Somewhere In A Shitty Apartment Complex

“Wow, even basic cable has nothing good on,” Deadpool muttered, flipping through the channels on his television. Talk show with really fat black lady yelling about something, news report about mutant rats invading New York City from the sewers, Tony Stark starring in a commercial for car wax with his Iron Man suit, a sad ad campaign about abandoned puppies.

“Hmm... you’d think with the millions I make every time someone hires me, I’d be able to afford satellite,” Deadpool said to himself, pulling up his mask to take a sip of beer. “Or at least HD. Or maybe HBO. I’ve been meaning to watch Game of Thrones anyway.”

“Attention,” the television barked, Deadpool having clicked to another news station. It was a news reporter down in the streets of the city, where random citizens were running past and screaming in terror. “There are reports of raptor attacks all over the city, along with the invasion of the mutant rats. The Avengers are already on the case for the rat attack, but the raptor assault continues unstopped except from the defensive measures set by the police department. But bullets and brute force aren’t enough to take out this dinosaur menace. No, what we need is–”

It was at this point the news reporter's head was bitten off by a raptor, the blood from the major arteries spouting out like a fountain and falling on passing citizenry heads like rain. Crunching on the reporter’s skull, the raptor eyed the camera for a second or two, then pounced in a half ton of prehistoric carnage. Cries from the camera man could be heard, before the signal suddenly went fuzzy.

Slipping his mask back down, Deadpool kicked his feet up on the table. “Eh, he was probably gonna say ‘pizza.’ Or maybe ‘tacos.’ Heck, I can go for some ice cream in the meantime too.”

Suddenly, one of the ridiculous number of pouches on his suit started vibrating. 'Harlem Shake’ started playing loudly from within. Reaching into the pouch and withdrawing a phone, he flipped it open and said, "Yello?" 

“Deadpool, where the hell are you?”

“Mom, I told you, I’m not coming over for Thanksgiving until meemaw learns to quit making racist jokes about Obama.”

The line on the other end was silent for a few seconds. “Deadpool, it’s me, Captain America.”

“Ah, so I see my mom’s put you up to this too. I should have guessed. Still have racial overtones from the forties, I see,” Deadpool said. Holding the phone farther from his lips, he pointed at the receiver and shouted, “Well, you can forget it! I will not partake in any thanking for our pilgrim ancestors that wiped out the Indian population through small pox and undercooked turkey until you respect all races! You sick, bigoted bastard!”

“... I was just asking why you weren’t in the city fighting dinosaurs.”

“Oh, I’m on break,” Deadpool replied, swirling the beer around in his bottle lazilly. “Besides, you guys got it covered.”

“Actually, we don’t. The rat mutants are actually rat people mutants. And they have dark magic on their side,” Captain America explained, just as the sounds of screams and what was most likely a wicked awesome explosion sounded in the background. “Along with grenades.”

“Well, why can’t you get some other superhero team to help you then? Fight mutants with mutants.” Deadpool asked, still switching through the channels. “X-Men, X-Force, X-Factor, New Mutants, Generation X, Great Lakes X-Men, Excalibur–”

“Those last two aren’t even local!” Captain America shouted on the other end. “Listen, you’re the only expert we know about dinosaur fighting! Which is why I need you to go kick some velociraptor ass!”

“Wait, I’ve fought dinosaurs before?” Deadpool asked, tilting his head to the left to better recall flashbacks. “Was it the same time that I fought most of the undead presidents?”

“No.”

“The alternate universe full of zombie versions of ourselves?”

“No.”

“The IRS?”

“Yet again, no.”

“Wait... oh, I remember!” Deadpool chuckled, snapping his fingers once the memory reached him. “I rode on a pterodactyl in that one issue!”

“Yeah... anyway, I need you here on the double.” A screech followed by the tortured screams of a thousand souls, followed Captain America’s last statement. “Make that triple. One of them is a necromancer.”

“But MacGyver just came on,” Deadpool said. “And I have no pants on.”

“Listen, if you love your country and value yourself as a hero, you’ll go to the city and keep on punching raptors until they’re all dead!” Captain America ordered, the pure sound of patriotism behind each of his words amplifying his voice to levels that nearly popped Deadpool’s eardrum.

Digging a pinkie into his ear-hole through his mask, Deadpool said, “Wait a sec, I’m Canadian. And a mercenary. And aren’t raptors endangered? Or at least extinct...?”

“Get here or else I’ll shove my foot so far up your ass you’ll be digesting laces for a week.” 

The call ended.

Deadpool closed his phone and briefly weighed his options. “Let’s see... go raptor hunting in the city and earn some level of respect from the other heroes that would no doubt help my public image,” Deadpool said, lifting one palm higher than the other. “Or stay here, not put pants on, and just watch MacGyver all day long.” Now the opposite palm was higher than the other.

“Whelp, it’s decided then!” Deadpool shouted, jumping to his feet and striking a heroic pose that was kind of ruined with him wearing Spiderman boxers. “I just can’t watch MacGyver on an empty stomach! To McDonald’s!”

Grabbing his utility belt and pants from the couch, Deadpool made his way to the front door of his living quarters and grabbed the handle. “Wait...” he said, a sudden realization just dawning on him. “I have an unexplainable feeling that something bad will happen once I open this door. Something that will have vast consequences for the future that can decide upon my very fate itself.”

Glancing to the right, he noticed his keys hanging off a nail he hammered near the doorway to remember them by. “Oh yeah, nearly left my keys here. Gotta lock the house before I leave.”

Snatching the keys from the nail, Deadpool opened the door to get his much needed Happy Meal before some MacGyver action. Instead of the empty parking lot he was expecting to open it to, there was a bunch of weird mutant insect creatures huddled around a large bonfire instead. That was his second guess.

Oh, and there was the typical ritual sacrifice, festering on the ground before him with its brains blown out, just as flies started to buzz around it.

“Our champion has arrived!” the tallest bug... monster... mutant... thing said, lifting one of its hole filled forelegs pointing directly right at him.

“Okay, Deadpool, you just opened the door to what is apparently a ritual sacrifice teleporter between dimensions of some sort created by a group of evil mutated bug cultists,” he thought to himself, still holding his pants and belt in one hand and his keys in the other. “What do you usually do when you find weirdos at your doorstep?”

“Sorry, but I am not interested in your religion,” Deadpool said, pointing his thumb to the right. “But why don’t you try asking my neighbor, Steve? He’s always open for conversation and crazy cultists.”

An awkward silence befell the group of bug bad guys, until the tallest one began to laugh. It was a sickly yet sweet chuckle, reminding Deadpool of many the one night stands he’s had once he pulled down his pants. The others followed suit, all creepily similar, as if they were a hivemind.

“Oh no, no, no. You have us mistaken,” she giggled, sauntering over to him with a hungry look in her eyes. Her licking her lips with the snake-like tongue also didn’t help. “We are not here to ask you about religion or anything like that.”

“Then is this about girl scout cookies? Or for the new mayoral election?” Deadpool asked, reaching behind his back to grip the handle of his katana. “Because only one will allow you all to leave with your lives.”

Rolling her eyes, she said, “No, not that either. What I need from you is for you to do a job.”

“Oh.” Deadpool slid the katana back into its sheath, rubbing the back of his head sheepishly. “Well, I am listed in the Yellow Pages for this type of thing. So, what can a mercenary like me do for you?”

“I need someone dead,” she answered back simply, that devious smile on her face going full blown psycho. “And you’re the best assassin in the entire multiverse to do this particular assignment.”

“Wow, the multiverse thinks that highly of me?” Deadpool asked, laying both hands on his sides. “Guess that Yellow Page ad did pay off!”