Cable looked speechlessly at the bizarre deliveryman and gently shook his head. Even he knew that guy was Deathstroke's subordinate.
Anyone who could see Deadpool's true face without vomiting was either a complete lunatic, or someone who had vomited every day in the past until they got used to it and developed a twisted, perverse resistance.
That was how he himself had trained, on an abandoned Timeline.
And judging from Deadpool voluntarily taking out a tip, it was probably the latter. That bastard was famously stingy, only being a tiny bit generous toward people he knew.
Want to fool Deadpool? It was easy enough. Just have someone pretend to be customer service and call him, telling him he had won some prize and would have an exclusive personal deliveryman from then on.
Prizes, limited editions, exclusivity, discounts.
Those words were temptations Deadpool could never resist. He would definitely agree at once.
But in reality, this exclusive deliveryman was probably surveillance arranged by the Sorcerer Supreme, an agent who had received professional training.
Yet Deadpool had no idea he was under Big Brother's watch. On the contrary, he thought the delivery service was very convenient.
Shaking his head and deciding not to meddle in the brothers' affairs, the burly man slung his massive gun back over his shoulder. His metal hand landed on Deadpool's shoulder as he counted his money. "I'm afraid you won't be getting those drinks tonight. Do you know why I chose this place to meet you?"
"Isn't it because it's remote enough? All those black-market crime movies shoot scenes in places like this." Deadpool put his mask back on, his little white eyes blinking innocently before he broke into a strange laugh. "Just kidding. I think it's because you covet my beauty."
With that, he twisted his