In association with the X-Men Comics group on Facebook, get ready for the battle of the century – Wolverine versus Deadpool!
Somewhere in the heart of the Canadian Rockies, reality twisted and warped. A male form shimmered into existence, a man dressed in black-and-red, swords strapped to his back and guns in his hands.
“Yippee-kai-yay,” Deadpool hooted, “I’m in XvX, baby!” Another figure appeared next to him, that of the assassin known as Arcade; Deadpool spun round. “So who’s it to be?” Whereas most others had entered this combat with a degree of anger or nervousness, Deadpool was positively eager, and Arcade seemed rather taken aback.
He frowned, an expression of deep concern across his face. “You know what’s going on?”
“’Course I do,” Deadpool crooned back, waving his arms expressively. “XvX! X-Man against X-Man! Sure, I ain’t an X-Man, but I’ve been an X-Forcer, if that helps?”
“How do you know..?”
“I read the blogs!” The explanation was meaningless to Arcade, but to Deadpool it was clearly sufficient. “Now c’mon, who am I up against? Cyclops, gotta be Cyclops,” as he spoke he slipped one gun into a holster and drew a blade, beginning to wave it enthusiastically. “Take that, foul terrorist,” he cried. “I’ll kill you and take your body back to SHIELD!”
Equal parts confused and intrigued, Arcade asked, “Why would SHIELD want the body?”
“They wouldn’t,” Deadpool explained, “But at least that way I’d get the credit!”
Arcade laughed, slipping an arm around Deadpool’s shoulder. “Wilson, you are my kind of guy,” he chuckled.
“I’ve known that ever since I saw your funfair,” Deadpool replied cheerfully. “I mean, seriously, dodgems with razors? That is genius!”
Preening, Arcade beamed. “Why, thank you.”
But Deadpool’s mind had already raced on. “Oooh,” he squealed in excitement, “Psylocke! I get to take on Psylocke! Or Fantomex! Yeah, a hottie or a Frenchie, that’d be too cool!” He pulled away from Arcade, spinning around and slashing with the sword again. “Busting blades with Betsy Braddock – how could you resist alliteration like that? I mean, it’s just made for a blog title!”
Arcade sighed, and looked down the slope of the footpath they were on. It wound its way around a Canadian mountain, steep ridges to either side – perfect. “I think your opponent’s coming,” he hinted.
Suddenly Deadpool was business, all business; he was focused and attentive, the gun in his right hand pointed forward. “Y’know,” he murmured, “I think I could get used to this kind of narrative flow.”
It was a few seconds before he recognised the shape; small, very small, crouched and savage, bounding up the path towards them…
“Oh, yes,” Deadpool cried out, “I get to kill Wolverine!” He didn’t wait, simply opening fire. “This is for having a movie where the Merc With A Mouth was mouthless, claws-for-brains!”
Arcade watched in something akin to amazement, then tapped a comm-link on his belt-buckle. “Miss Coriander,” he began, “Have any of our villains been… blogging about this?”
There was silence for a moment, then he heard a reply: “No, sir. They’ve all honoured our requirements. You remember, we specified we don’t want Stark or Richards hearing about this through their web-spiders?”
So what, Arcade wondered, had Deadpool meant about reading the blogs? He sighed, and shrugged it off as just another side of the mercenary’s insanity. With that, Arcade settled down to watch…