Deadpool's immortality was an annoying fact of life—especially for anyone dumb enough to fight him head-on. Ant-Man, fortunately, wasn't that dumb.
He stayed shrunken, hiding in the shadows, watching as the scepter glittered faintly in the Secretary of Defense's grip.
Originally, Scott Lang had only been pretending to work for that guy. His mission? Steal the scepter and hand it over later.
But Scott wasn't an idiot—he had no intention of giving the Secretary anything. He just wanted to know why that greasy bureaucrat had the damn thing in the first place.
If Deadpool hadn't shown up out of nowhere, the scepter would've already been secure by now.
"Not coming out?" Deadpool's sing-song voice broke the silence as he twirled his twin katanas like drumsticks. "Aww, that's boring! Yesterday, someone said I had a 'strong opponent.' Didn't expect it to be you—the fun-sized superhero himself! Come on out, Tiny Tony! Let's make a deal. If you manage to kill me, I'll let you pee on my corpse. But if you can't—"
He grinned behind the mask, voice dropping low. "—then I get to slice you into bug sushi!"
Scott sighed. Of course it's him. The mouth with legs.
Still, curiosity itched at the back of his brain. Why was Deadpool working for the Secretary of Defense? So, from a safe distance, he returned to full size.
"Deadpool," he called out, "weren't you with the X-Men?"
"They invited me." Deadpool spread his arms dramatically. "But I said no thanks. I'm freelance, baby. Whoever pays, I slay. Right now, the Secretary over there offered me three million bucks to kill you. But hey, I'm not unreasonable. Pay me five million, and I'll switch sides faster than your ex changed her relationship status."
From the sidelines, the Secretary of Defense shouted, "Deadpool! We had a deal! You break that, and no one will ever trust you again!"
"Oh, please." Deadpool arched backward, bending like a freakish contortionist to glare at him upside down. "Wade Wilson doesn't do loyalty, sweet cheeks. I do cash. You give me enough zeroes, and I'll livestream myself giving the President a wedgie on national TV."
The Secretary's face went pale. "Wade, I'm offering more than he ever could! Kill him now, and I'll transfer the rest to your account!"
Deadpool tilted his head toward Scott. "So? Wanna outbid the suit?"
"Not a chance," Scott replied, shrinking in an instant.
Deadpool's eyes darted around, but the tiny hero was gone.
"Aw, come on!" he groaned, spinning his swords in frustration. "I finally get a superhero to play with, and he runs away? What is this, Avenger hide-and-seek?! Hey! Ant-Man! Be a man! I'll even fight one-handed! You can't win? Fine, die trying! ...Hello? Helloooo?"
Deadpool's muttering echoed down the empty street.
Scott had already moved on, leaping between cracks in the asphalt. He had no interest in humoring a lunatic with regenerative brain cells.
The mercenary was just a hired distraction—the real threat was the Secretary. The man clearly wanted the scepter for something big.
If he was trying to keep the Avengers from knowing its location…
Then he's hiding something, Scott thought grimly. Something dangerous.
He darted toward the Secretary's armored car, slipping through a ventilation slot as it started moving. Inside, the Secretary clutched the scepter tightly, while his driver stared ahead with unsettling calm.
Scott, now perched on the floor mat near their feet, squinted up. Perfect chance.
He waited.
Ten minutes passed.
When the car finally hit an empty stretch of road, Scott grew back to full size in a flash, his head smacking the car's ceiling.
"Don't move," he warned, aiming his laser stunner. "Hand over the scepter."
"I knew you were here," the Secretary said smoothly. "But maybe you should ask the man in front."
Scott frowned. "What—?"
The driver's hands suddenly twisted the wheel hard left. The vehicle spun. Scott slammed against the door, just as the driver's arm shot back and grabbed his throat.
Strong. Too strong for any ordinary man.
Before Scott could shrink again, the driver hurled him straight through the car door. It blew off its hinges with a metallic scream.
Scott hit the ground hard, coughing.
The driver stepped out calmly—his muscles bulging, eyes like dull steel.
"The scepter belongs to me," he said. "You want it? Come and take it."
Scott's HUD flickered in warning as he adjusted his helmet.
"Okay," he muttered. "Guess we're doing this the hard way."
....
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