"Don't attack, Deadpool. I'm not your enemy, but a friend." The shit-block-like flying object made a sharp turn in midair, dodging Deadpool's descending blade as a few crumbs flaked off its body. "A friend. You understand that, right?"
"I know, but with your distinguished appearance, wouldn't teaming up with me drag down the squad's average attractiveness?" Deadpool irritably sheathed his Katana and examined the flying thing's appearance. The moment he got a good look at it, he turned aside and spat. "What the hell are you?"
It was a flying turd, looking half-wet and half-dry, rather fresh. From Deadpool's experience, he could tell it was neither cow dung nor pig shit, but human feces—probably left behind by someone whose asshole had been stretched open.
It was too thick. He had never seen shit in this size before, thicker than his own thigh, and it had somehow grown wings and started flying.
"I'm not a thing. I'm a person. Wait, don't tell me you think this little flying thing is me?" A standard London, Britain accent came from the flying object, carrying a hint of helplessness. "It's merely a tool for relaying messages. I'm currently using it to communicate with you across light-years."
"I see. So it's a living Walkie-talkie shaped like a shit block?" Wade understood. It was easy enough to grasp—he just had to think of this turd as a drone with a loudspeaker attached.
"Only someone whose head is full of shit would see shit in everything here." The Stranger on the other end of the communicator said so, but offered no further explanation. "It's called a Tidal Fly. It's an artificially cultivated, genetically modified quantum communication insect. It was invented by the Franklin you know."
Deadpool's features wrinkled beneath his mask. He circled the hovering, buzzing shit