Baltimore May 21: NovaTeX Interior

[mystique]

Mystique had been watching the building for the last two hours. Dressed simply in a lab coat and white slacks, she checked the NovaTeX nametag one more time before slipping behind the gate and walking confidently towards the back door. The two guards looked at her and she smiled a bit uneasily, showing her nametag. Let them believe she was a lab worker nervous about the guns around her workplace. Come on Emma, she whispered to herself, scanning the card through the door.

Even as the card reader buzzed its objections, one of the guards opened the door for her. Smirking, she winked at him, knowing Emma was behind his eyes.

The building was silent, virtually uninhabited. This was not altogether alarming, but it certainly meant something was up. Either NovaTeX wanted no one in the way should complications arise, or they were planning on complications of their own. Mystique suggested the latter. The entire even practically screamed 'TRAP!!'

But a trap had never stopped her.

Taking an immediate left towards the women's bathroom, she stepped as if she'd walked the back lobby a hundred times. As she her hips pivoted, her shoulder slid back in the opposite direction- the nine millimeter and its shiny black silencer pointed with expert precision at the security camera across the way. With one shot, she took it out. Another turn, another shot, and the second camera went down. A scant few steps further and she disappeared into the bathroom.

Peeling out of the lab uniform and kicking off her shoes, Mystique padded across the bathroom in a black lycra zentai, feet hands and head bare but the rest slick as satin in fabric that seemed almost painted on. "I'm in," she said, adjusting the tiny earpiece in her ear. She adjusted the holster around her shoulder, her favourite Desert Eagle tucked in the curve of muscle between her shoulderblades. Then it was back into the hallway once more.

She knew the lab she was looking for was likely on the second floor. The files could be in any number of systems, but she needed every scrap of data on the computer that belonged to the man who originally isolated, and as a consequence learned to manipulate, the x-gene. There would be information there no one else in NovaTeX was likely to have.

It would be a few years still until that scientist would be free of his obligation to the company, and then release the information to medical journals worldwide. Mystique didn't have that much time to wait.

Heading to the arching stairwell to the second floor, she knew the open architecture wouldn't allow them to block passage to the upper floor in spite of the likelihood they had shut fire doors in the escapes and shut down the elevators. That meant there would be guards waiting at that pulsepoint that would need handling.

Mystique made no sound as she crept up the stairs, half crouched to catch any sight of someone before they had a chance to see her. This was a more difficult and potentially deadly endeavor than she had even undertaken; not because the prize was harder to obtain, in fact it would have been laughable...had she still been herself. As it was, she was not, and so the game became far more lethal.

Her hand found the railing as the guard had his back turned. Swinging a leg into the air, she kicked his gun, then the back of his head with a dual motion so practiced she may as well have had her eyes closed. She anticipated a second, and had her gun drawn, but heard nothing. Kneeling down with her knee on the back of the stunned man, she looked him over quickly.

These were no mere guards. They were special operations soldiers, tactical experts that were often the most troublesome foes. That they were here meant only that the government was involved, which confirmed her suspicions about the Sentinels.

As the man began to lift out of his daze, she looked around again for another soldier and lowered her gun to the back of the man's skull. Without a word she pulled the trigger, the percussion of blood and bone hitting the floor the only sound in the empty hallway.

One down. And something definitely amiss if the others were nowhere to be seen. Standing and moving quickly to the wall, her eyes scanned left and right, finding another camera and taking it out. Chances were high they'd already seen her.

But she'd found what she was looking for. A long hall of private labs split the length of the building, she could see trees through the window on the far side that she knew stood in front of the NovaTeX sign. Slipping quickly along the wall at a near run, she scanned the worksheets on each door. The chances were virtually nil they'd anticipated someone like her coming on THIS day of all days... not many others would be so foolish. Not many others were this good.

Mystique took her chance when she found the name of a lab aid Emma had plucked from someone's mind the day before written on the sheet outside lab 24A. She tried the door- unlocked. Her heart skipped. Usually there was SOME sort of security feature... but she had to continue on in spite of an increasing sense of danger.

The computer itself was scarcely an issue. Though it took her longer than she would have liked, password after encryption method fell as her fingers sped over the keys. With one hand she pulled the flash card from the chain around her neck and slipped it into the port.

CAS #7732-18-5: Isolation of compound EC #53-21-4. 07/28/2001.

That's it.

Uploading. Wait. Uploading?

Mystique's breath trembled in her throat as she realized what was happening. They'd been a step ahead after all. All the data in the system was being pulled from the heart of the network. It was copying over. But to where? Thinking quickly, she stalled the system with a few rudimentary tasks and installed the program file that would simultaneously copy all remaining information to the flash card. While the program ran, she used every skill at her disposal to trace the IP the data was dumping to.

207.


142.


131.


24-

And it was gone. The screen went black as the system triggered the operating system to uninstall itself. She could likely have pulled the information from the harddrive, but that would require taking the system with her. That, she had no time for.

Pulling the flash drive free and locking it back onto the chain, Mystique picked up her gun again and stepped into the hallway.

"I'm nearly out," she said out loud. "Do what you came to do."

Running towards the stairwell, she anticipated being intercepted by another spec-ops soldier, but saw no one. It wasn't until she got down to the lobby again that she heard his footsteps on the marble floor.

[mystique]

"I spy something blue... " Came the all-too memorable voice of Wade Wilson, aka Deadpool.

"Oh wait, no, reports tell me I spy something peach. Still fancy, mind you, still fancypants extraordinaire. You cut through this place's security like Oprah through a buffet..." Deadpool's foodsteps had halted, and he was at least eight feet away. "hmmm... no, that's dated. Wait, is it? I can't tell. She's fat, she's skinny, fat, skinny. I mean, I'd still do her, but that's probably the money talking. Where was I? Oh yeah, Blue." He laughed out loud. "Blue! How long has it been? fifteen years?"

Mystique closed her eyes. She'd know that voice if it spoke softly in a crowd of hundreds. And while she had been able to best him on the train when she was mutant and he human, he had gotten the best of her when he became a mutant as well. Now here they were, as if everything had come full circle. She a human, he a mutant. It was enough to make her lose her mind.

As if rape were not enough.

Coolly, she turned and faced him. Her blue eyes burned through him, curtained by two crescents of ebon black hair. This was the woman he knew on the train.

Mystique nodded. "That's right," she said with an icy poison in her voice. "Fifteen years."

In a sudden move he was surely expecting, she launched herself off her feet, arching to backflip behind the stairwell guard. Before her feet landed, her hand had pulled the Desert eagle from its holster and as she crouched, both hands raised with triggers compressed. One bullet sped to him silent as wind, the other cracked so loudly into the silence any experienced gunman would know what weapon she carried.

Deadpool was dashing to the side when her first shots fired, and he had drawn his other .45. The twin pistols cracked reports that were a mere fraction the potency of her Desert Eagle Hand-Cannon. His mad sprint left her trail of gunshots as explosions in plaster and wood behind him, and his own continuous stream of fire bursting apart the interior design of the hospital in an explosion of focused chaos.

Sliding behind a clerk's desk, the cover being ripped to shreds by gunfire, he roared: "Going John Woo on me are you? I see you've updated for modern times! I ditched the old James Bond single small arm in the eighties, too. I find that in these tight spots, the two-gun approach really brings out much better choreography... allows for more exploding background affects, and generally makes you look cooler."

God how she hated him. It was incredibly rare when she found herself in a spot quite so tight, and though she wasn't about to admit it to herself, Mystique knew she was at an alarming disadvantage. But she was a survivor. And maybe, if Wade Wilson was still as insane as he had been years before, she had a chance to talk her way out of this.

"I thought we had an understanding?" she pressed her forehead to the drywall of the alcove, shifting positions to keep him from pinpointing a shot. "You were supposed to fuck off and die-" She risked a few shots in his direction, barely able to see her target for the hail of dust and splintered wood "-and I was supposed to dance on your grave?" Mystique tossed the nine aside, swallowing hard as she realized she was quickly running out of ammunition. It didn't help that she could hear John screaming in her earpiece. If either of them lived through this, she'd kick his ass for making her misfire out of worry.

"Oh was THAT the deal, my love?" He slid from his spot once more, dashing even closer to her while barely avoiding her pop shots. Even without her mutant abilities, she was still one of the most dangerous people Wade had ever encountered. He leapt over another counter, once closer, and the wall behind him quickly disappeared in a shower of debris. His guns popped in ear-aching rythm as he provided his own cover-fire.

"I think the note you gave me was all wrong, then. It said something about Mystique Heart Deadpool and Mystique Plus Deadpool Number Four and Ever. I mean, maybe I misread it..." He leaned over, popping a few shots from around the edge.

"Oh I was thinking... the problem with doing Aeon Flux Cosplay when breaking in here was the startlingly short supply of places to hide clips and ammunition. I mean, at least that's why I chose not to do it... and when I got here and the other Spec-Ops guy had on my Lara Croft outfit, I had to change."

He was right, but he also knew she wasn't anticipating NovaTeX would have this level of protection outside Sentinels. As she gritted her teeth, throwing her arm back over the alcove wall, she fired once, then twice, the second bullet striking Wade's shoulder. The third shot-

Failed. She was out of bullets.

"Aichi-maichi! You just shot me! What the hell's wrong with you?" He grunted, but stood up anyway. He casually walked across the lobby floor, feet crunching on broken glass and plaster. By the time he'd covered half the distance, his regeneration had healed the wound. "Ahh man, that stings, baby. I'm sorry Blue, didn't mean to get all Ike Turner on you there."

He then stood over her, his gun, which held a single bullet left in it's chamber, was aimed casually down at her. "Okay, so anyway, like I was saying. I heard you lost your powers? That blows, man."

It wasn't the first time Mystique had come this close to death. In her line of work, it was always a possibility- one you didn't realize was an inevitability until you were face down in your own blood. It wasn't the first time she'd been introduced to death by Wade Wilson, either. But it was the first time she thought she might not be fast enough, good enough, tough enough to survive.

"I'm sorry John..." she whispered to her earpiece, eyes turned up to look her killer in the eye.

Deadpool didn't know who John was, and didn't seem to care. He casually flicked his gun to an aiming position, and squeezed the trigger. The cracking gunshot peppered the air with the stink of gunpowder, and when the smoke cleared it was clear his last shot had been placed solidly in her shoulder. The exact spot she'd shot him moments earlier.

Mystique let out a scream, a hand gripping her shoulder as she gritted her teeth. He hadn't killed her. Oh god, he hadn't killed her! A bare foot kicked out and slammed against crumbling plasted.

Deadpool nodded at his handiwork, and took a turned to take a few steps back. Tossing his empty guns to each side, he half turned to her. "By the way, my love, I set up this little meeting all special like. There are six Spec-Ops guys in here, and normally they'd all be running down and there'd be a killin' and all that, but I figured we could cut straight to the good stuff.."

"But I ordered those shmoes and the guys outside to hold off until my signal. That way we get some 'alone time'. That isn't to be confused with 'little fireman time', by the way." Deadpool drew his two adamantium ninja-to, and spun to face her again, flinging his arms out to each side as he did so. The swords flew straight, each embedding deep into the far walls. "There... now's the part in the program where we start a whuppin' on each other, Old school. Except spell that 'school' with a k, because, you know, it's cooler that way."

Two strides brought him back to her, and he grabbed her violently by the hair, and jerked her to her feet. He shoved her out onto the open lobby floor, now covered in broken glass and plaster, slowly approached her. "Do you hear that sound, Mr. Anderson?" He asked in a deep, methodical voice.

Mystique was beyond caring for her own safety, her earpiece flying from her ear and clattering across the room. Glass dug into her skin, but she ignored it. If she was going to die, this crazy asshole was coming with her. Closing her eyes a moment in her crouch, she swept her hand through the glass on the floor.

Barely lifting her head, one hand tossed shards of glass up into Wade's face, the other hand planting on the ground. Her legs kicked out to one side, heels planting against his knee with all her force. Before he could react, she somersaulted backwards to a stand, blood beginning to run down her wrists and calves.

"OW!" Deadpool cried, knee buckling and sending him down into a kneel on the glass. Little of it bothered him through his leather armor, but he'd still come really close to losing an eye there - and a knee. He shook his head, and hopped up to his feet charging at her. "Now we're talkin'!" His charge quickly became a text-book flying side kick.

Catching her breath enough to just barely dodge him, she turned with his momentum and pushed him to the ground on his back. Planting a glass-laden foot on his neck, the toes of her opposite foot slid under his head as she threw herself to the ground as well, twisting her body. If she was lucky, his neck would be broken by the time she hit the floor.

If she were lucky, she'd still be a mutant, and they'd be on equal footing. As it was, they weren't. He twisted with her movement, his strength and speed notches above her thanks to his alteration, and he ended with his hands clasped to her ankles. She ended up smashing into the glass and plaster with a painful combination of crackles and crunches.

Deadpool was on his feet instantly, his hands still holding her by her ankles. He spun around like a discus thrower, dragging her whole body along the length of rubble, and throwing her along the floor towards the clerks counter. She flew halfway there, crashed and skidded the other half before crashing through the already shot up wood and into the reception area.

"See? That's why I'm the tri-state bowling champ!"

Mystique felt her body struggle to hold itself together, simply unable to keep up with the man. The black lycra was cut in several places, splitting open where glass had cut into her skin. She coughed, feeling a broken rib's stabbing pain like a harmony to the white-hot burn in her shoulder.

She was not going to make it. Mystique had never quite felt it so prevalently before. At least, she was going to die on her feet. Standing, she picked a shard of glass out of her bottom lip and rolled her shattered shoulder, grinding her teeth with a soft grunt.

Deadpool walked across the lobby casually, fists raising only as he came within attack range of the bloody Mystique, who was meeting him halfway. No words, for once, were exchanged as he threw a low kick at her. Though injured, she moved with ease, dodging the kick and countering. Back and forth they went, no noise in the building but the whirring of air, and the soft *thap* of fist or foot on blocking forearm or hand.

A blur of attacks and counters they were, though throughout Deadpool clearly had the upper hand. Every third exchange would see him landing a strong backfist to her face, a knee to her gut, a hard kick to her already injured ribs...

After a few minutes of this, he managed to side-step high side kick, and hook an arm around her neck. Back to her back, he dropped to his knees and jerked her up over him, flinging her upside down as hard as he could in a reverse hip-toss fashion.

The toss bent her nearly in half, as she began to pass out from shock and exertion. Like a ragdoll she was thrown in the air, flipping once in the air. As her feet passed over her head, something changed.

A ripple of blue cascaded over her form, beneath the black lyra from bloodied to to busted fingertip, the once pale skin had returned to its former shade. Mystique landed on her feet, the momentum sliding her backward on her heels. A hand came to rest on the floor, balancing her. When she looked up, it was through hate-filled golden eyes. She screamed at him through her teeth.

"Blue! You're back! Have you been fuckin' with me this entire time, or did our love just give you your powers back!?" Deadpool asked, quite seriously. He sounded as if in wonder.

Pulling the lycra off her body, she took a moment to consider all the things she was going to do to this crazy rapist bastard.

Deadpool clenched his fists, raised them once more, and seemed likely to not be able to control his glee. "Now this, ladies and germs, is where it gets good. Someone cue the electronic industrial music, the real fight scene is about to begin!"

As if timed for that exact moment, the werehouse building explosion went off, rocking the city streets for blocks. The impact wave of the thing shattered the glass windows lining the lobby they stood in, dust and debris sent up in a low fog. The echo from the explosion resounded for a moment like thunder...

[deadpool]

Mystique charged in, her hatred fueling her skill. A side-cartwheel was used as both a misdirection and a two-footed assault, both of which worked. Deadpool winced as her now-leathery foot raked across his face, knocking him back into a stumble. Oh yeah, Mystique was definitely back.


He countered immediately with a combination of punches, all bobbed and weaved effectively by the revitalized (though still injured) Mystique. She ducked under the last and leaned forward, grinning savagely as her foot whipped up over her back and cracked Wade in the face like a strike from a scorpion's tail.


"Agh! Jesus Christ, woman! Ya eat your spinach or something, Popeye?" The two gloved hands holding his nose made this last quip barely audible.


She wasted no words in response, no seconds to enjoy his pain, only attacked again and again, feet trained in on his vitals with practiced perfection. Deadpool skipped backwards, doing all he could to block the dizzying display of kicks. As he caught her foot in an attempt to smash his grapes, she backflipped off the other, using it to kick him under the chin. She landed from the perfect backlip on her feet. He landed from the kick on his back.


Deadpool rolled backwards with the impact, frantic to avoid the wheeling axe-kick that showered the area in broken glass and plaster. He'd dodged, just as she had when he had tried the same move over twenty years ago. "Sweet Irony!" he shouted.


He was in a crouch, and spun forward with both hands planted, arching both his legs out in a sweep. In a very Capoeira type dodge, she did a forward handstand over his legs, and retaliated with a scintillating roundhouse.


The kick blasted him back into another roll, and again she aggressively brought on the assault. Deadpool, for the first time in a very, very long time, believed firmly he'd found someone who was on par with him in this arena. Now that their powers had evened, their skill had a chance to shine... and though she had many more years of life than him, Wade had been intensely training in his art since he was five. That being said, he was still unsure if he'd win this fight, and convince his love that they should be together. He needed to get dirty.


He reversed his roll, gymnastically going from backwards to forward, dodging her next onslaught. On his feet, he ducked another acrobatic kick, and popped her in the eye with a thumb. It did it's job excellently, opening the window for his own surge of assault. Two meaty hooks rocked Mystique's beautiful face back and forth, a trio of hard uppercuts smashed her stomach and solar plexus, and the topper was a hair-wrench to jumping knee to the face – which planted into her nose and mouth with grotesque effectiveness.


She fell flat to her back, nose broken.


Deadpool took the opportunity to speak on a few matters, right after shaking his head clear from the severe beating it had taken in the last few minutes.


"Okay okay, so I know things may be moving along a bit to seriously for you, but I assure you – I'm not saying we should get MARRIED or anything. Look, how about you move into my apartment? It's a two bedroom, so we'll have plenty of room to put your stuff in... besides, I was thinking that we- "


He never got a chance to finish. A loud crack echoed throughout the room, and a small hole appeared in his mask-covered forehead. He held a slightly confused look as a smoking plume issued from the hole. Then he fell to the debris covered floor in a heap.


Mystique held the .45 that Deadpool dropped earlier, the one that hadn't been fully emptied.