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The open square outside City Hall had turned into a battlefield.
For a single heartbeat, there was silence.
Then everything exploded.
All the mercenaries opened fire at the same time. Bullets poured from every direction like a metal storm, tearing through the air with savage speed. The target was clear—The Pursuer.
He had no weapon in his hands.
He could only raise his arms and shield his head, his massive frame hunched like a wounded beast trying to survive a hurricane of steel. Bullets slammed into his body. Flesh tore. Blood splattered across the cracked pavement.
Deadpool stood off to the side, watching the spectacle with an expression that was almost thoughtful.
"Alright," he muttered, sticking out his tongue. "Now I'm not jealous anymore."
The Pursuer's body was already riddled with holes. In a few minutes, he would be nothing but a pile of ruined meat.
Kane turned his gaze from the collapsing giant to Deadpool—and felt ice run down his spine.
Deadpool had somehow moved.
He was now standing exactly where The Pursuer had dropped his heavy machine gun.
Kane opened his mouth to shout a warning—
But it was too late.
Deadpool tilted his head and gave him a cheerful smile. With exaggerated effort, he lifted the heavy machine gun from the ground. It was massive, brutal in design, and clearly not meant to be thrown.
Deadpool threw it anyway.
"Big guy, catch!"
His voice vanished beneath the roar of gunfire, swallowed by the chaos. But the weapon flew true. The heavy machine gun smashed into The Pursuer's head with a dull metallic crack.
The giant stumbled.
That single absurd action drew attention immediately.
Several mercenaries swung their rifles toward Deadpool.
He drew his twin katanas.
Paused.
Then slowly put them back.
"Forget it," he sighed. "Too tired."
There were too many bullets. He couldn't block everything.
So instead—
"Ah! Ah! Ah!"
Deadpool screamed dramatically, flailed his arms, and collapsed backward, performing the most theatrical death scene ever staged in the middle of a massacre.
He lay still.
Completely motionless.
As if he had been shot dead.
No one questioned it.
---
Behind the chaos, Carlos made his move.
He flicked his small knife with perfect timing. The blade flashed once in the air before burying itself in the neck of a mercenary guarding their position. The man collapsed without a sound.
At the same time, Nikolai launched forward like a coiled spring. He tackled another mercenary, slamming him to the ground, then followed with a high kick that knocked a rifle spinning through the air.
Jill moved with sharp precision. She pinned the fallen mercenary and drove her elbow hard into his throat.
The crack of cartilage breaking was drowned out by gunfire.
The mercenary stopped moving.
Weapons were seized. Ammunition was grabbed. The group moved as one, sliding behind the massive transport helicopter for cover.
They opened fire.
The mercenary formation fell into chaos. Their neat lines shattered as they scrambled for cover. Firepower weakened.
And in the center of it all, The Pursuer knelt.
His body was shredded—except for his head.
Slowly, he lowered his arms. His eyes burned with fury. Just inches away from him lay the heavy machine gun Deadpool had thrown.
---
Inside City Hall, Kane hid beneath a broken windowsill.
"Support! Fire support!" he shouted into his earpiece, his voice trembling with rage.
Moments later—
The sky began to roar.
Several small armed helicopters rose from nearby rooftops. Their searchlights swept across the battlefield like white knives, blinding and merciless.
Then came the thunder.
The helicopters' mounted machine guns opened fire. Long streaks of tracer rounds ripped across the square.
The Pursuer, who had just survived a storm of bullets, was once again engulfed in metal death.
Alice felt a chill run through her spine.
She turned.
One of the helicopters had locked onto them.
"Find cover!" she roared.
She dove forward and slid under the transport helicopter.
The others followed instantly.
A second later, the ground where they had been standing was shredded by bullets. Concrete exploded into dust and fragments.
Peyton was half a step too slow while shielding Angela.
A bullet grazed his calf.
But under the force of a helicopter-mounted heavy machine gun, even a graze was devastating. A chunk of flesh was torn away. Blood poured down his leg, soaking his pants in seconds.
He gritted his teeth and ripped open the fabric. The wound was ugly—raw muscle exposed.
Jill didn't hesitate. She shoved L.J. down, tore a strip from his undershirt, and tied it tightly above Peyton's wound, creating a tourniquet.
"Hold it!" she snapped.
Fortunately, the transport helicopter was large enough to shield them all.
"Damn it!" Nikolai cursed as the searchlight began lowering.
He slammed in a fresh magazine and chambered a round.
The good news: the helicopter pilot seemed cautious. Until Kane gave the order, they avoided firing at vital parts of the transport helicopter. They were not using full power.
The bad news: the armed helicopters were descending.
Once they dropped low enough, their heavy guns would shred everything beneath.
Alice grabbed Nikolai's rifle.
"I'll distract it."
Jill grabbed her shoulder. "You're not Wade. You'll die."
Alice had admitted before—she could not dodge bullets the way Deadpool could.
"If no one goes out, we all die," Alice replied. "I'm the best chance."
She pulled Jill's hand away—but then held it firmly in her own.
Her eyes were calm.
"Besides," she said quietly, "the moment I was pushed onto that operating table… I already died once."
Jill's eyes reddened.
This was why she chased power. Not for pride. Not for ego.
But because she never wanted to stand helpless while her teammates walked toward death.
"Take everyone," Alice said. "And survive."
Then she turned and ran.
---
The helicopter pilot saw her emerge.
A cruel smile formed on his face.
Target acquired.
But before he could fire—
A streak of flame cut across the sky.
A rocket-propelled grenade screamed through the darkness and struck the helicopter head-on.
BOOM.
The explosion turned the aircraft into a fireball. The shockwave rattled the square. Debris rained down.
Alice staggered, ears ringing, staring at the burning wreckage.
She turned slowly toward where the rocket had come from.
In the corner of the battlefield stood Deadpool.
An RPG launcher rested casually on his shoulder.
He waved enthusiastically.
Then blew her a kiss.
Alice's jaw slowly closed.
A smile spread across her face.
She tried to hear what he was shouting—but her ears were still ringing from the blast. The battlefield was too loud.
She shook her head, pointed to her mouth, then to her ear, signaling she couldn't hear.
Then she ducked back under the helicopter.
Deadpool retreated to his corner, thoughtful.
He had clearly just asked how she planned to repay him for saving her life.
She shook her head.
Pointed to her mouth and ears.
What did that mean?
Standard story logic said: life-saving grace equals lifelong devotion.
So she couldn't offer marriage.
Pointing to her mouth and ears…
"She wants to sing a song?" Deadpool muttered.
He gasped dramatically.
"Even the director's wife wouldn't rewrite the script like that."
He shook his head.
"At least offer some small money."
---
The battle continued.
The mercenaries were nearly wiped out—killed by The Pursuer, by Alice's team, or accidentally by helicopter crossfire.
Only a handful remained.
In the sky, only two armed helicopters were still active.
On the ground, The Pursuer slowly rose again.
His body looked like something that should not still be alive.
But he was.
And his hand closed around the heavy machine gun.
The stage had been set.
And somehow—
Everyone was still alive.
For now.