About five minutes later, Wade was teleported back after being stripped of a layer of skin and dressed in a fresh set of clothes.
How should he put it? He still smelled a little, but only about as bad as an ordinary pigsty. It was within tolerable limits.
There was nothing to be done about it. Bathing and skinning could only clean the outside of his body. Deadpool was riddled with cancer from head to toe; his intestines, stomach, and even his bones were rotten. Every time he breathed or opened his mouth to speak, foul odors wafted out.
Besides, being disgusting was one of Wade's defining traits. There was no need to change that on a deeper level. It would bring no benefits, only drawbacks.
"Ah, it hurts so much! Did that Synthezoid calling himself the Big Iron Rod Massage Parlor Butt-Poking Director have some kind of programming error?" Deadpool clutched his butt and inched toward the sofa before slowly sitting down, sucking in a breath of cold air. "Cousin, I'm happy you arranged a prostate massage for me, but I really don't like that perverted Synthezoid."
"Hm? I didn't arrange anything." Su Ming pointed at the small projected screen before himself and the cat, indicating that he was still watching the Steve Sleepwalks in Fairyland series. "I was waiting for you to get back early and report in."
At those words, the pair of white lenses on Deadpool's mask instantly widened. He covered his mouth, looked at the Adjutant beside him in disbelief, pointed a trembling finger at her, and wailed:
"So it was you, Adjutant! You heartless woman! Didn't they say Cybertronian Autobots were humanity's best friends? Where did you learn this stuff? In old third-rate novels, aliens would capture humans for experiments and poke their butts