Found him!

April 12, 2018:

Deadpool shares info with Sharon.


NPCs: None.



Mood Music: [*\# None.]

Fade In…

What's the information on Deadpool? The Triskelion has a lean little folder. But it's graphic. The main point, though, is he is a mass-murdering-hobo-fuckhead. Some of that description is even underlined, although it is said in far more head-in-ass pompus language. He's one of those assets that SHIELD happily disavows all ties to, but occasionally has a use for. Over a month previous, Deadpool made apparent frienemies with the Guardians, who are already on the questionable list, and there's a pile of notes about him appearing in places in the Triskelion he shouldn't be. A great deal of 'follow-up: how did he get there' types of notes.

But then it ends with the most recent update: Deadpool was given a clearance card for the least-secure areas of SHIELD (which includes a locker in the gym): the most 'child/weirdo'-proofed zones that the Guardians also can go. There's a myriad of video footage of him on/at/below/around the Guardian's hangar, and more in the cafeteria (he wrote up a whole report about how an ice machine tried to eat his forearm and needed to be replaced, co-signed Agent May), and various other places.
But why was the card given? Because Deadpool as given a job. That job is off the record, but Coulson informed his XO about it. Going through Coulson's inbox revealed a bright magenta valentine with stickers and hearts on it, featuring a unicorn, and a message in crayon: 'Found your guy! CALL ME, XOXO. DP.'

And where is Deadpool now? That's easy. He's annoying people in the ballistics test area, and has driven out nearly everyone that was in there.

The first half of this — that Deadpool is the sort of guy SHIELD uses once in a while for jobs that Deadpool is well suited to — doesn't shock Sharon Carter in the slightest. Sometimes a kind word is the best tool. Sometimes a kind word is listened to more readily by someone holding a sharp stick. And sometimes, when the sharp stick won't do, people like Deadpool are the tac nuke of difficult conversations.

After Coulson mentioned him, and after his murder, Agent 13 has been going through a lot of files. One of them happens to be Slim Leaflet of Madness, aka the Deadpool File. It's in her inbox. It's just on top of the sparkly valentine.

Sharon squints at this. She then picks up Deadpool's file and reads through it again, making herself a few notes. She makes a quick phone call. She checks eBay. She picks up a package at reception and makes a few inquiries, and then she's heading to the ballistics test area.

There's an aroma following her. It's lunch. It's a chimichanga from the nearest decent Mexican place.

Yeah. Sharon did her homework.

"Deadpool," she calls, shaking the paper bag so that it rustles and the aroma wafts. "Want a little sharpshooting competition? Or would you prefer some lunch?"

Deadpool's reason for driving the other agents away becomes apparent. He's not in the front booth where you fire the weapons, but IN the range itself, and has arranged a big group of various target dummies. They are in very questionable positions. When Sharon arrives, Deadpool himself isn't visible— until there's a flash of light. And then he moves. He was under several of them, both arms held straight up, selfie posture. And then his hooded head pops up from behind one of the dummies' asses.

"Did you really just shake a baggie at me like it was full of treats?" Deadpool calls back, darkly. But then pats the dummy's ass, whispers at it, and suddenly strolls out down the range. "Because I'm ALL over that shit. Is it a Lunchables?"

Deadpool is relaxed, friendly, easygoing. Except for the outfit, and scene behind him, a perfectly fine Spider-themed superhero.

Sharon regards the obscene dummies with a very slight smile. It might be just for show: she's still wearing black, and while black CAN be the color for a pale blonde to look great in, she mostly just looks tired and washed-out.

"No, I shook a lunchbag like I'd shake it for anyone else before offering it up. It's better than a Lunchables. I have it on good authority that El Guero Taqueria has the best tacos and chimichangas in the tri-state area. I wanted to know if you agreed, since I've heard you're the expert." She steps forward, offering the bag out, adding: "I also wanted to talk to you about your conversation with Agent Coulson."

"It sounded very similar, but now I see the slight pitch difference. I stand very corrected," Deadpool chatters, coming over to take the bag away from her and immediately pull the top open and shove his face into it. He's expressive, and perhaps uncomfortably quick. "Somebody told you about me. You're prepared. Here. This is for you," Deadpool says, shoving the bag temporarily into his left armpit, and pats down his belt pounches and pockets, and finally procures a little pad of stickers. He peels off a gold star from it, and extends it. It is, however, stuck to his glove. So he waggles it and then finally just stands there with it held out. "Little help?" he asks. "You know, we can have our OWN conversation, not just that old one. Do you /also/ need someone found? I'd be fine with being two for two on my SHIELD quests."

Sharon actually does smile slightly when Deadpool proffers the gold star. With some ceremony, she places it just below the SHIELD lapel pins Peggy gave her. The ones she always wears now, though the New Shiny Peggy From The Past has an identical set. That's probably some kind of time paradox, but Sharon doesn't think too hard about it. She just avoids any circumstance where they might touch.

"Funny enough, your old conversation and my new one meet pretty seamlessly. You've heard what happened to Agent Coulson?"

"Nope. I was busy. He's not responding to my messages, texts, or other methods, though, so I'm going to get all bent out of shape about not being paid pretty soon," Deadpool says, looking around, and then hopping to sit on part of the window of the shooting range, settling his ass just-so on the window ledge, and starts to unpack the brown paper bag in his created lap there.

"And although a bent Deadpool can also be one of the most fun options. Somebody mentioned he had croaked, and I told them to piss off," Deadpool continues, cheery. "Deadeye wouldn't go and do /that/."

How to explain this to Deadpool.

"His funeral was yesterday," Sharon says, speaking slowly. "We buried him in Green-Wood in Brooklyn. I was there when it happened, and I was there when he was killed. I don't know about tomorrow, but today, Phil Coulson is dead."

She takes a deep breath. "I was his XO. I'm in charge of his team now. He… left you to me, so to speak. Or rather, he left me your information. I know you were looking for the man who killed my aunt. The same guy took out Coulson. So if you know anything about him…"

Deadpool becomes very still. Listening. And yes, it was entirely unknown how he would react. For now, he does… absolutely nothing. "I've been left to you in the will. Okay." If he's going to grieve, he's not doing it now. Deadpool is nothing if not unpredictable. "Yep, found out who he is. That's why I get the big bucks. Gonna hunt him and drag him in here, with roses up his ass. Figured I'd give you the dossier, for funzies, or if Coulson changed his mind, chance to call me off. Not that I always listen, but the sentiment is there!"

"You… found him?" Sharon looks a little poleaxed. She hadn't expected that to happen so fast. "If you can bring him in…" She was about to say 'dead or alive', but she corrects her mind: "Alive, for preference. And I'd really like to see that dossier. I'm looking forward to seeing this guy come to justice. And look, I can give you directions to his grave. Phil's. If nothing else, I'm going to make sure that his murderer sees justice."

A moment. "I've heard a couple of people call him Deadeye. You and Rocket. How'd he get that name?"

"No idea, picked it up off the trash bandicoot," Deadpool says offhandedly. He hops off the window ledge to the small black dufflebag next to it, setting the food aside for a moment. He still hasn't EATEN it, just played around with it. "And I didn't say I found him /yet/. I gotta squeeze all his buddies like zits. I'm not a miracle. Well. Usually. In the sack? Yes. All miracles, one after the other, at least while I'm making an effort," Deadpool shares, chatterboxy, while he fishes out a Lisa Frank folder. It's got very cute kittens on it, rainbows, neon. Inside is a picture of the target, and a name, and some general data. "Loves his flowers, this guy. Roses. SCIENCE."

The data names the man as 'Tristan Bertram', codename Izdubar. He moved from SHIELD into Hydra. He is labeled inactive in Hydra, his file saying that he was killed in a SHIELD op turned wrong in Germany. "We ALSO know that he had quite a beef with SHIELD, especially the higher ups. He was a wackjob in his desire to see it dismantled. Goooooo Hydra and all."

"Sounds exactly like the guy we're looking for." Sharon lets the rest of it slide, though the 'all miracles' bit brings a flash of amusement. She skims over what Deadpool's collected so far, folding her arms. "And that's why I couldn't find him in SHIELD records. Either he got rid of everything or we did. Any sign whether he's a metahuman of any kind? Mutant, altered, et cetera? And why did he leave SHIELD? What was his beef?"

Deadpool remembers the food, and hops to sit back up on it, and pulls the front part of his mask up, peeling it directly to just across bridge of nose. Which exposes his neck and chin, in all their horrifyingly graphic mauled cancer cyst looking glory. He cheerfully begins to eat, swinging his feet like a five year old, loosely.

"Yup, he's stronger than the average metabear. Dunno about powers, but flagged with being beefy. He clashed with upper management. Maybe he didn't get the promotion he wanted. Maybe he didn't get a parking spot. Dunno. You can ask if he still has lips after I'm done," Deadpool assures. A pause. "Well you could still ask. And he could write it. Or maybe charades. I /like/ charades. Except the being quiet. But I am a fucking good guesser. So long as it is a jackal."

"'Why did you leave SHIELD for Hydra?' 'Jackal.' It might not be a helpful answer." Sharon doesn't blink when she sees the state of his skin. It's… well, she had some warning, but the warning wasn't photographs. Still, she's polite enough not to freak out at sores and blisters and cysts.

"Coulson called him 'Benjamin' when they talked. He might have gone by a different name in SHIELD. Any chance of running down that name in relation to this guy?"

"Benjamin? Yeh. I can check my peeps," Deadpool agrees. "Sounds like another shit alias though. He shoulda been Tristan Bertram in your SHIELD files— I'm not deep in your files, so that's on you guys to run down. My shit is from OTHER databases," he says, between bites. He isn't being gross and talking through his food. The visual of his face is enough of a gross quality, really.
"Want a bite? I'm going with eight point five stars. I think maybe another half if I hadn't dicked around so long, it's not so warm anymore. But that's maybe on me. So nine, lacking the Deadpool dicking."

"Dicking around with things can foul them up," Sharon agrees, straightfaced as anything. "Best to dick around with things when they're not too hot." She flashes Deadpool a brief smile and nods once. "Keep in touch," she adds. "We'll nail this guy, particularly with your help."

And then she's off. She'll leave Deadpool to his chimichanga, calling out behind her: "I'll remember those guys next time. Sounds like it's Taco Thursday tonight."

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