The First Step on the Road to Heroism Is Striking a Pose
Ding ding!
Ding ding dong dong!!
In the basement of the two-story building, Russell dismantled the operating table and used the available materials to build a set of protective gear.
Helmet faceplate, chest armor, shoulder pads, hand guards, and leg armor provide 360-degree protection, offering all-around protection for every corner of the body.
After spraying on a layer of matte black and red paint, a full set of armor modeled after Deathstroke was completed. On the helmet, because Russell was able to see, it was different from Deathstroke's, with two ventilation windows.
Given his abilities, the armor was more decorative than practical, so it didn't really matter to him. But Deadpool liked to play around with it, and he thought it was quite interesting, so he had a set made on the spot.
To be honest, with two Desert Eagle Gods on his thighs and Adamantium Blade slung over his back, he really did have some of the cool and ruthless style of Deadpool's cousin.
Originally, Deadpool wanted superhero costumes to be distinctive and eye-catching, without being too complicated, such as a bodysuit, but Russell decisively rejected the idea.
Tight clothes are too embarrassing; whether you wear boxers or briefs underneath, it's easy for marks to show. Not wearing them isn't an option either; firstly, it feels uncomfortable and makes me feel insecure, and secondly, my enormous size might be intimidating to others.
"Russell, how did you do that?"
Deadpool was completely bewildered because he had watched the whole process and discovered that Russell only had a hammer as a tool for forging the armor.
"Isn't this a superhero's professional skill?"
"What?"
"There is always a brand new uniform under any circumstances."
"..."
Deadpool was speechless, silently lowered his head, and sewed up his hood with a needle and thread.
This is terrible. The new member is incredibly talented; give him a hammer and he could create a world. As the captain, he's under immense pressure. But he can't say it; he has to pretend he can do it too. However, armor is heresy; he just loves the arrogant look of the bodysuit.
Seeing Deadpool miserably sewing his uniform, occasionally pricking his fingers with the needle and shuddering, Russell chuckled coldly, smelling the pleasant lemony scent in the air, and turned to take a bottle of red wine from the bookshelf.
"Wade, would you like a glass of '82 Lafite?" Russell clattered two wine glasses.
"Of course, to celebrate the relaunch of X-Force, we have to have a drink."
Deadpool poured himself a full glass, gulped it down, and smacked his lips, sensing something was off about the taste. He didn't show it, afraid that he'd been drinking fake alcohol before, and questioning it would make him seem unrefined.
"Wade, how does it taste?"
"It's alright, about the same as what I used to drink."
"Really? Then I'll have a taste..." Russell took a small sip, frowned and said, "An $82 Lafite is just so-so, I don't think it's worth the price."
"Wait, you just said... '82 Lafite..."
"Yes, Lafite at $82!"
"..."
Deadpool gritted his teeth, sewed up the uniform, and quickly put it on, demonstrating that there is no underwear under the tight-fitting uniform of a superhero.
"Now, superhero intern, let Deadpool mentor you. You've taken the first step on the path to becoming a professional hero. The next step is the second: as a team of heroes acting collectively, we need our own unique entrance pose."
"Uh, that's not necessary."
Russell felt a chill run down his spine. His intuition told him that Deadpool's supposed pose was definitely a trap. Images of the Ginyu Force and the most difficult JOJO pose flashed through his mind, and his eyes instantly became alert.
"No, this is the path a hero must take."
"Then I'm not going to be a hero anymore, I'm going to be a villain!"
"..."
Two minutes later, on the rooftop of the two-story building, a camera was set up, and two quirky, witty figures were posing earnestly in the rising sun.
Deadpool knelt on one knee, his arms outstretched behind him like a bird spreading its wings. Russell stood behind him, head held high, one fist clenched under his abdomen, the other fist raised high.
"Russell, how are you feeling?"
"I feel like my IQ is dropping!"
"Don't worry, buddy, I'll raise the average."
"No, it's you who lowered my IQ." Russell lowered his clenched fist and covered his face.
"..."
"Wade, is this really okay? Isn't it too embarrassing? I even heard people laughing!"
"That's the laughter of Silly Bird audience members. I hear it all the time. It will get better after a while. I guarantee you'll feel uncomfortable if you don't hear it a few times a day."
Deadpool stopped what he was doing, walked to the camera, admired his own heroic posture, and soon became dissatisfied.
Because in the photos, he only showed his two hands, and he was photographing Russell almost the entire time.
"Hey buddy, this isn't right! I've got the position wrong. As the captain and the soul of the X-Force, I should be standing in the center."
"Haha, even Green Lantern can't get a spot in the center!"
"I don't care, I'm going to stand in the center. Let's do the same pose again, this time I'll stand behind you."
"No, absolutely not, not from here."
"I'm the captain!!!"
"Captain, that's enough. The neighbors need to get up and go to work. If someone sees us, they'll call the police."
Russell packed up his camera, pushed Deadpool back upstairs, and the latter loudly vented his frustration. After a moment, he fell silent, picked up the photos, and began looking at them for half an hour.
A normal person has eleven zodiac Virgo, but Deadpool is different; he's a neurotic. So, when he exudes a lonely, needy, and comforting aura, you absolutely mustn't pay him any attention, otherwise he'll use it as an excuse to escalate the situation, often to the point of no return.
Russell knew that if Deadpool was left alone for a while and no one paid any attention to him, he would be fine on his own.
Deadpool, after trying to appear profound for half an hour and making a fool of himself, sneaked up to Russell, held up the photo, and said, "Dude, I finally know where things went wrong."
"That's right, it's your brain."
"I know, but that's not what I meant..." Deadpool poked the photo. "Two people can't pose properly because a triangle is the most stable structure. The X-Force needs Parker!"
Russell: "..."
"Let's get right to it. We'll go find Parker now. From what I know about the wild Parker, the only places he usually hangs out in, besides the newspaper office, the school, and the bachelor's dorm room, are the only other places."
Do you know where his dormitory is?
"Of course, I have everything under control. I even sneaked in a couple of days ago, but unfortunately he wasn't home then. I only found one used item..."
"Cough cough!"
"A genuine Spider-Man costume..."
"..."
In a dilapidated apartment building, Peter Parker, a penniless loser, slumped on the edge of the bed, his stubble unkempt, his hair disheveled, and his bloodshot eyes devoid of light.
More than 40 hours have passed since Mary Jane was captured by Doctor Octopus. Parker is desperately searching for Doctor Octopus's whereabouts, and although they encounter him once, he manages to escape.
After that, Doctor Octopus never appeared again. Parker searched the streets of New York all night, catching many thieves and robbers, but he couldn't even find a trace of Doctor Octopus.
Parker became depressed; after all, it was 40 hours, and who knows what might happen during that time.
Although Doctor Octopus is a mad scientist who deeply loved his wife before his madness and looked down on other women, one can't be too careful, after all, Mary Jane was so outstanding and so perfect.
Bang!
The gate was kicked down!
That's right, the entire door collapsed to the ground, a large foot slowly retracted, and Deadpool strode into the room with an air of swagger.
"Peter Parker, Spider-Man -Man, I've reviewed your resume. Congratulations, you've been accepted into the X-Force!"
"..."