Noah didn't hesitate.
The moment Francis's hand moved toward his weapon, Noah's finger was already squeezing the trigger. He'd learned the basics of firearms safety from action movies and video games, not exactly a comprehensive education, but enough to know that pointing the dangerous end at Francis and pulling the trigger was the general idea.
Unfortunately, Francis had apparently attended a much more advanced curriculum.
With reflexes that belonged in a superhero movie, Francis's hand shot out and slammed the rifle barrel downward just as Noah fired. The bullets that should have turned the doctor into abstract art instead chewed harmlessly into the concrete floor.
Well, shit, Noah thought as Francis's fist materialized in his peripheral vision like a guided missile made of knuckles and malice. That's not normal human speed.
Noah threw up his arms to block, but it was like trying to stop a freight train with a pool noodle. Francis's punch connected with enough force to shatter bone, and Noah heard his own radius and ulna snap like dry twigs under the impact.
Oh, right, Noah realized as the pain exploded through his nervous system. Francis is a mutant too. Enhanced physical capabilities, surgically removed pain receptors, and apparently a black belt in face-punching.
The broken bones in Noah's arms were already starting to knit back together, but Francis wasn't done with his demonstration of superhuman violence. His second punch came in like a wrecking ball, aimed directly at Noah's head with the clear intention of turning his brain into scrambled eggs.
Noah did the only thing that made sense, he dove forward, inside Francis's guard, and tried to tackle the psychotic doctor to the ground.
It was like trying to tackle a mountain.
Francis planted his feet, absorbed Noah's desperate charge, and responded by driving his knee up into Noah's midsection with enough force to launch a small satellite.
WHAM!
Noah went airborne, sailing through the smoke-filled air like a very surprised missile before crashing into a group of guards who were still trying to figure out why their boss was apparently fighting one of their own.
He hit the ground hard, tasting blood and contemplating the philosophical implications of getting his ass handed to him by someone wearing a lab coat.
Time for Plan B, Noah decided, spitting out what felt like a piece of his own lung. When in doubt, cause confusion and violence.
"Holy shit!" Noah shouted, scrambling to his feet and raising his rifle toward Francis. "This test subject has backup! He's got accomplices everywhere!"
The guards, already pumped full of adrenaline and barely keeping track of the chaos around them, saw a fellow guard pointing a weapon and did what guards in high-stress situations do best, they started shooting without asking questions.
BANG BANG BANG!
Bullets filled the air like angry hornets, forcing Francis to dive behind cover while cursing in what sounded like at least three different languages.
"Are you fucking kidding me?!" Francis roared from behind his improvised bunker. "I'M YOUR BOSS, YOU IDIOTS!"
Noah put on his best shocked expression. "Wait, Francis is working with the prisoners? He's been playing us this whole time!"
Classic misdirection, Noah thought with grim satisfaction as the guards processed this revelation. When you can't win with superior firepower, win with superior bullshit.
"Francis is the mole!" one of the guards shouted, because apparently critical thinking wasn't part of the hiring requirements for torture facility security.
"No, you morons!" Francis screamed. "The guy in the stolen uniform is the—"
Noah cut him off with a burst of gunfire. "Sorry, boys," he announced with theatrical regret, "but I'm actually undercover federal law enforcement. This facility is officially shut down."
That's not even remotely true, Noah admitted to himself as he systematically shot the confused guards, but it sounds authoritative.
The gunfight lasted about fifteen seconds. When the smoke cleared, Noah was standing over a pile of bodies, still holding the smoking rifle and trying to look like he hadn't just made up his entire law enforcement career on the spot.
"Not bad, kid."
Noah spun around to find Wade emerging from the shadows, clapping slowly with hands that looked like they'd been dipped in acid and reassembled by a drunk mortician.
"I'd give that performance a solid nine out of ten," Wade continued. "Points deducted for the federal agent thing, bit over the top, but the execution was flawless."
Noah stared at Wade's face, which looked like it had been put through a blender and then reconstructed by someone working from a badly translated instruction manual.
"Uh," Noah said tactfully, "do I know you?"
Wade looked genuinely hurt. "Come on, man. It's me, Wade. Your friendly neighborhood cancer patient turned walking nightmare."
Noah squinted at him. "Are you sure? Because Wade was definitely better looking than you."
If Wade had been capable of facial expressions, he would have glared. As it was, his scarred features somehow managed to convey the concept of murderous irritation.
"THAT'S THE WHOLE PROBLEM!" Wade exploded, spinning toward Francis's hiding spot and unleashing a magazine's worth of ammunition in his general direction. "LOOK WHAT YOU DID TO MY BEAUTIFUL FACE, YOU DISCOUNT EVIL SCIENTIST! I WAS THE HOTTEST MERCENARY IN THREE TIME ZONES!"
Francis emerged from cover with his hands raised, wearing the expression of a man who'd calculated his odds and found them distinctly unfavorable.
"You won't kill me," Francis said with the confidence of someone who'd clearly never met Wade Wilson. "You need me alive if you want your face fixed."
Wade considered this for a moment. "You know what? You're absolutely right. I won't kill you."
Francis looked relieved.
"I'm going to do something much more creative," Wade continued cheerfully. "I'm thinking we start with surgical removal of your—"
THUD. THUD. THUD.
The sound of heavy footsteps cut through Wade's detailed revenge fantasy like a chainsaw through tissue paper.
Noah and Wade turned toward the sound to see something that belonged in a nightmare about gym teachers. A woman built like a refrigerator with anger management issues was striding toward them, her muscles straining against what looked like tactical gear designed by someone who'd never heard of the concept of "fabric limitations."
"Oh, come on," Noah muttered, raising his rifle. "What is this, Mutant Monday?"
Wade was already firing, his bullets striking the woman's torso and producing sounds like someone hammering a bell. She didn't even slow down.
Bulletproof skin, Noah realized as his own shots bounced harmlessly off their new opponent. Because of course she has bulletproof skin.
The woman, who moved with the casual confidence of someone who'd never met a problem she couldn't solve by hitting it really hard, closed the distance to Noah in three strides and threw a punch that displaced enough air to create its own weather system.
Noah's rifle disintegrated under the impact, metal fragments scattering like confetti at the world's most violent New Year's party.
Then her fist continued its journey and connected with Noah's chest.
CRUNCH.
Every rib in Noah's torso snapped simultaneously. His sternum collapsed inward like a crushed soda can. His spine compressed, his organs relocated to places organs weren't supposed to be, and his lungs decided that breathing was probably optional for the foreseeable future.
Noah flew backward through the air with all the grace of a sack of broken groceries, slamming into the concrete wall hard enough to leave a Noah-shaped crater in the reinforced surface.
He slumped to the ground, coughing up what looked like most of his internal organs, and had a moment of perfect clarity:
Well, he thought as his immortality began the lengthy process of putting him back together, this is going to hurt for a while.
Blood pooled beneath him as his body began the surreal process of regeneration. Bones realigned with audible cracks, organs migrated back to their proper locations, and his collapsed chest slowly reinflated like the world's most disturbing balloon.
On the bright side, Noah reflected as consciousness started to fade around the edges, at least I know the Ultimate Stuntman thing actually works.
On the not-so-bright side, I think I'm about to find out exactly how much damage a person can survive and still be technically alive.
The last thing he saw before everything went black was Wade staring at him with an expression that, despite the horrific scarring, clearly conveyed the universal sentiment of "Holy shit, did that guy just survive having his entire torso turned into pudding?"
Yeah, Noah thought as darkness closed in, this is definitely going to be a learning experience.
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