The Everlife Medical Center was quiet, filled only with the soft scent of crushed herbs and the occasional hum from the pharmaceutical lab.
Soren moved like a practiced apothecary, sorting his harvested blood orchid petals with care.
Their blooming had come earlier than expected, a minor miracle in a week. In the background, tiny bubbles danced in glass vials, slowly distilling tomorrow's treatments.
Then he felt it.
Presence.
A sharp ripple in the air, like static clinging to your skin.
There, standing in his doorway as if conjured from nowhere, was Deadpool.
Soren's lips curled.
"Come in and sit down. I'll be out in a minute." He called out coolly, not even bothering to turn around.
Deadpool froze mid-reach toward the doorbell.
"Okay... creepy voice from nowhere, but polite. I like it."
By the time Soren emerged from the lab, gloves off, coat draped over one shoulder, Deadpool was already sitting cross-legged on the waiting bench, swinging his feet like a child at the DMV.
"Doc Soren! You do exist. I was starting to think you were an urban legend with a scalpel fetish. Hey, so, about last time? Real sorry about the whole breaking-Max-out-of-custody thing. Water under the bridge?"
Soren raised an eyebrow.
"Is that before or after you helped him escape?"
"Semantics." Deadpool said, waving a gloved hand. "But... you've been saying something about my face? That you could fix it?"
"Yes." Soren replied, folding his arms. "But let's get something clear: I don't treat cowards in masks. If you're serious... show me what I'm working with."
Deadpool hesitated.
For all his bravado, the mask was sacred. A shield from the world's disgust, and maybe even his own. Still, he let out a dramatic sigh.
"Alright. Prepare to gaze into the abyss."
He tugged the mask up.
And Soren, despite himself, grimaced.
It wasn't just scar tissue. It was a face ravaged, a battlefield of half-healed burns, melted flesh, and twitching nerves.
Skin peeled and reformed in irregular patches. Lips sewn, then torn. Even the whites of his eyes seemed stained.
"I've seen third-degree burns that looked gentler than this." Soren muttered, already activating his system scan.
A blue screen hovered just behind his eyes:
[Wade Wilson: Deadpool]
[World Tier: Class A]
[Abilities: Regeneration Lv 9, Teleportation Lv 8, Optic Energy Blast Lv 7, Swordsmanship Lv 7, Firearms Mastery Lv 7, Hand-to-Hand Combat Lv 7]
Soren's heart gave an excited thump. This Deadpool has integrated multiple mutant abilities, which is amazing.
Deadpool sat stiffly on the operating table, the cold steel biting through his suit. For once, he was quiet. No unnecessary puns...
"This is the real me." He said, his voice lower than usual. "Not the mask. This mess of a face... is me."
There was something in his tone, tired dignity clinging to the edge of mockery.
"Can you really heal me?" He asked, not with hope, but caution, like a man who's been burned too many times.
Soren didn't hesitate.
"Yes, come with me."
He turned on his heel, already walking down the corridor to the treatment room.
In truth, looking at Deadpool's face too long made his stomach churn. He was a doctor. He had seen it all.
But Wade's condition wasn't just disfigurement, it was a biological paradox, a constant war between healing and decay.
Dinner's off the table if I stare any longer.
Inside the treatment room, sterile lights hummed above, and Deadpool lay down on the table without a word.
"Just so you know." Deadpool mumbled, "I'm not worried. Pretty sure I can regrow my spleen from a papercut. You'd have to try really, really hard to kill me."
"Good." Soren replied, his hand already glowing faintly. "I'm not here to kill you. Just dissect your suffering and fix it."
He raised his palm, and a soft white light surged around it. The air shimmered. Threads of pure life force curled through the space, not touching Deadpool directly, but weaving into him, like microscopic surgeons re-knitting his DNA, atom by atom.
The burned tissue relaxed. Mutated skin began to smooth. Ugly ridges softened and vanished.
Across his body, not just the face, skin began to regenerate, turning pink and supple again. Wade's breathing grew deeper, steadier.
To Soren, this was barely a warm-up.
With a final pulse of energy, he let the power dim.
"Okay."
Deadpool blinked.
"Okay what?"
"You're done."
"What? That's it?" Deadpool bolted upright, flexing his jaw. "Didn't even feel a thing! That's almost disappointing."
He pulled a long knife from his thigh holster, using the mirrored blade to check himself out.
His jaw dropped.
"Holy crap. I'm... hot! I mean... halfway."
He turned the blade slightly and froze.
The other half of his face stared back: twisted, ulcerated, rotten.
"What the hell?! Why is half my face still Freddy Krueger on vacation?!" he shouted, voice rising in disbelief.
Soren remained still, calm, unbothered.
"Because, my dear Wade... this is a transaction."
Deadpool stared.
"You healed half my face just to mess with me?!"
"No." Soren said with a faint smile. "I healed half because you haven't paid me yet."
The room went quiet.
Deadpool lowered the blade. His voice was lower now, almost cautious.
"...So how much are we talking here? You take Venmo? Bitcoin? Some rare Pokémon cards?"
"Money isn't the currency I need." Soren replied, walking over to the counter and picking up a small vial. "I need action."
Wade narrowed his eyes.
"Hitman gig?"
"Let's call it... justice." Soren said, turning to face him.
"Last time, you were hired to take Max out of my hands. Someone sent you. Someone paid you. And that someone's existence... annoys me."
Deadpool nodded slowly.
"You want them gone?"
"I want you to make them disappear. Their entire operation. I want to sleep at night knowing my enemies aren't plotting under the shade of anonymity."
Deadpool tapped his chin.
"Sounds... like a Tuesday."
"Complete the mission." Soren said, voice soft but firm. "And I'll finish healing your face."
Deadpool rubbed the still-disfigured side of his face, his expression unreadable for a second.
Then...
"You got yourself a deal, Doctor Frankenstein."
"But I want the pretty side symmetrical. None of that Phantom of the Opera aesthetic, alright?"
"You do your part... and I'll give you a face the world will beg to see again."
꧁𓊈𒆜༺⚜༻𒆜𓊉꧂
Dare you peek into my other tales? The opening three chapters of select stories are free to all.
PhantomDream