Chapter 5: The Golden Finger
On a deserted beach, Deadpool held up the super soldier serum, gently swirling it. Under the sunlight, the blue liquid rippled, radiating an alluring glow.
So... what would happen if he injected himself with the super soldier serum?
Captain Deadpool?
That actually sounds kinda dope.
Physically, the serum would push the recipient's body to peak human condition.
Don't ask him why "peak human" can rip helicopter doors off their hinges—ask those comic writers who draw first and worry about physics never.
Mentally, the serum amplified a person's character traits—making the good better and the bad worse.
So the question was: good? Impossible. Maybe if his previous life's model citizen self took it, but bad?
How much worse could Deadpool get?
More perverted, more vulgar, dirtier mouth?
Uh...
Actually... would there even be a difference?
Also...
Deadpool glanced at his system panel.
That's right—as a proud transmigrator, he was a man with a golden finger!
He had a lifeless system that inherited none of his charm but exceeded his own level of obnoxiousness, plus a whole cubic meter of portable storage space, AND the superhero-essential instant costume change ability.
What?
That's not enough?
This was ten thousand times more useful than bringing along that so-called Goddess of Wisdom who was only wise in her own estimation!
Instant costume change!
He never had to struggle with zippers before heading into battle anymore.
Getting your junk caught in a zipper HURTS, okay?
As for why the system was even more obnoxious than him...
TASK: Stomp hard on America's ass.
TIME LIMIT: Three days.
REWARD: Free Attribute Point +1
FAILURE PUNISHMENT: Choose one—physical castration for 24 hours OR chemical castration for 24 hours.
Yep. That was the task the system gave him.
Pretty obnoxious, right?
The system knew he couldn't die, so it threatened Little Wade instead.
How could there be such an obnoxious system in the entire world?
"Don't move. Turn around."
Suddenly, a cold gun barrel pressed against Deadpool's temple.
Deadpool obediently complied, turning around so the gun pointed at the back of his head. Then he felt both pistols get pulled from his waist, followed by his twin katanas.
"Okay. You can turn around now."
Footsteps retreated. Deadpool obediently turned to find himself facing a woman in military uniform with a figure that was... wow. An English rose with serious firepower.
Agent Carter.
In the Marvel movies, when it came to pure physical assets, you had to give it to Carter. Before those two magnificent peaks, even the Hulk's ex-wife had to take a back seat.
Only America's ass could barely compete.
"Who are you? Why do you have the serum?"
Carter eyed Deadpool's bizarre outfit, her eyes narrowing slightly.
She'd just been left in the dust by Raymond's driving and Steve's cheat-code athleticism—couldn't even see their taillights. She could only use direction and experience to guess the spy who stole the serum would most likely flee toward the docks. After "borrowing" a car, she'd rushed over.
Just as she was about to enter the port area, she spotted a red-and-black-suited... gentleman openly strolling out with the serum in hand.
Deadpool's voice dropped to a gravelly rasp, like he had iron in his throat: "I'm Bateman."
"As for the serum... what serum?"
He tilted his head in confusion.
Looking up, Carter's pupils contracted. The serum that had just been in Deadpool's hand had somehow vanished. Now Deadpool's hands were completely empty—nothing there at all.
When did that happen?
How did he do it?
She was absolutely certain she hadn't been mistaken. Deadpool had been holding the super soldier serum, and it was still in his hand even when she told him to turn around.
But his hands had been raised the entire time since she spoke. There was no way he could have hidden it.
"How did you do that? Where's the serum?"
"The serum?"
Deadpool tilted his head the other direction: "The serum's been in my hand this whole time."
Carter's expression sharpened. She looked at Deadpool's hand again. In his palm, the blue serum glowed faintly under the sunlight.
Did I see wrong?
No, wait—the serum was clearly in his left hand before. How did it get to his right hand?
"Magic trick?"
"No, this is my four-dimensional pocket. Ever watched Doraemon?"
"What? What dream?"
Carter's forehead wrinkled with confusion.
"You've never even watched Doraemon? Did you not have a childhood?"
Deadpool looked at Carter with contempt, completely ignoring the fact that this was 1943 and Doraemon wouldn't be created until 1970—over twenty years from now.
"Who are you really? Which country or organization sent you?"
Unable to understand Deadpool's rambling, Carter chose to ignore it and raised her gun, posing two more questions.
"I already told you I'm—"
BANG!
The bullet flew past Deadpool's ear. He could hear the whistle of air displacement with crystal clarity.
"My ear! MY EAR!"
Deadpool clutched his ear and wailed dramatically.
"Hey, it's fine! Hehe."
Carter: (ー`´ー)
"Okay, you might not believe this."
Deadpool shrugged, then suddenly raised both fists high and declared passionately: "I'm a secret agent sent by the declining British Empire! My mission is to steal the super soldier serum from evil America, return home to build a super soldier army, dominate the world with it, and restore the glory of the empire on which the sun never sets!"
Carter: ...
At least one thing Deadpool said was correct.
She absolutely didn't believe him.
Even if Deadpool said he was sent by America itself, she'd believe that a little. But Britain? Not one bit.
The reason was simple.
Dr. Erskine had been discovered by the British government, then invited by the Strategic Scientific Reserve to come to America to research the super soldier serum project.
In other words, Britain had been involved in the super soldier serum project from the start.
And she—Peggy Carter—was one of the people Britain sent to assist with the super soldier serum project.
Britain, which could just coast and share the experimental results, suddenly deciding to steal the serum from America during this tense wartime situation? The screenwriter would need at least twenty years of stroke history to come up with that plot.
Good thing she didn't say this out loud, or Deadpool would definitely have righteously informed her that Marvel writers with twenty years of stroke history were nothing—two-hundred-year cases were plentiful.
"See? I told you you wouldn't believe me."
Seeing Carter's expression that screamed "are you messing with me," Deadpool shrugged again.
After all, he was definitely messing with her.
"Carter!"
In the distance, Steve—who'd handed Raymond over to the Strategic Scientific Reserve and then come to the beach to clear his head—heard the gunshot. He rushed toward them, his sharp eyes catching sight of Carter. He shouted.
Carter reflexively turned. Seeing it was Steve, alarm bells rang in her mind.
The instant Carter turned her head, Deadpool bent his knees and lunged forward, leaping toward his twin katanas and pistols that Carter had tossed aside.
BANG!
Carter swung her gun barrel, aiming at Deadpool's head and firing.
SHWING!
CLANG!
Under the shocked gazes of both Carter and Steve, Deadpool drew one of the long blades. As he stood up, he held it in a reverse grip and swept upward, colliding with the bullet mid-air with perfect precision.
The vibranium-alloy blade was incredibly durable. The high-velocity bullet left not even a scratch on its surface. Instead, the razor-sharp edge effortlessly split the bullet in two.
Two sprays of blood blossomed. The katana clattered to the ground. Deadpool clutched his chest with both hands, his eyes full of disbelief.
His legs gave out. He fell backward, helplessly opening his mouth, trying to say something.
But the two separated bullet fragments had each precisely punctured his left and right lungs. He could only make wheezing, gasping sounds as blood foam sprayed from his mouth, soaking his mask before dripping out.
Both Carter and Steve stood frozen, taking several seconds to react before rushing forward.
Steve lifted Deadpool, reaching for his mask. The moment his fingers touched the edge, Deadpool grabbed his hand with what seemed like a final burst of life, pressing it firmly against his own face.
Deadpool's eyes widened, even more disbelief than before: "S-Steve? You're... Steve?"