First Encounter with Deadpool

Aiden stepped forward, donning the black trench coat he'd acquired, tucking the firearm into an inner pocket, and walked out. Circling back around a kilometer away, Aiden returned to the bar front. This time, without any hesitation, he walked straight into the shabby little tavern.

The warm air hit him as he entered, contrasting starkly with the quiet, cold streets outside. The bar's patrons seemed to be celebrating as if it were Christmas, drinking heavily. Aiden even noticed a couple energetically "working" on the pool table set in the middle of the room, seemingly unnoticed by the rest. The clamor made Aiden's head buzz; the customers here were different from those he had encountered on the streets. These folks were burlier, their presence more intimidating, exerting an unspoken pressure that could be felt even in passing.

"2016?" Aiden caught sight of the date on a wall clock and was taken aback. Clearly, the world he had entered was years apart from his original one. Maybe from a gaming perspective, as an expansion, the difference was inconsequential. But for Aiden, a living being in this world, it was disconcerting.

"Ah, a new face, come, let me take a look," a voice called out, making its way to Aiden's ears.

This was the first genuine welcome Aiden had received since arriving in this world.

The bar owner Weasel propped himself up on the counter, eyeing the silent, brooding man who had just walked in. The black coat, black pants, and black boots could turn heads, but what truly caught attention were the dark eyes that betrayed a bone-chilling coldness even the toughest mercenary could recognize. Weasel felt a shiver down his spine; his welcome was more of a forced pleasantry.

Aiden was thankful he had worn a coat to cover his metallic arm, preventing a potential commotion. Even so, he looked like a mercenary fresh from the battlefield.

Most of the mercenaries in the bar went on high alert the moment Aiden walked in, watching him carefully. This wasn't special treatment for Aiden; for those who lived and fought on the edge of a knife, being "cautious and careful" was a prerequisite for survival. They never knew if a new face might be there to kill them.

Weasel watched Aiden settle silently onto a bar stool and grew bolder. He leaned in close, sniffing, then his eyes lit up with a bold guess, "The scent of fresh blood. Looks like our bad kids' club is gaining a new member?"

Aiden frowned and said in a low voice, "Maybe, maybe not."

"Ha, I knew it, friend. You're young but possess a quality many can't match. Trust my instinct, I've seen countless scoundrels skate by death, but few like you." Weasel patted himself on the back for his keen eye and handed Aiden a beer, "You're really cool, new friend. How about a drink?"

Aiden simply looked at Weasel, twisted open the beer, and took a gulp, his eyes catching the betting board above. There were many names with various sums of money listed alongside them.

"We're betting on who's gonna kick the bucket. It's quite fun. Wanna place a bet?" Weasel suggested as he observed Aiden's wandering gaze.

But Aiden's attention was captured by the name "Wade," and his memories became clearer. Was this the start of the storyline? Was Wade actually Deadpool?

As Aiden pondered Deadpool's whereabouts, a pale, sickly-looking Caucasian man stumbled into the bar and slumped onto the stool next to him.

"Give me a martini, extra strong, preferably something relaxing," said the man in a distinctive tone that caught Aiden's attention.

Turning, Aiden saw a man of similar build and striking appearance. His eyes widened slightly—this living, breathing person next to him was none other than Deadpool himself.

Was this the chatterbox who had just been talking to him? But why did he seem not to recognize Aiden? If there was a task to create Deadpool, did it mean nothing had started yet? Could it be that the Deadpool who spoke to him was merely a system notification wrapped in Deadpool's shell?

Aiden looked at the soon-to-be disfigured Wade with a sense of pity for the handsome face doomed to become grotesque.

Deadpool, born Wade Wilson, was undoubtedly a famous character in the Marvel universe. His popularity stemmed not only from his skills as a powerful mercenary, proficient in close combat, dual swords, and firearms, but also from his "motor-mouth" attribute, which made him comically entertaining in both comics and films.

Once a human mercenary, Wade turned to a mysterious recruiter who promised to cure his cancer. Desperate, Wade contacted the recruiter and was taken to a shady factory where he endured agony and torture, eventually triggering his latent mutant gene, granting him a superhuman healing factor. The price, however, was that Wade's skin became disgustingly scarred, resembling a rotting shar-pei.

Of course, these were all part of the game's setting. After transforming into Deadpool, he gained near-immortality with his healing abilities. But what truly fascinated fans was his ability to break the fourth wall, speaking directly to the audience, aware that he was a character in a movie—a truly bizarre concept.

Aiden didn't know what to say. Facing a battle-hardened mercenary with a wealth of life experience, he doubted a few words would be enough to befriend him.

"Hey, you little stinker! Why are you staring at me? Are you old enough to be in a bar? Get out, this is a place for grown-ups!" Wade ruffled Aiden's hair playfully, "Is this your Halloween costume? My God, do you realize how far away that damn holiday is? What are you trying to be? A stoic freak?"

Aiden's frown deepened. It was fun watching Deadpool spray his venomous words at others, but it was less enjoyable being on the receiving end.

"You look like you're about to die," Aiden said, leaning in close to Wade.

"Uh, kid, let go, that's not something you should touch. I don't want to teach you a lesson, nor do I want this to accidentally go off in your face," Wade spoke as if his words bypassed his brain, but after speaking, his expression grew serious. He hadn't smelled alcohol on this 'kid,' but rather a faint scent of blood.