Deadpool changed into a dress pulled from his pocket—a white dress identical to Marilyn Monroe's—over his uniform.
Then he adjusted his wig, sprayed on some perfume, painted every fingertip of his tactical gloves bright red, and changed into high-heeled sandals.
How to put it? It was simply eye-searing. If a woman who looked like Deadpool existed in reality, she would probably become an urban legend of the supernatural sort. Something like a beautiful woman disfigured by cosmetics whose resentful spirit lingered on, or a prostitute boiled alive in a vat of oil who clawed her way out to seek revenge, and so on.
But Cable was a warrior from the future, from the 31st Century, and an old acquaintance of Deadpool's. He had no idea how many Thanksgivings he had spent with Wade. They could sit at the same table, and he could shovel down curry mush while staring at Deadpool's ruined face without throwing up.
His willpower was as hard as iron!
"Hey-heh!" Wade twisted his waist, making sure he could turn around nimbly, then tried a cartwheel to ensure his wig would not fall off. "I'm ready. Sigh, what am I going to do with you? You're such a grown man, yet Uncle Wade has to accompany you just to go out and find a few electronic components. Shame on you. How is that any different from a little girl being too scared to use the bathroom alone at night?"
He scraped at his own face with his hand and mocked his old friend, as though his brain cancer had made him forget the fear of being hunted by Origin Falcon.
Or perhaps, after speaking with Cousin, he had realized something? Who knew.
"If you call yourself my uncle again, I'll rip off your dick." Cable checked his