Y/n: Can I get my phone call? I want my phone call.
Somewhere in the world, Y/n had been sitting in a room for God knows how long. He was still wearing his all black suit, but it was covered in muck, blood, and scum. Y/n was sitting in an interrogation room with his wrists cuffed to the table. As if someone was tired of Y/n's complaining, someone entered the room with a manila folder with his name labeled on it as the folder was gently set in front of him by the womanly figure in front of him.
Y/n: Hey, can I get my phone call?
Serious female voice: You're not being arrested, Mr. L/n.
Y/n: What the hell of the cuffs for?
Serious female voice: We here at S.H.I.E.L.D. do not know the full extent of your powers, if you even have any.
Y/n: S.H.I.E.L.D.? Oh hell, what did I do to piss off you spooks?
Serious female voice: You didn't piss us off. We're just interested. I'll go through your information and you tell me if there's anything I left out.
Y/n: I'm sorry beautiful, but who exactly are you? I at least want to know the name of the person I'm going to be looking at for who knows how long.
Maria: Hill. Maria Hill.
Y/n: Now, what is a beautiful girl like you working at a place like S.H.I.E.L.D.?
Maria: Flattery won't get you out of those cuffs, Mr. L/n.
Y/n: Figured as much.
Maria: Now, to go through your basic information. Y/n L/n; assassin and former X-Man.
Y/n: Ex-man. I'd like to think we go by that.
Maria: Tell me about your time with the X-Men.
Y/n: I'd rather not and that's final. All I can say without getting angered is that it started me down the path of being an assassin and my leaving.
Maria: Okay. The people of New York look up at you as a hero. "An act of God", as they say. Was that your intention? To be a hero?
Y/n: No, being a hero was never in my blood. It's funny and ironic, actually. The people, the same ones that hate mutants and everything that they stand for, look at one as a hero.
Maria: Times have changed. Not everyone hates Mutants anymore.
Y/n: Yeah? Those fears I had when I was a kid, Hill...that kind of fear sticks with you. The one where you had to fear if your family might kick you out on the streets for being a Mutant. Fear of the Sentinels. Fear of the Legacy Virus. Being a Mutant when I was born, it was hell on Earth.
Maria: What exactly is your Mutant ability? I'm not exactly seeing any deformations on you or on your person.
Y/n: I have a knack for being super precise with any and everything that I can throw. I can hit someone through walls.
Maria: That explains why the police are having a hard time seeing how you killed people. Shot through wood, drywall, and a lot of other things. *flips through more files* We found you outside of a laboratory, unconscious. Want to explain me why you were there in the first place?
Y/n: Sure, I got time.
After I my job with the Kingpin, I got a couple of odd jobs in the form of contracts. You know; kill this guy, protect this, frame that, the works. My routine of visiting church didn't stop and now I started to attend Sunday service. I also made a couple of purchases and made a dedicated armory in my new home in the suburbs of New York. Started getting set up as an actual legitimate assassin until I got a contract in the form of an email.
Maria: An email?
Y/n: Kingpin wanted me to have a business email to make it easier for contracts to come in.
Maria: Ah, okay. Continue.
Anyway, this contract seemed very similar to the one that started me down on this path. A mafia boss wanted one of its members put six feet under because they suspect them to whistle blow and from the $50,000 price on his head. The details were a bit scarce, other than that my target was a DJ, his picture, and that my greatest opportunity to off him was tonight. When I tried to pry for more information, like if he was packing heat and if armed guards were going to be present, silence. This...this made me a bit suspicious. I chalked it up to my background telling me that whoever wanted him dead had something to hide. I ran through scenarios in my head as I was suiting up and they all lead to the same conclusion; the Russian mob would soon be extinct.
Two new additions that I added to my arsenal was a lightweight ballistics vest and a ballistics mask. The mask was there to stop any civilians from ID-ing me, just in case they remembered my features from a distance. I did a couple things before going to the club and start shooting.
As the moon started to rise and night overtook the day, I arrived at the club my target worked at; The Emperor. Checking my pistol one last time, I walked through the doors and decided to scope out what exactly the opposition is packing, where are they, what sightlines they have on me, and how many are there. However, I didn't see shit like that. I probably was the only one packing heat, so I started to find my target and it couldn't have been easier that just looking over the crowd. Still, I had a job to do, so I went into the bathroom and put on my mask and went out into the crowd and fired a round from my pistol into the roof, silencing the music.
Y/n: All of you better scram and get a good night's rest before I do something you'll regret.
Just like that, the crowd went out the doors like a riot was going on and they had to participate in it. As they were fleeing, I was making my way forward like a salmon swimming upriver in white water rapids. Eventually getting out of the other end of the escaping crowd, I see him reach under all of his equipment for a pistol, so I put my pistol to his head. However, he didn't get the memo and tried to do something he saw in a movie and curve a bullet into me, but before he could even pull the trigger, I grabbed the hand that held the gun and pushed it in the opposite direction and punched him in the face, all the while grabbing his gun as he fell on his ass and disarming him in the process.
Y/n: Are you *looks over target sheet* Alexander Taylor?
Alex: Shit, they hired you, huh? Look, they're bad men, more bad than me. I was trying to help people, okay?! Don't you see what they're doing by having you kill me?! They're using you! Just like they used me!
Y/n: I'm going to make you an offer you can't refuse.
Maria: Reports here say that Alexander Taylor was shot, yet you still speak of him being alive. That can only mean you faked his death.
Y/n: It took some time, but I managed to make an exact replica of him. The illusion only goes so far, if any fingerprint or DNA testing were involved, you'd see it was just real good duplicity, Hill.
Maria: You're quite an interesting man, Y/n. I'd like to see where this story all goes.
Y/n: Am I interesting enough for you to let me out of these cuffs?
Maria: Not yet. Not until you tell me why you ended up at a warehouse.
After news of Taylor's "death" flew around the internet, I had him live with me. I had an entire computer dedicated for him too and a room to sleep in. Problem was, he couldn't exactly step outside without being recognized which would've given away the entire veil I had set up. After some days passed of him getting acquainted with my place, I went out to do some shopping, for the both of us. It wasn't anything special to be honest, but the return trip was. I always carry one of my pistols on me, in case any low-life thug tries to rob me or something, but I heard the screams of a woman, however they were pretty faint screams, so I had to stop and hearing it again to know exactly where to move.
The screams led me to an alleyway where a woman, whose clothes were basically dirty rags you wouldn't use to clean your kitchen floor and her hair was so disheveled that you'd think she'd been through hell and back with some hard drugs. Her make-up was running, yet it looked like it had been there for the longest time. My inner hero had kicked in and I took out my pistol and shot one of her assaulters in the head. The other one had realized that he had brought a knife to a gun fight and ran away. I thought he wasn't worth the effort or time, so I just holstered my pistol and walked away until the woman blocked me from progressing forward out of the alley.
Woman: *crying* Thank you mister! You saved my life!
The woman had a very thick Russian accent. There was no mistaking it, which made the entire encounter feel like it was some sort of trap, so I was very cautious of this woman's actions.
Y/n: You're welcome. Now, if you excuse me, I have to go home now.
Russian woman: No! I have to repay you in some way! Most men only try to take advantage of me, but not you.
Y/n: No, you really don't have to do--
She tried to force herself onto me, but I really wasn't having it and was on my wit's end with her immediately. I was about to have it with this woman until she started crying for no absolute reason. It made me reconsider shouting at her as I listened in closely about how she whispered about "she was in a bad place" and "she doesn't want another one to die", so I did the only rational thing I could think of at the time.
~Upper Montclair, New York~
After coming in through the door like a bat out of hell, Alex was already on my case about how I'm bringing in a prostitute home and how I'm just fueling the fire of one of the trades of the Russian mob, but his whining didn't matter to me in the slightest.
Y/n: I'll get you food and water. After you're done eating, just try and get some rest on the couch.
Alex: You mind explaining to me why you brought a prostitute home?
Y/n: First; if it wasn't for me, you'd be actually dead. Second; we need to talk about that in private, so go to my room.
The only food I had were the cup noodles that I had bought from the store, so after getting her food and water, I met Alex in my room as he tried to be all sass and crossed his arms.
Y/n: First; cut the shit. Second; it's not what you think it is.
Alex: And what is it that is exposed to my innocent virgin eyes?
Y/n: A victim. On the way over here, I shot one someone that tried to get their way with her while the other ran away. She told me her story and it's one hell of a tragedy. One crossing of the ocean later and she's going through hell for other peoples' American Dream. I've seen stretch marks and no children.
Alex: Oh shit...I knew they were fucked up, but...damn...
Y/n: There has to be someone that you had contact with during your service to them. Anyone at all.
Alex was pacing back and forth, so I let him think as we both exited the room and back into the living room as he went back into his...well, technically it's his, computer and is, what I assumed, to be looking up the address of where his special someone is. As Alex was doing that, I turned on the TV while cleaning my pistols and checking them twice. As I was doing that, I couldn't help but know there was a pair of eyes trained on my pistol and I look over to my left and noticed it was the woman that should've been sleeping yet seemed just as focused on my gun just as I was.
Woman: I never told you my name.
Y/n: I never needed it. Names form bonds, bonds that I had to break in my past to lead me here. The only time I ever needed a name now is when I'm going to kill them.
Woman: Was it hard? Leaving your family behind?
Y/n: I left two families behind. It only gets harder.
Woman: Then, you are like me.
Y/n: I only know that we both left our families. What else could you have in common with me?
Woman: We both did something most people considered bad for intentions we believe to be good.
Y/n: "Intentions we believe to be good"? Why do you think I kill people for money?
Woman: To build a wall. Your past, it pains you when think about it every time. It happens to me too.
Y/n: *deep exhale* Alex, found your guy yet?
Alex: Yeah. One of the warehouses near the shipping yard.
Y/n: *looks at the woman* We'll continue our talk later.
Y/n: Y/n. Bye.
Before exiting my room, Alex had tossed me a black earpiece so that he could at least keep in check and ask his guy about some weak points the Russian mob had. There was only one ground rule that I had about the earpiece though; no eating. Eating in my ear is such a weird thing to do and makes me cringe inside. Same goes for drinking.
~New York Shipping Yard~
Y/n: I'm not liking it, not one bit.
Alex: It's quiet. I don't understand.
Y/n: That's exactly the problem. If you were a movie fanatic as much as I am, you'd know that silence isn't always golden.
Alex: Yeah...you're right.
The only sound I heard all throughout the shipping yard was the waves lapping against the stone of the surface I was walking on. As I made my way through warehouse after warehouse, just like any movie, the thing or person that I'm looking for is at the end. When I was searching the warehouse, I found someone that fit the description that Alex had given me on the way to the shipping yard, but there was a small detail he left out.
Y/n: Found your guy.
Alex: Great, he asked you anything?
Y/n: I don't think he's going to be asking me anything. There's a, uh...there's a knife in his head. I'll be right back, found the guy. *turns around* For an assassin, you're pretty loud and ridiculous looking.
And ridiculous looking he was. He was in a tight spandex suit that you'd see someone like Spider-Man would wear, only his suit colors were black and white. The black could've easily be confused as a really dark shade of grey, but that's neither here nor there. There was a crosshair with a red dot in the middle, could've been threatening to some, but to me; it just meant that I had to shoot him there.
Y/n: Uhh, who are you?
Bullseye: They call me Bullseye. The guy whose entire schtick you stole.
Y/n: Come on...really? Bullseye? Is that REALLY your name? You...you disappoint me. I expected better from a guy with a crosshair on his head. Deadshot. Hawkeye. Oh wait, you can't use either. I've heard more threatening names and I'm sorry to say that Jubilee is a more threatening name than Bullseye. Were you aiming for a completely shit name because you hit the mark on that! *gasps* Hit the mark? Bullseye? I see the triangles and the dots are clearly connecting.
Bullseye: Listen here, kid. I've killed people WAY more threatening than you--
Y/n: And I fought more people with WAY more threatening names than you, guess we're SOL in threats.
Bullseye: Do you EVER shut your mouth?!
Y/n: Let's see; it's midnight, I'm in a warehouse with another man, I'm running on a "few" cans of Monster, and I'm fighting a dude named Bullseye. Plus, it's (least favorite day of the week), so I'm about as bitchy as I can be.
Bullseye: *sighs deeply* You're worse than Deadpool...
Y/n: I know that guy!
I will admit this though; he did catch me off guard when threw a shuriken my way. Still have the scar on my abdominal area. He ducked behind some wooden pallet, so I filled him with a bunch of rounds to shoot through the wood and I could tell that I hit him because the wall behind him was splattered in blotches of his own blood. This was before I knew exactly what Bullseye was capable of, so he threw one of the many wooden splinters that I had created with gunfire at me and hit me a couple of times with those splinters in the body, but they lacked the force to pierce through to my heart.
Still, I figured if he was just as equally good as me at a distance, then I should take the fight up close and personal. It's a good thing I had learned to fight against people like Wolverine in the case of hand-to-hand because my hands were ready to hit anyone with some sort of bones harder than normal. Of course, my hands are still normal, so I immediately started to resort to using whatever was around me and all of it basically bounced off him like it was nothing. He got hurt, but it didn't look like it would've done any lasting damage. A lot of his punches weren't to my face due to the mask, but that didn't stop him from stabbing me in the gut with a knife he somehow hid in his tight spandex. Still, it got him right where I wanted him. I quickly pulled out a pistol and shot him in the gut five times and kicked him away from me.
I'm not one to run away from a fight because I always finish what I start. Pride...arrogance...those are some synonyms that you could call it. A part of me wanted to run while I still could because I was bleeding profusely. However, I'd like to think that God exists because he answered my prayer with someone that I really needed because God sent me a person in red and black with an SMG and proceeded to completely unload the entire magazine into Bullseye.
Deadpool: The Drake to my Josh! What's happening Y/n?! Oh wait, I know what's happening. I read the story up to this point.
Y/n: What are you doing here anyway? Not that I don't appreciate you being here, it's just a bit out of the blue.
Deadpool: The author wanted a mix of comedy and tragedy. Besides, *serious tone* it only gets darker from here...*normal tone* Anyway, I'm here to try and lighten the mood. Gimmie your arm, Y/n. Let's blow this joint.
Doing as he said, The Merc with the Mouth carried me out of there and into his buggy because he had one and drove me home as I told him the address. While arriving there, Deadpool kicked open the door, making both Alex and Lera jump and shocked at how messed up I was as Deadpool sat me down on the couch and sat next to me and began to watch TV. Lera decided it was best not to question and fetched the first aid kit I had in the bathroom and began patching me up, ripping through my shirt to start patching wounds.
Y/n: You have medical practice?
Lera: Took classes.
Deadpool: What a cozy place you got here. Mind if I crash here for a while?
Y/n: Define "a while". *cringing in pain* SHIT!
Deadpool: You know, until this arc is over.
Y/n: All the couches are taken up.
Deadpool: I'll sleep with you.
Y/n: Absolutely not.
Deadpool: You're right, you're straight. I'll bunk with Alex, he's bi.
Alex: How do you--
Deadpool: I read the bio the author got sent a note by
. Oh, btw Poet, the author needs the bad guy which is why the main bad guy is nameless. This also applies to the few people who read and comment if you want to participate.
Y/n: You're sleeping with me.
Deadpool: Woah, didn't know I was the exception. Not saying "no", but--
Y/n: Not like that. Alex, order an air mattress. Credit card's in the top right drawer. My arsenal is your arsenal Wade.
Deadpool: SWEET CHRISTMAS! Shame this part's over though.