Deadpool went back along the path they had come from to pick out some merchandise. Before long, he returned carrying a four-armed freak with snow-white skin and huge eyes. The creature's vomit left a winding trail across the ground, like a shallow stream.
As he dragged the captive back, he was crying too. Just as Bobo was about to think Deadpool had suddenly developed a conscience, the bastard said, "Looking at this pale guy is making my snow blindness act up again. My eyes hurt so much. Seriously, can one of you hold this for me? I need to pop out my eyeball and clean it."
Without waiting for anyone to answer, he handed the prisoner to Tracy, who was remotely bombing the stragglers nearby, making the little girl dry-heave again.
There was no other reason for it. No one knew what the pale-skinned man had eaten for dinner, but what he was vomiting up was the color of thin diarrhea, with a greasy sheen on it.
And that was not all. Deadpool lifted his mask, dug out one of his eyeballs, rolled it around in his mouth, licked it clean, and stuffed it back into its hollow, rotten eye socket.
He was probably using some old folk tradition from the East—the saliva sterilization method.
Most of the time, that trick was useless. What sterilization? It was nothing more than psychological comfort. If someone actually had AIDS, saliva could still be a means of transmission.
"Bleurgh."
"Sorry you had to see that." The gorilla sighed, clasping his hands behind his back and shaking his head. "My kid's willpower isn't strong enough. We protected her too well in the past. She has never seen anything this disgusting."
Though he said that, Bobo had turned his head toward Deathstroke as well. He