The pistol in Deadpool's hand was a .50 caliber Desert Eagle, polished to perfection. The metal gleamed under the dim cave lights. There was almost no wear on it. Anyone who saw it would instinctively admire it.
It was a beautiful weapon.
The problem?
It was black.
Inside Deadpool's mysterious system storage space, two golden Desert Eagles lay quietly. Those were bound equipment. They could not be swapped. Could not be modified. Could not be recolored.
Deadpool stared at the black one in his hand.
"…Bound equipment cannot be changed," he muttered.
He sighed.
Then he suddenly remembered something.
L.J.
In another world—specifically the Resident Evil universe—L.J. loved golden Desert Eagles. If Deadpool accidentally appeared there holding black ones instead…
Deadpool shuddered.
"Pray for L.J.," he whispered seriously. "I hope he's not fighting zombies right now."
The image of L.J. battling undead creatures while missing his iconic golden guns was too tragic to imagine.
"Maybe I should just burn incense directly," Deadpool murmured.
Too tragic.
Deadpool fanboy -1.
Tony and Ethan stared at him in confusion, not understanding a single word he was mumbling.
Deadpool suddenly snapped back to reality and handed the Desert Eagle to Ethan.
"You do it."
Ethan blinked. "Do what?"
"Revenge, of course."
Deadpool's voice was calm now.
"For your loved ones. For your friends."
Tony froze.
"What?" Tony turned to Ethan. "Didn't you say your family was still alive?"
He remembered clearly. Two days ago, they had discussed their lives. Ethan had even teased Tony for being nothing but a billionaire with no real connections.
Ethan did not look at Tony.
His eyes stayed fixed on the pistol in his hands.
His voice was hoarse. "How did you know?"
Deadpool tilted his head.
I've seen the movie. Is that something I can say?
Of course not.
He shook his head slightly.
"The conscious you lies," Deadpool said softly. "But the sleeping you doesn't."
"You're afraid. And you're guilty."
"Now… it's time."
Ethan's fingers trembled around the grip.
Memories flooded him.
Gunfire.
Smoke.
His parents collapsing.
The helplessness.
He stood up slowly, raising the pistol with both hands. The barrel pointed at Raza, who was still lying on the ground, bleeding and terrified.
Raza's eyes were wide with horror.
"No! I didn't kill them!" he screamed. "I saved you! If it weren't for me, you'd already be dead!"
Ethan's lips quivered.
"Yes," he whispered. "If it weren't for you, I would already be dead."
Tears rolled down his face.
"But how did you know I didn't want that?"
There was silence for half a second.
Then—
Bang!
The muzzle flash bloomed like a violent flower.
The .50 caliber round hit with terrifying force.
Raza's head exploded like a smashed watermelon.
Red and white splattered across the stone floor.
His body fell backward.
Dead.
Deadpool whistled.
"Nice shot!" he said cheerfully. "I've always found his bald head offensive. Who gave him permission to copy my hairstyle?"
The pistol slipped from Ethan's hand.
Clatter.
He collapsed to his knees, sobbing uncontrollably.
Tony looked at the scattered remains.
He swallowed hard.
Then he turned away.
"Ugh—"
He bent over and vomited.
"Come on," Deadpool said lightly. "You just achieved great revenge. You should smile."
He pulled up his mask slightly and gave Ethan a wide grin.
Then he picked up the pistol, expertly reloaded it, and checked the chamber.
"You two stay here," he said. "I'll clear the rest of the terrorists outside."
He grabbed two rifles from the ground and walked toward the tunnel exit with firm steps.
At this moment, Deadpool felt like multiple heroes had possessed him at once.
He imagined Captain America, John Wick, the Terminator, even Ultraman Tiga standing behind him.
"I need background music," he muttered. "A gunfight without BGM is like a Mexican burrito without chicken."
But beneath the jokes, there were real reasons he had waited until now.
First—
If Tony Stark never built the Mark I armor, then Iron Man would never exist.
And in the future, someone would need to carry a nuclear missile through a portal to save New York.
Deadpool had no intention of volunteering for that job.
Second—
He could regenerate.
Tony and Ethan could not.
The terrorists had heavy weapons.
His swords could block bullets.
They could not block missiles.
So he had to clear the path first.
He stepped toward the exit—
"Wait!"
Ethan suddenly stood up.
"I know a path," he said quickly. "There's a tunnel that leads to where they parked the vehicles."
The cave system was a maze. The Ten Rings had separated their storage, sleeping quarters, and vehicle area into different exits. Like the saying: a cunning rabbit has three burrows.
Deadpool instantly shoved the two rifles into Ethan's arms.
"Why didn't you say that earlier?!"
"You never asked!"
"Stop arguing," Tony snapped. "Let's move!"
The word "escape" had injected energy into him.
"I just want to go back to New York and eat a cheeseburger," Tony muttered while running.
Deadpool made a disgusted noise.
"You have terrible taste."
"I want ten Mexican burritos," Deadpool declared. "Your treat."
"If we get out alive, I'll buy you ten burrito shops!"
"Deal!"
They ran.
Ethan pointed directions.
"Right!"
"Left!"
"How much further?" Tony asked, breathing heavily.
His injuries had not healed. Days of forced labor had drained him. His legs felt like they were filled with concrete.
If I'd known this would happen, he thought bitterly, I would have built an electric scooter instead of a metal armor suit.
Ethan panted. "Almost there…"
"You said that three intersections ago," Tony complained.
They turned another corner.
Three armed terrorists appeared ahead.
Before anyone could speak—
Bang. Bang. Bang.
Three clean headshots.
All three fell instantly.
Ethan stared at Deadpool.
"What did you do before all this?"
"We've discussed this," Deadpool said.
"You told us you were a Mexican burrito shop manager who ate too much of your own food, got diabetes, and joined an experiment."
"You remember it well," Deadpool nodded. "But you're missing the key detail."
"What?"
"I was a handsome Mexican burrito shop manager."
Tony stared at him.
"In this era," Deadpool continued seriously, "good looks are justice. That's core competitiveness."
"But that story was fake, right?" Ethan asked.
"Of course," Deadpool said. "Diabetes alone wouldn't bankrupt me enough to join a dangerous experiment."
"So what happened?"
Tony slowed his breathing and listened carefully. He wanted clues.
Deadpool shrugged.
"I went bankrupt because of entrepreneurship."
He shot two more terrorists casually.
"I invested in a project called the Solar Dryer."
"Solar… dryer?" Ethan frowned.
"It collects solar energy and releases it at night for drying?" Ethan guessed.
Deadpool shook his head.
"No, no, nothing that complicated."
"It directly uses sunlight through suspended linear tools."
Tony and Ethan blinked.
"…Isn't that just a clothesline?" Tony asked slowly.
"In common language, yes," Deadpool admitted. "But I prefer the academic term."
"How much did you sell it for?" Ethan asked cautiously.
"Five hundred dollars per meter," Deadpool replied proudly. "Plus user manual and three-year warranty."
Tony and Ethan both stared at him.
How did you not go bankrupt sooner?
Deadpool shrugged again and shot another terrorist without even looking.
"Entrepreneurship is about vision," he said confidently.
In the distance, sunlight finally became visible at the end of the tunnel.
Freedom was close.
Behind them, the cave was filled with silence.
Ahead of them—
The world was waiting.
And somewhere far away in the future, a man named Tony Stark was about to build something that would change history forever.
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