Claire took Blindspot with her.
Deadpool had offered, very enthusiastically, to go along and help. He listed all the useful things he could do: carry medical supplies, hold bandages, fetch water, open doors, make jokes to keep morale high, and generally serve as a handsome and professional assistant.
Claire rejected him without hesitation.
Absolutely not.
She knew Wade too well by now. Even if he did not cause an actual disaster, his nonstop talking alone would be enough to destroy any chance of a calm medical treatment. If she let him into the car, Blindspot might survive the blood loss only to die from irritation.
So Deadpool could only stand there and watch Claire's car disappear into the night.
He placed both hands on his hips and sighed like a tragic hero abandoned by society.
This world was too cold.
Where was the basic trust between people?
Was he really the kind of person who would fool around while a friend was treating a badly injured apprentice?
He stood there for a moment and thought seriously about it.
Then he nodded to himself.
Alright.
Self-awareness was a virtue.
He was exactly that kind of person.
But that was not the point.
The important thing was that Claire did not trust him.
That was the real injustice here.
Deadpool folded his arms and snorted.
"Outrageous."
With nowhere else to go and no one willing to appreciate his many talents, he changed into civilian clothes and headed for a place that always welcomed the strange, the violent, and the completely unemployable.
Sisters Margaret's Bar.
At this hour, Hell's Kitchen should have been half asleep. But Sisters Margaret's never slept properly. As the unofficial job market for mercenaries, bounty hunters, crooked fixers, and every morally flexible soul in the city, it remained lively well past midnight.
No one in Hell's Kitchen with a working brain wanted to start trouble there for no reason. The people inside lived by the blade, the gun, the bomb, and sometimes by debts that smelled worse than corpses in summer. Even gangsters preferred to avoid them unless business demanded it.
The moment Deadpool stepped inside, warm noise crashed into him like a wave.
The bar was packed.
Beer sloshed. Chairs scraped. Laughter burst from every corner. Half the room smelled of cheap alcohol, old smoke, bad decisions, and unpaid blood money.
A massive man at one of the tables slammed down his bottle, wiped his mouth, and shouted to the room, "Let me ask you all something!"
The surrounding mercenaries turned toward him with the lazy curiosity of people who had seen too much and feared too little.
The man leaned back and grinned.
"When you're playing poker, do you stare straight into your girlfriend's face?"
A few whistles rose immediately.
The man chuckled, pleased with the attention.
"I tried it last night, and wow…"
He smacked his lips like he was still enjoying the memory.
At once the room exploded into hoots, jeers, and filthy laughter. Some yelled yes. Some yelled no. A few started arguing as if the question carried serious philosophical weight.
Then the door opened, and Deadpool walked in.
"Hey, Wade, perfect timing," someone shouted from the side. "You answer it. Would you do that?"
Deadpool strolled toward the bar like a man arriving at his own talk show.
"Of course not," he said.
A few people booed.
He dragged out a chair, sat down, and added, "I did it once."
That got everyone's attention again.
Deadpool leaned on the counter like he was sharing a painful confession.
"She got extremely angry. Like, really angry. Like she wanted to tear me limb from limb."
He paused.
"And then she did."
The room went silent for half a second.
"Ever since then," Deadpool went on solemnly, "I haven't dared look her in the eyes again."
The strong man who had asked the question frowned. "Why would she get angry? Shouldn't she get shy?"
Deadpool looked honestly confused.
"Exactly! I still don't understand it."
He spread his hands.
"It wasn't even a big deal."
He lowered his voice dramatically.
"Is it just because she was standing outside the window?"
For one frozen moment, nobody reacted.
Then the entire bar erupted.
Men nearly fell out of their chairs laughing. Someone pounded the table so hard his drink spilled. One mercenary in the back actually choked on his beer.
Deadpool nodded to himself, satisfied.
Good. The audience was warmed up.
"A Bloody Mary," he said, sliding into position at the counter.
Behind the bar, Weasel gave him a long look while wiping a glass.
"You know," Deadpool said, "you set me up with a very troublesome job."
Weasel lifted both hands at once. "Not me. Buck made the introduction."
At once Deadpool turned his head.
Buck, sitting farther down the bar, instantly dropped his face into his folded arms and pretended to be deeply unconscious from alcohol.
Deadpool stared at him.
Coward.
Weasel leaned forward slightly. "So? Is Ms. Ketchup's mission over?"
He deliberately chose his words carefully. Over, not completed. He knew Wade well enough to understand that Deadpool might mock Daredevil all day, but he would not actually do serious harm to him.
Deadpool took the drink, swirled the red liquid in the glass, and stared into it.
The Bloody Mary sloshed in a rich crimson spiral. In his eyes it probably looked like two glamorous ketchup models fighting for screen time.
"What do you think?" he said.
Weasel sighed dreamily. "If you ask me, I wouldn't mind a girlfriend like that."
Deadpool turned to him.
Weasel rested his chin in his palm and gazed into the middle distance as if he were reciting poetry.
"Beautiful face. Incredible figure. Dressed in red so bright it could set a man's blood on fire." He let out a breath. "A goddess."
Deadpool snorted. "Please. Every woman is a goddess in your eyes."
For reasons no one had fully understood, Weasel had entered some kind of desperate mating season over the last two years. He had transformed from a twitchy rodent-like bartender into a permanently lovesick idiot.
Deadpool had not forgotten last year's disaster, when Weasel had somehow developed a crush on old Mrs. Ellis from down the block. The poor woman had nearly fainted in terror, convinced that Weasel had found the stash of suspicious white powder she had hidden under the utility cabinet and had come to murder her for it.
The truth had been even stranger.
There had been no powder left under the cabinet at all.
Deadpool had replaced it with sugar months earlier just to see what would happen.
It had been hilarious.
And also deeply disturbing.
Deadpool lifted his glass and said, "I'd bet fifty cents that your goddess is currently using my best friend's best friend to heal her broken heart."
Weasel let out a tragic sigh. "I wish."
"Don't be sad," Deadpool said, patting his shoulder with fake sympathy. "At least I can offer you one piece of good news."
Weasel looked up hopefully. "What?"
"My best friend is blind."
Weasel blinked.
Deadpool continued, "So at least he can't stare lovingly into your goddess's eyes."
Weasel slammed the counter. "Damn it!"
Boom!
The front door of the bar exploded inward.
Wood shattered. Glass sprayed through the air. A graceful figure flew backward into the room, twisted in midair with impossible agility, and landed on all fours like a striking animal.
The bar instantly fell silent.
Buck jerked upright from his fake drunken coma and squinted at the newcomer.
"Who's that?"
The woman was tall and athletic, dressed in a white fitted battle suit marked with black accents. A hood framed her face, and pointed ear-like shapes rose from it, giving her a fierce predatory silhouette. Her long black hair was tied into a high ponytail that still fell all the way to her waist.
One hand pressed against her abdomen.
Her breathing was controlled, but not steady.
Her eyes were locked on the ruined doorway.
Deadpool took a sip of his drink.
"How should I know?" he said lazily. "She isn't exactly white."
Of course, he knew perfectly well who she was.
White Tiger.
A street-level hero empowered by a magical jade tiger amulet. The charm granted her enhanced strength, sharper reflexes, and combat ability far beyond that of an ordinary human. In the right hands, it could turn someone into a living weapon.
Thinking of that, Deadpool's gaze dropped briefly to her slim waist.
There it was.
A delicate tiger-striped jade pendant hung at her side.
Then, to Deadpool's genuine surprise, Weasel suddenly sat up straighter.
"I know her," he whispered.
Deadpool looked at him. "You do?"
Weasel's eyes shone with reverence.
"She is my goddess."
Deadpool stared.
Then he slowly put down his drink.
"Let me get this straight," he said. "You fell in love with a bottle of ketchup earlier, and now you've upgraded to a bottle of salad dressing?"
Weasel put a hand over his heart. "Why not? That's what love is."
He sighed deeply and declared, "Like ketchup mixed with salad dressing. Sweet and sour."
Deadpool closed his eyes for one full second, as if asking heaven for patience.
Then he turned to Buck.
"Buck. Opinion?"
Buck grabbed his beer, took a huge swig, and slammed his fist against the counter.
"Mixed sauces are heresy!"
Deadpool pointed at him immediately. "Excellent answer."
Then everyone's attention shifted back toward the doorway.
The dust settled.
And the large shape standing there became clear.
A broad-shouldered middle-aged man stepped over the wreckage with the calm confidence of a predator entering a pen full of livestock. He wore a heavy fur cloak over his shoulders, a rough open shirt across his chest, and around his waist a tiger-skin garment that made it impossible to tell whether he was trying to survive winter or impress a museum.
His beard was thick.
His face was harsh.
His eyes were focused only on White Tiger.
Kraven the Hunter.
Deadpool looked once and understood the situation immediately.
There was no mystery here.
Kraven had seen prey he found worthy.
And he had decided to claim it.
White Tiger was strong, fast, fierce, and empowered by mystical magic. To a man like Kraven, that was not a person. That was the hunt itself calling his name.
A dangerous woman with a tiger spirit wrapped around her body?
Honestly, what hunter could resist that?
Kraven stepped forward.
Thump.
Thump.
Thump.
The sound of him walking across broken wood was strangely heavy.
Then, all at once—
Click. Click. Click.
The bar filled with the metallic chorus of guns being cocked.
Dozens of weapons rose.
Black muzzles pointed straight at Kraven from every direction.
Every mercenary in the room had drawn.
Kraven did not even slow down.
He only turned his head slightly and cast one cold glance across the room.
"My target is her," he said. "Only her."
His voice was quiet, but it carried through the bar like a blade sliding free.
"If any of you wish to die for no reason, I do not mind taking extra heads home with me."
The threat was simple.
And absolutely believable.
White Tiger immediately straightened despite the pain in her side.
"Don't move!" she shouted.
She knew exactly how dangerous Kraven was because she had already fought him.
And lost.
Even with the power of the jade amulet strengthening her body, she had still failed to stop him. If she had trouble against him, then most of the people in this bar—dangerous as they were—would just become corpses if things escalated too far.
Kraven smiled, showing teeth.
"Still resisting, little tiger?"
He reached toward his waist and rested one hand on the bone dagger tucked there.
"Truthfully, I only want the amulet."
His gaze dropped to the jade charm.
"Give it to me, and I will not hurt you."
For once, he was not lying.
Without the amulet, White Tiger would be an ordinary woman.
And Kraven had no interest in hunting ordinary people.
White Tiger's hands curled into claws.
Sharp nails extended.
Her jaw tightened.
"You can dream."
Kraven's smile widened.
"Good."
He drew the bone knife from his waist.
"If you surrendered now, I would be disappointed."
The air in the bar changed instantly.
Mercenaries adjusted their grips.
Chairs scraped backward.
Weasel swallowed.
Buck quietly reached for another weapon.
Deadpool lifted his Bloody Mary and watched with open interest, like a man settling in for the next act of a beautifully stupid play.
Because now there was no longer any doubt.
A fight was about to begin.
----------------------------------------------
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