Latvia
Tony Stark hunched over his computer, fingers flying across the keyboard with such ferocity that the rapid-fire clicking echoed throughout the castle laboratory. On the monitor before him, endless lines of code scrolled past in a blur of digital hieroglyphics.
"Fuck!" he spat, slamming his palm against the desk. "This defense program is obviously my style! How much of my work did that impostor steal? Not content with taking my identity, my company, and my girlfriend—he had to steal my code too?"
Just as the words left his mouth, a red warning message flashed across the screen, accompanied by an irritating beep.
"Goddammit!" He pounded the keyboard in frustration as another attempt failed. Reaching for the half-empty whiskey tumbler beside him, he took a long, burning swallow and exhaled sharply. "Was I always this good? I can't even hack into the system of a single broken robot now."
Behind his workstation lay the partially disassembled chassis of a Stark Industries security robot. Various data cables snaked from its exposed circuitry into Stark's computer, creating a tangle of high-tech spaghetti across the floor. Emblazoned on its metallic chest was the familiar Stark Industries logo—his logo, he reminded himself bitterly.
Pushing away from the desk, Tony stalked onto the balcony. From this vantage point high in the Latvian castle, he could see the quaint Eastern European town nestled at the base of the mountain, its medieval architecture bathed in the amber glow of sunset.
He leaned against the stone railing, lost in troubled thought. The key to defeating his robotic doppelganger would be breaking through its cybersecurity systems—what Tony had begun calling the "digital sky." Without that crucial breakthrough, all other strategies were ultimately futile.
But despite days of relentless effort, he'd made virtually no progress. Even the few minor vulnerabilities he'd managed to identify were promptly patched when he attempted to exploit them the following day.
"Fuck," he muttered again, running a hand through his disheveled hair. "The system this metal imposter created seems to be evolving on its own."
He'd been working himself to exhaustion—his hair was literally falling out in clumps from stress—yet he remained no closer to defeating RoboStark than when he'd started.
"The greatest opponent in my life turns out to be myself," he said bitterly, draining the last of his whiskey. "How poetically cruel."
Gilboa Prison, Suburban New York - Late Night
Perched in a tree overlooking the forbidding concrete walls of Gilboa Prison, Deadpool and Spider-Man maintained their surveillance position. The distant searchlights swept methodically across the prison grounds, casting long, ominous shadows.
Peter couldn't stop fidgeting with his new equipment—a pair of web-shooters and a high-tech spider suit complete with six mechanical appendages protruding from the back.
"Mr. Wade, this tech is absolutely incredible!" he whispered excitedly, firing a thin experimental strand of webbing at a nearby branch. "These web-shooters are perfect! And the suit! Yesterday I managed to lose a dozen robot cops following me through the financial district. Did I tell you about that? I was like thwip and then—"
"Whoa, whoa, whoa, Baby Boy!" Wade interrupted, dramatically placing his fingers over Peter's masked mouth. "First of all, it's DEADPOOL when we're dressed like rejected Halloween costumes. You know, the whole secret identity thing? It's like Fight Club—first rule is we don't talk about our real names when we're playing superhero dress-up."
He tilted his head to an invisible audience. "The readers already know who we are anyway, but let's pretend for narrative consistency, okay?"
"Oh, right, sorry..." Peter mumbled. "Um, Deadpool, you can use my code name too. Remember what I decided on? Spider-Boss! Pretty cool, right? Got the inspiration from your—"
"Sweet baby chimichanga, NO!" Wade clutched his chest dramatically. "Spider-Boss? SPIDER-BOSS?! That sounds like something a five-year-old would make up after eating too many Froot Loops. Next you'll want a cape and underwear on the outside!"
He reached out and ruffled Peter's mask. "Look, Spidey-Widey, in this buddy cop movie, I'm the grizzled veteran with a potty mouth, and you're the fresh-faced rookie who still believes in Santa. That makes you Spider-Boy. Or Spider-Kiddo. Or 'Hey You With The Sticky Hands,' but definitely NOT Spider-Boss."
Wade grabbed Peter's shoulder, giving it a little shake. "Now can we PLEASE focus that ADHD brain of yours on the mission? We're about to break into a maximum-security prison that's secretly one of Stark's evil lairs! He's probably got a bunch of superpowered folks locked up in there, making them participate in his twisted version of America's Got Talent! Or worse—making them watch all nine seasons of 'How I Met Your Mother' on repeat."
Wade's voice suddenly dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. "So be careful in there, Spider-Child. I promised your suspiciously MILF-tastic aunt I'd bring you back with all your limbs attached. Unlike me, you don't regenerate parts that get chopped off." He paused thoughtfully. "Speaking of your hot aunt—does she like Mexican food? I know this great place that makes chimichangas that'll change your life."
Peter ignored the comment about his aunt, examining the mechanical spider legs extending from his suit instead. "This suit really is amazing. Smells like new car interior! But I'm not sure about these stabby appendages. Why did you activate the 'instant-kill mode'? I don't want to hurt anyone—I just want to be a friendly neighborhood Spider-Man..."
"ARE YOU—Sweet merciful Ryan Reynolds, give me strength!" Wade threw his hands up dramatically. "Wait—vehicle approaching. Spider-Boy, stealth mode, now! And if you ask me one more time about being 'friendly' to the bad guys, I swear I'll tell the writer to kill you off in the next chapter!"
In the distance, headlights appeared as a large prison transport vehicle rumbled toward the facility's entrance.
"Activating stealth mode," Peter whispered, his excitement palpable despite the danger. "Hey, do you want top or bottom of the truck?"
"Ooh, phrasing! BOOM!" Wade snickered. "And for the love of all that is unholy, USE MY CODE NAME before I staple your mask to your actual face!"
As the transport vehicle passed beneath their tree, two shadowy figures descended silently. One attached himself to the undercarriage while the other landed with perfect precision atop the roof. The moment they made contact, their suits shifted colors and patterns like advanced chameleons, blending seamlessly with the vehicle's surface.
The truck proceeded through several security checkpoints, each more rigorous than the last. Guards with detection equipment scanned the vehicle thoroughly but found nothing unusual. After the prisoner was escorted from the transport into the facility, two barely perceptible shadows detached from the vehicle and slipped inside.
In a secluded corner of the prison, a section of wall appeared to ripple as Wade deactivated his camouflage. Peter followed suit, his suit returning to its red and blue coloration.
"Alright, Spider-Youngster," Wade whispered, striking a pose like he was in a 90s action movie. "Operation Super Secret Cool Guys Mission With A Stupid Long Title That Only I Can Remember is officially underway. Please confirm mission parameters."
"Uh..." Peter hesitated.
"You've GOT to be—" Wade smacked his forehead with an audible thwack. "Seriously? Did all that radioactive spider DNA go to your ears instead of your brain? YOU DON'T REMEMBER?!"
"You just gave me this awesome new suit right before we left, and I got distracted by how cool it is..."
Deadpool's eyes narrowed behind his mask. "Fine. One more time, Webhead, and use that genetically enhanced teenage brain of yours to actually REMEMBER it this time instead of thinking about whatever TikTok dance is trending."
He wiggled his fingers spookily. "Beneath this prison is Stark's secret underground evil science fair project. Probably has a mini-golf course and a frozen yogurt station too, the pretentious jerk."
He held up one finger, poking Peter in the chest. "Primary objective: locate two specific enhanced individuals. First is a mutant named Caliban. Looks like Gollum after a bad sunburn. He can detect other mutants within a radius of several dozen kilometers. Stark is using him like a living GPS to track down mutants."
He raised a second finger, now doing a little dance. "Second target is known as Purple Man. Not to be confused with Grimace from McDonald's or Thanos's less successful cousin. This creep can control minds with his pheromones. Basically, he says 'jump,' you say 'into what pit of lava?' Stark's probably using him for some mind-control shenanigans."
Peter nodded eagerly. "So we're going to rescue them, right? Get them away from Stark?"
"Nope!" Wade replied with disturbing cheerfulness. "We're going to unalive them both! You know, make them not alive anymore? Send them to the big superhero convention in the sky?"
Peter's enthusiastic demeanor evaporated instantly. "But... but we can't just..." he sputtered.
Wade placed a hand on Peter's shoulder. "Listen, Spider-Infant. I know this is a whole moral quandary for you, what with your adorable 'great power, great responsibility' schtick. But lucky for you, you've already popped your killing cherry, so number two should go down smoother than a gas station hot dog!"
Seeing Peter's horrified expression, he continued. "There's this ancient fortune cookie wisdom: 'To unalive bad guys is to save good guys.' It's simple superhero math! One dead baddie equals hundreds of civilians who get to keep breathing and posting cat videos!"
He squeezed Peter's shoulder firmly. "When the moment comes, just think 'WWDD' – What Would Deadpool Do? Don't pull a Batman and let Gotham become a criminal playground just because you're afraid to get your cute little spider gloves dirty!"
Peter stood frozen, uncertainty clouding his expression. "Is... is that really how it works?"
"Duh!" Wade exclaimed. "What's the point of having superpowers if you're not willing to occasionally paint the walls with bad guy confetti? Might as well hang up the spandex and start an OnlyFans account! Actually, with your flexibility, you could make a killing—poor choice of words—on that platform."
Peter frowned, his moral compass spinning wildly. "But if we start killing people regularly... won't that change us? Turn us into something we don't want to be? I mean, even trained soldiers in war zones suffer from PTSD after taking lives."
Deadpool waved dismissively. "Already solved that problem, Spider-Conscience! We've got Professor X on speed dial—world's greatest brain mechanic! If you get all sad about the necessary stabby-stabby, he'll just go all Eternal Sunshine on your memories!" He tapped his temple. "Can't have PTSD if you can't remember the T!"
Is he serious? Peter thought, his heart racing. Is Charles Xavier really going to be solving psychological trauma, or is he planning to alter our minds to make us comfortable with killing?
Despite his profound misgivings, Peter found himself nodding reluctantly. "Okay... I understand what needs to be done."
Deadpool clapped excitedly. "That's my little murder protégé! Remember what Sensei Deadpool taught you—strike quickly, with precision, and make sure to quip something witty as they die! That's how they know it's personal."
He peered around the corner, checking that the corridor remained clear, then turned to an invisible camera. "This is where the real action begins, folks! Will Spider-Boy embrace his dark side? Will I get May Parker's phone number? Will the writer remember to include at least one obscure pop culture reference per page? Stay tuned!"
He turned back to Peter. "Let's go make some bad life choices together, Spider-Friend!"
With that, the unlikely duo slipped deeper into the prison complex, one driven by chaotic enthusiasm, the other by conflicted obligation—the Dead Spider Duo on their first official mission.
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