Chapter 8

As Noah was absorbed in thought, he noticed a hooded figure approaching.

"Well, did you find your girlfriend?" he asked.

"I did."

Wade's face was hidden beneath the hood, but his voice was somber.

"But I couldn't face her. Right now, I'm nothing but a complete monster. You didn't see the way people looked at me. It was worse than if they'd seen a zombie. If Vanessa saw me like this, looking like a ghost, I wouldn't blame her for treating me like one and shooting me on sight."

Noah patted Wade on the shoulder, trying to reassure him. "Don't worry, you've got a regenerative healing factor now. One shot won't kill you."

"..."

Wade stared at him, incredulous. Was this Noah's idea of comfort?

"Enough about that. Let me take you to meet a friend of mine," Wade muttered, turning into the alley. Noah followed quietly behind him.

They stopped in front of an iron door deep in the alley. Wade banged on it loudly.

"Weasel, your daddy Wade is back! Open up!"

Noah glanced at the crooked sign hanging beside the door.

Sister Margaret's School for Wayward Children.

The name was peculiar, but Noah recognized it—this was the mercenary bar Wade frequented.

After a moment, the iron door swung open, revealing a disheveled man with glasses. His wide-eyed expression turned to disbelief as he saw Wade standing there.

"Wade? You really crawled out of your grave?!"

…

Later, the three of them sat at the bar, Wade and Noah devouring the food they had just bought. Weasel watched helplessly.

"So, let me get this straight," Weasel began, sighing. "You cured your cancer, escaped that Mutant club with your… bed buddy, and now you've ended up here?"

"That's right!" Wade said through a mouthful of food, casually grabbing an unopened bottle of wine from the bar. He ignored Weasel's pained expression as he popped it open and drank straight from the bottle.

Noah, uninterested in drinking, instead reached into the freezer and pulled out a bottle of soda. He chugged it quickly.

Ton ton ton...

Weasel's face twitched as he watched them. These two really came here just to eat and drink for free?!

But as Wade's friend, Weasel was used to this by now. He glanced at Wade, who still hadn't removed his hood, and tried to reason with him.

"Wade, Vanessa loves you. She spent the entire year you were gone searching for you. I doubt she's going to care about your appearance."

"Oh yeah?"

Wade pulled back his hood, revealing his scarred and disfigured face.

"Does this look like something she'd love?"

"Absolutely not," Weasel answered without hesitation, shaking his head.

Wade turned to Noah. "Do you like it?"

Noah paused. This was a loaded question. But Wade was his friend, so he couldn't just say something that would crush his self-esteem.

After thinking for a moment, Noah said cautiously, "It's... unique. Definitely special."

He had to admit, the comment seemed to make Wade feel a little better.

Wade perked up, hope flashing in his eyes. "Really? What's so special about it?"

"Uh... special, yeah. Special in that... well..."

Noah glanced around, struggling to find the right words. Eventually, he gave up and bit the bullet.

"It's very ugly."

Wade: "..."

Weasel: "..."

Seeing Wade's terrifyingly disfigured face, Weasel abandoned any thought of persuasion.

There was no way—this face was just too scary.

As that thought crossed his mind, Weasel suddenly looked at Noah Clover.

"Wade, didn't you say you both have the same abilities? Why didn't his face change?"

When they had arrived, Wade had told Weasel everything, including the details of both his and Noah's abilities.

Wade had assumed that Noah's powers came from the same genetic mutation as his own.

In reality, Noah's abilities had nothing to do with mutant genes, but rather came from something akin to a super-high-school-level skill.

Noah, sipping on a sugary soda, casually explained, "The cancer cells in Wade's body weren't entirely eliminated. They're just not growing as fast as his self-healing cells. That's why he looks like that. Wanna touch it?"

"Poor Wade, I get you, I really do. After all, your face looks like a cross between a mutant avocado and a ghost. Who wouldn't be uncomfortable? But hey, there are other options—like a remake of Elm Street. You look exactly like Freddy's twin brother."

Weasel, true to his sense of humor, wasn't helping.

His words didn't comfort Wade at all; in fact, they only fueled his rage.

Smack!

Wade slammed the table and immediately stood up. "I've changed my mind. Before I see Vanessa, I'm going to find Francis, make that scumbag fix my face, and pay him back—everything he did to me, I'll return in full. Then, I'll blow a hole in his skull and use his head as a m********ion cup from then on!"

Weasel grimaced. "Yeah, no, I don't want to know that. And I really don't want to picture it."

"But, this Francis you're talking about—he doesn't know you're still alive, does he?"

"Nope, he should think we're both dead," Noah replied with a nod.

At that time, Noah Clover overheard what Francis said before he left. It was clear that, in Francis' eyes, both he and Wade had perished in the fire.

"As a friendly reminder," Noah said, "if you're going after Francis, you'd better disguise yourself—maybe wear a mask or something. And Wade, no offense, but your current appearance is too easy to recognize. You might want to spare our eyes too."

Wade wasn't offended. He nodded in agreement. "You're right, and I want to give myself a stage name, a codename like Captain America. How about Captain Wade? What do you think?"

"That's terrible," Noah replied. "You might as well call yourself Captain Freddy. The enemies would think they're on the set of Elm Street when they see you."

"Let's just call it Deadpool."

Noah pointed to the blackboard hanging above the bar.

There were various names and bets scribbled on it. This mercenary bar had a quirky custom: people bet on which mercenary would die first within a certain period, and the winner would get double the payout.

At the top of the blackboard, a single word stood out in large English letters:

DEADPOOL! (Translation: Deadpool, Deadpool)

Hearing the name, Wade's eyes lit up.

"Deadpool! That name sounds good. Let's go with that!"

Noah asked curiously, "But how do you plan to find Francis? That guy ran off, and the research facility burned down, so there shouldn't be any trace left."

"How do you think I got involved in that experiment in the first place?" Wade smirked.

He explained, "They needed a lot of test subjects, but they didn't want to attract too much attention, so their recruitment was pretty secretive. If we follow that lead, we'll eventually track down Francis' exact identity and location."

"Okay then, work hard. I'll help when the time comes," Noah said.

Noah didn't offer to assist right away, and Wade didn't ask him to join in. Despite Noah's super healing abilities, his overall combat strength was lacking, especially in America, where guns were the main theme. As a seasoned mercenary, Wade didn't need help from a novice like Noah when it came to handling firearms.

So, both of them tacitly avoided discussing it any further.

For Noah, there was something more pressing to deal with than getting revenge on Francis.

He needed to solve the issue of his identity.

As a time traveler, Noah was an out-and-out undocumented person in this world. Especially in America, where police frequently demanded identification. Without it, living a normal life in the future might be nothing more than a luxury.

Noah urgently needed legal identification.

As for how to go about it…

Noah rubbed his chin thoughtfully and shifted his gaze to Weasel.

"I hear you're recruiting mercenaries here. Think I'd be a good fit?"