Chapter 8: The Starting Village
"Did something happen outside?"
Scratching his head, Deadpool keenly picked up on the information in the priest's words.
Fear, harm, not the time for strolling—clearly something had happened.
Had Nightcrawler gone and assassinated the President again? Was there a mutant versus military battle playing out on the streets right now?
Would the X-Men and other dovish mutants be mistaken for Nightcrawler's accomplices and forced into the fight?
If that were the case, which side should he take?
Maybe he should side with the humans. He'd been annoyed with that bald Charles for ages—reading people's thoughts without permission at the drop of a hat.
So invasive!
Zero privacy.
Of course, if Charles was willing to offer up his boiled egg head for a good rubbing in exchange for securing the strongest combat force capable of turning the tide of war, Deadpool wasn't entirely opposed to considering it.
"Child, self-deception cannot help you escape reality. You're just too tired. Would you like me to get you a drink?"
Deadpool: ...
This is why he hated priests.
Not because a good number of them had a thing for little boys—after all, as a former model citizen, he knew better than to discriminate against the majority because of a few bad apples.
It was purely because these people had been playing holy man for so long that they loved speaking in riddles, dancing around topics without giving straight answers.
Riddler, get out of Gotham!
"I'll have a Coke, thanks."
Hearing this, the priest smiled slightly: "Alright, I'll get that for you."
Then he turned and walked back into the side corridor.
Deadpool plopped down casually in a random seat, frowning as he carefully tried to figure out which plot this might correspond to.
"GRRRR~"
Suddenly, his ears twitched. He heard what sounded like low growling coming from the side corridor.
Was the priest in danger?
Deadpool's pupils contracted. He stood up, a handgun appearing in his palm out of thin air. He strode quickly toward the corridor.
Annoying or not, he was the widely celebrated, universally admired superhero Deadpool. There was no way he could stand by and watch someone die.
Entering the narrow corridor, the growling became clearer.
Finally, Deadpool reached the door where the sound was coming from. He kicked it open.
Inside the room, the priest stood frozen—ceramic cup in his left hand, small white plastic bottle in his right—staring at the gun-wielding Deadpool.
Not far from him, an elderly woman was strapped tightly to a chair. She was struggling wildly. The low growling Deadpool had heard was coming from her mouth.
The old woman's skin was grayish-white like a long-dead corpse. Her eyes were clouded like severe cataracts, showing no trace of black. Her face was swollen, and below the nose, her face was covered in blood—though a closer look revealed no wounds. The blood was merely smeared on her face.
More horrifying still, at the old woman's feet lay a pile of bloody, dismembered human limbs scattered carelessly on the floor, mixed with torn clothing fragments.
Deadpool, who'd spent years on mercenary frontlines, could tell at a glance that those limbs were human.
"Damn, your taste is really hardcore. Even more than I imagined."
Looking at the old woman who'd clearly become a zombie, Deadpool glanced at the priest with disgust.
Also, zombies?
Had he landed in Marvel's zombie universe?
"Coffee will be ready soon. Just go back and sit down for a bit."
The priest finally snapped out of it. He hid the small plastic bottle behind his back and spoke urgently to Deadpool.
"But I asked for a Coke."
"They're both black. Not much difference."
Deadpool: ...
Excuse me, good sir, did you perhaps major in mental gymnastics at university?
"What's wrong with her?"
He raised his gun, pointing it at the old woman.
"She's my sister. She's just sick."
"And those body parts on the floor?"
"That's just an acci—"
Halfway through his sentence, the priest's expression turned vicious. He dropped the cup and bottle, lunging at Deadpool.
BANG!
Deadpool pulled the trigger. A massive bloody hole instantly appeared in the priest's forehead—large enough to see the wall through.
Sidestepping to avoid the corpse flying forward from momentum, Deadpool fired again, ending the old woman's suffering.
He took two steps forward and picked up the small plastic bottle from the floor.
Estazolam tablets.
A common sleeping pill.
Looking at the undissolved white granules in the spilled coffee—at least fifteen or sixteen pills by rough count—everything became clear.
This priest had been using sleeping pills and drinks to knock out people seeking refuge at the church, then feeding them to his zombified sister.
Utterly insane.
Also.
Church, priest, zombie old woman, bodies fed to the old woman.
This plot felt way too familiar.
Could this be the world of Resident Evil 2?
But in Deadpool's memory, his fourth-wall-breaking dimensional travel ability was limited to the Marvel Universe and the mutant universe—the so-called MCU.
After all, without rights to other worlds, he couldn't just wander anywhere.
Unless...
Suddenly, a terrifying thought emerged in Deadpool's mind. His pupils contracted sharply.
Holy crap!
Marvel got bought by Netflix!
He wondered if it was too late to start sucking up to Netflix directors now.
Director, I want to play opposite Peter Parker!
Oh wait, he'd have to suck up to Sony for that.
...
United States, Colorado, Raccoon City.
Don't be confused—just like someone named Dick Long isn't actually dick-long, Raccoon City didn't actually produce raccoons.
Not even raccoon-branded instant noodles.
The city was surrounded by mountains on three sides, with only one side facing a river. As the sole passage to the outside world, a bridge spanned the river—the Black Gate Bridge, fraternal twin brother to the Golden Gate Bridge.
These superior lockdown conditions had attracted the Umbrella Corporation butterfly, which invested heavily in the backward Raccoon City.
Publicly, they built factories, boosted the economy, and created prosperity.
Privately, they'd hollowed out nearly all of Raccoon City's underground, establishing a bioweapons research facility called the Hive, where they conducted large-scale research on a highly contagious virus called the T-virus.
Until one day, the virus leaked, infecting Hive workers. The Hive's AI Red Queen failed to contain the outbreak, ultimately causing the T-virus to leak into Raccoon City above.
And now, only about ten hours had passed since the virus leak.
Opening the small fridge in the room, Deadpool pulled out a bottle of soda to calm his nerves.
The zombie outbreak in Raccoon City had only been going for half a day. Power and water were still functioning. He turned on the small TV in the room. Static flickered across the screen.
He tried several channels—all the same. Deadpool could only make a fist and give the top of the TV a good whack.
ZZZZT~
Ignoring the crack on top of the TV, the screen still had some static, but it was at least watchable now.
"An unknown virus is spreading throughout Raccoon City on a massive scale. Those infected exhibit highly aggressive symptoms, attacking anyone nearby without restraint. Please be extremely careful. The Umbrella Corporation has dispatched armed personnel to seal off Raccoon City and is working with police to evacuate uninfected citizens."