Looking for the Trask-Master

[deadpool]

“Yeah, but I’m just saying he’s gotta be burnt or something under there.” the door guard, affectionately known as ‘Guard A’ by the folks who knew his position in the compound, sounded completely sure. “I mean, you just don’t wander around in a get-up like that unless you’ve got a pretty fucked up face.”

Guard B wasn’t so sure. “I’m telling you, he’s a famous person. Maybe a celebrity, probably a politician perhaps? He’s got an identity to protect.”

“A famous person. Are you retarded? Like who?” A asked, a laugh building in the smile he wore.

“David Hasslehoff.” A voice akin to a radio personality’s responded. The two guards snapped around, hands instinctively reaching for pistol grips. “Ya got me.”

Deadpool stepped from the shadow, gloved hands raised as if he was caught red-handed.

“I knew the red and black leather would only hold off so much of my identity, but when you’ve got the sheer magnetic charisma that has the entire country of Germany drooling, what can you? It was only a matter of time.” He said.

The guards swallowed, and exchanged glances. For some reason the Mercenary hired by Trask wore swords.

Swords.

“Sorry, sir…” Guard B began, stuttering a bit. “We didn’t know-”

“Yeah yeah, aren’t you two supposed to be guarding something? Any minute now there could be main characters rushing through here with bullets that have you generic assholes’ names on them, and you’ll be caught here with your pants down. The least you could do would be to pretend that you’re actually doing something. On top of that, my taxes pay your salary. Wait… I don’t pay taxes. Still, it’s the thought that counts.”

They stared at him incredulously, and then glanced at each other again. Neither seemed to know what to say.

He looked between the two, milky white eyes peering at them from holes barely big enough for them to see through. “Hey, either of youse guys seen Trask around?”

[Trask]

"Uh, yes sir," Guard B continued, "he's down at the test field drilling the special forces guys on using the new frames." Eight of them, Trask had been trialling the selected pilots who would be the first to run the Sentinels for nearly a week now. A few more technical kinks had been ironed out and one of the men had to be replaced after complaining of retinal damage from the cerebro circuit but on the whole Trask had seemed pleased with the progress.

At least he'd seemed pleased to Guard B.

That meant the big man had seemed ever so slightly less stern than usual. Idly the Guard wondered what Trask did to relax on those rare occasions when he WASN'T striding around the complex like some militant God of warfare.

He probably polished guns. Or chewed bullets. Or washed his stars and stripes. He certainly seemed the type.

"Yeah," Guard A interrupted his train of thought, "definitely the test field."

Where an armed and fueled Chinook stood ready, morning, noon and night, just in case.

[deadpool]

Deadpool caught up to Trask in the test field. Just like the destined-to-die generic guards had said.

The Merc decided it was best to wait until Bolivar was done with drilling the Spec Ops guys, as the man really, really hated to be interrupted. It wasn’t that DP was afraid of Trask (though he did understand a truly bad man when he met one, and respected him for it,) he just didn’t like to piss of someone who was paying his bills that much.

When Trask seemed to have a moment, Deadpool approached.

“Hey Mr. T, just checkin’ on the progress of this thing. I know, I know, probably don’t need to be worrying my pretty little head about your plans – but what can I say, I’m classic over-achiever. I’m a work-a-holic. I walk the walk, and talk the talk. Ain’t nobody gonna breaka my stride, and nobody gonna slow me down. You get the idea.”

[Trask]

Trask watched the frames perform their maneuvers for a few more moments before turning to address the masked mercenary. "Progress ... Deadpool," he opted for the mercs codename, "we have made much progress." The frame designated Alpha One covered the team against a simulated attack as two others retreated into cover.

"As for worrying; I do not worry, I have concerns, and concerns can be addressed. That is why you have been hired. Your skills," though perhaps not your personality, Trask mentally added, "are desirable in this instance and I have need of those skills in the very near future."

Alpha One sprayed fire into a series of wooden targets and his two retreating companions turned and fired in perfect synchronization, peppering more than a dozen of the two dimensional mutant terrorists. Clearly the HUD Comms were working perfectly.

Trask stepped away from the viewing window and closed the shutter before returning his attention to the masked mercenary. "I have your briefing here for you," he pulled a sealed envelope from within his jacket and offered it.

"I need you on a plane to Baltimore this afternoon."

[deadpool]

Deadpool squeezed his fists together and shook them in front of him in a comic gesture of giddiness. He looked around at the Sentinels, marveling at them for a few moments.

“You know what, Bollie, you’ve got a little somethin’ special. I can’t put my finger on it, but there’s just something extra about you.”

He looked back at Trask, who was holding out an envelope.

"I need you on a plane to Baltimore this afternoon.”

Deadpool’s eyes showed the smile that must’ve been behind his mask. “oh I’m so there, bossman.”

Deadpool took the envelope and walked with a little pep in his step towards the exit, without a doubt he was whistling “Leaving on a jet plane.”

[Trask]

Trask watched him go without expression. The mercenary was good, of that there was no question, he was payed well enough to be the best. And Trask always demanded the best. He did not approve, nor had he ever approved of the mans attitude though. Wade Wilson seemed to take an unnatural delight in his work when in fact he should be simply happy to be doing his duty to his country.

He would get the job done though.

Bolivar waited a few moments after the door closed before re-seating himself behind his desk and picking up the phone. Events were now in motion that had to be very carefully orchestrated.

Bolivar Trask hated to use the word collateral; it was a word used by men too eager or enthusiastic or down right careless to do a job properly. Collateral had to be kept to a minimum.

He punched a few digits and a few seconds later the call connected.

"It's Trask," his deep voice rumbled.

A pause.

"We have a green light for the operation."

Pause.

"Have Bravo team prepare for departure immediately."

Pause.

"Good, when they arrive have them stand by for commencement."

The phone gave a small beep as the call ended. He punched another number in and after a slightly longer pause the call was answered.

"Good afternoon Edward," Trask rumbled, "everything is proceeding smoothly. I suggest you get into position. And Edward," Trask paused a moment.

"Do try not to worry."