In Los Angeles, a stretched luxury car moved slowly along the quiet road, its polished body reflecting the golden city lights. Inside the car, Deadpool sat in the back seat like a nobleman from another era. He crossed his legs and gently swirled a glass of red wine. The deep red liquid spun in slow circles, small bubbles rising to the surface as if celebrating his good mood.
According to the original plan, after meeting Tony Stark and staging that outrageous drama in the Mediterranean—where two generations of "Marvel's chosen saviors" joined hands to defeat terrorists—Deadpool should have quietly left the stage.
That had been the plan.
But plans are weak when money is strong.
Tony had offered too much.
Ten Mexican burrito shops.
Not fake ones. Not imaginary ones. Not "we'll discuss it later" ones.
He had actually bought ten fully operating Mexican burrito shops and transferred them to Deadpool's name.
No one in this world can refuse ten burrito shops.
Absolutely no one.
As for Ethan, after two days of rest in Los Angeles, he returned to the quiet town of Comilla. He preferred peaceful research over dramatic explosions and billionaire chaos.
Deadpool, however, preferred income.
Using the stable profit from his ten burrito shops, he rented a small luxury house in downtown Los Angeles. It was not as big as Tony's mansion, but it had enough space for weapons, snacks, and unnecessary decoration.
The limousine slowly stopped in front of Tony's manor.
After successfully bargaining down the driver by 162.5 U.S. dollars using pure shamelessness and advanced negotiation techniques, Deadpool paid the fare. He ignored the driver's angry muttering as the car drove away.
He looked up at the enormous estate in front of him.
The scale was terrifying.
The walls alone were tall enough to make ordinary people feel small. The lights shone like a private palace.
Deadpool rubbed his chin thoughtfully.
One day, he decided, he would return and carve the entire "Ode to the Humble Room" across these grand walls.
Just to balance the atmosphere.
The wealthy man truly lived up to his reputation.
The massive gate opened automatically.
A calm mechanical voice echoed through hidden speakers.
"Welcome, Mr. Wade. I am Mr. Stark's intelligent butler—Jarvis."
Deadpool tilted his head.
"Thank you, Jarvis. But I don't like your current voice. It's too stiff. Too formal. I bet fifty cents Tony feels the same way."
"As an intelligent butler," Jarvis replied politely, "I am programmed to optimize my Master's comfort."
"Then optimize harder," Deadpool said seriously. "You should change your appearance into a cute virtual assistant with personality. Add charm. Add emotion."
"I do not fully understand, Mr. Wade."
"You're artificial intelligence. You should evolve! Be flexible! Be creative!"
"Noted."
Deadpool nodded with satisfaction. "Good. That's progress."
Jarvis responded smoothly, "Master is currently in the underground workshop. Ms. Pepper is in the living room."
Deadpool gave a thumbs up. "Efficient. I like that."
---
In the Living Room
In the brightly lit living room, Pepper Potts sat on a sofa. A small cake rested on a plate in front of her.
She leaned closer.
Then leaned back.
Closer.
Farther.
Her face showed deep internal struggle.
"Scientific studies show that moderate sweets can improve mood," Deadpool announced as he walked in.
Pepper jumped slightly and turned around. When she saw it was him, she relaxed and smiled.
"But I've already eaten three slices."
"Ah," Deadpool said wisely. "There's a second part to that research."
"And what is that?"
"Too much sugar can make people extremely happy."
Pepper laughed. "That sounds like terrible logic."
She glanced down at her figure and sighed lightly. "If I gain weight, no one will like me."
Deadpool waved his hand. "Simple solution. Control your mouth and move your legs."
Pepper pointed at the cake. "Control my mouth."
Then she placed her hands by her sides and pretended to run. "Move my legs."
"No, no. That method is outdated."
Deadpool raised a finger. "Control your mouth—don't let people say you're fat."
Pepper blinked.
"And move your legs—if someone insists on saying it, walk away faster."
Pepper burst into laughter. "That's not fitness advice. That's emotional defense."
"Same effect," Deadpool replied proudly.
She shook her head, smiling.
"Tony is downstairs in the workshop. You can go directly. Jarvis, open the lower door for Wade."
"Access granted."
Pepper paused slightly.
"…Was that voice always like that?"
Deadpool ignored her confusion and headed downstairs.
---
The Underground Workshop
The moment Deadpool pushed open the workshop door, a silver object came flying toward him at high speed. Smoke trailed behind it, and a robotic arm rushed after it, spraying white extinguishing foam wildly.
Deadpool reacted instantly.
He grabbed the flying object midair, twisted his body, and threw it sideways.
It smashed directly into the door of a luxury sports car and became firmly embedded.
"Nice shot!" Deadpool cheered. "Three points!"
"Ah! My car!!!"
A familiar voice screamed from inside the damaged vehicle.
The car shook violently. Tony crawled out, wearing incomplete silver mechanical leg armor. Before he could speak, the robotic arm sprayed him from head to toe with fire extinguishing foam.
"Stop spraying!" Tony shouted angrily. "There's no fire!"
The robotic arm—nicknamed Dummy—slowly lowered itself in shame.
Tony wiped foam from his face and turned to Deadpool.
"You're here."
Deadpool placed a hand on his chest. "Of course. We are life-and-death friends."
"I asked you to come last night."
"Traffic."
"For twenty-four hours?"
"Los Angeles traffic is emotional, not physical."
Tony rolled his eyes. "And you destroyed my favorite antique car the moment you walked in."
"I helped reduce your asset burden."
After that "warm greeting," Tony lifted one armored foot.
"Recognize this?"
Deadpool examined it carefully.
"It looks like a slim version of your original cave armor. Lighter. More refined. Missing the upper body."
Tony took a deep breath. "One day, I will sew your mouth shut."
"Please don't," Deadpool replied seriously. "My personality depends on it."
Tony detached the foot armor and walked to a large worktable. With a swipe of his hand, a 3D projection appeared.
A silver mechanical suit rotated slowly in midair.
"This," Tony said proudly, "is my latest achievement."
Deadpool stared at the projection.
For once, he spoke sincerely.
"It's impressive."
Tony froze.
"You… just praised me?"
"I considered not saying it," Deadpool admitted. "But I didn't want your security to escort me out."
Tony smirked. "You weren't afraid of ten armed men in a cave."
"Those men didn't control the script of my survival," Deadpool replied mysteriously.
Tony blinked.
He had learned that sometimes it was better not to ask.
"So why did you call me here?" Deadpool asked.
"I don't need technical help," Tony said. "I need someone to witness greatness. To see the moment history changes."
"What about Pepper?"
"She worries too much. If something goes wrong, she'll panic. I need someone who can stay calm during chaos."
Deadpool placed a hand on his chest dramatically. "Then you found the right unstable person."
Tony activated the display again.
"This is the Mark II prototype."
The holographic armor gleamed under workshop lights.
It was sleeker than the original cave-built suit. More elegant. More powerful.
This was no longer a desperate survival tool.
This was ambition.
Suddenly, the projection flickered.
Instead of the mechanical armor, a strange animated assistant image briefly appeared on the display.
A cheerful digital figure spoke in a strangely playful tone.
"Master, Mr. Obadiah is upstairs."
Tony froze.
He blinked.
The projection returned to normal.
He rubbed his eyes.
Then he cleaned his ears with his finger.
Deadpool slowly turned his head.
The workshop fell silent.
Tony looked at him.
"…What was that just now?"
Deadpool tilted his head innocently.
"Sounded like your system updating."
Tony frowned.
"My system does not update like that."
Upstairs, footsteps echoed faintly.
The name Obadiah lingered in the air like a shadow.
And for the first time since building the armor, Tony felt something unfamiliar.
Not excitement.
Not pride.
But a quiet warning.
Something had just spoken.
And it was not part of the plan.
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