heavy machine gun nest at the mouth of the cave.
"OPEN FIRE!"
A hail of bullets slammed into the Mark I. The crude steel plating held, pinging loudly as rounds ricocheted off his chest.
Tony raised his arm.
FWOOSH.
A stream of liquid fire erupted from the flamethrower, engulfing the terrorists. Screams filled the canyon.
But there were too many of them.
Tony stepped out into the sunlight, his suit heavy and slow. A rocket-propelled grenade whizzed past his head, exploding against the rock wall.
He was pinned down. He had no missiles. No flight systems. Just fire and anger.
He watched a terrorist load another RPG, aiming directly at his chest.
'This is it,' Tony thought. 'I'm sorry, Pepper.'
"WOO-HOO! MAXIMUM EFFORT!"
A red blur dropped from the sky.
Deadpool landed directly on top of the RPG gunner, crushing him into the sand.
"SUPERHERO LANDING! Hard on the knees, but totally worth it!"
Wade drew two katanas from his back. "Time to make the chimichangas!"
Silver steel flashed in the sun. Limbs flew. Heads rolled.
The terrorists panicked, turning their weapons on the new threat.
RAT-TAT-TAT-TAT-TAT!
Dozens of AK-47s unloaded into Wade's chest. Blood blossomed like red flowers on his suit.
He didn't fall. He didn't even flinch.
The guns clicked empty.
Silence fell over the valley.
Wade looked down at his ruined suit, riddled with bullet holes.
"Rude," Wade tutted. "Do you know how hard it is to get blood stains out of red spandex? Wait... that logic doesn't track."
He looked up, tilting his head.
"You're out of bullets. My turn!"
Wade lunged. It wasn't a fight; it was a slaughter. The terrorists broke and ran, fleeing into the desert, screaming about a demon in red.
Minutes later, the valley was quiet.
Wade wiped his blades on a dead man's shirt and sheathed them. He skipped over to the hulking metal suit standing near the cave entrance.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
Wade rapped his knuckles on Tony's helmet.
"Hello? Anyone home?"
"Are you alive in there? Or are you just a really expensive scarecrow?"
Inside the suit, Tony was dazed.
"Help..." Tony croaked, his voice muffled by the thick steel. "Help me... get this open."
"Hmm?" Wade pressed his ear to the chest plate. "Speak up! I don't speak Robot!"
"OPEN... THE... SUIT!"
"Sir, yes, sir!" Wade saluted.
He fiddled with the manual release latches, jamming his fingers into the gaps. With a hiss of hydraulics, the Mark I groaned open.
Tony Stark stumbled out, collapsing onto the hot sand. He was covered in soot, sweat, and oil. He gasped for air, his lungs burning.
"Phew..." Tony wheezed. "Next time... I need a quick-release button."
He looked up at his savior. A lunatic in a red suit who talked to himself.
"Who..." Tony coughed. "Who are you?"
Before Wade could answer with something ridiculous, a familiar voice drifted from the Fun-Vee parked nearby.
"Long time no see, Tony."
Tony looked past the red clown.
Leaning against the hood of the jeep, lighting a cigarette with a flick of his thumb, was a man in a rumpled trench coat.
John Constantine.
"You look like hell, mate," John smirked. "But then again... so do I."
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