I think we're in a smutty fic,
the little yellow caption box read.
Wanda Wilson, the mercenary also known as Lady Deadpool despite being in parallel universe where there was no male Deadpool and the title itself not being gender-specific, felt inclined to argue. "Nah, what if we're in a crackfic?"
The only crack in this fic is the only that's about to get a cock in it.
"How do you figure?"
Well, for one thing, all of a sudden you have big ol' bubble butt and double-D breasts.
"I'm a comic book character. Comes with the territory. Have you seen what Dust is rocking? She has the only skintight hijab outside a Charlie Hebdo cartoon."
Also, you don't have the slightest trace of scars and there's an OC following you.
"Shit, Carlie Cooper? Silk? Solus?"
No, those are official Marvel characters. They just read like bad OCs. You'll notice this one is wearing a black Spider-Man suit.
"Yeah, what's up with that?" Wanda demanded. "Come up with your own costume! It's not like it's hard. Skintight black leather, some unnecessary piping, domino mask, it's not hard!"
He probably wants to know about the violent murders over the past few weeks.
"If they didn't want to die, they shouldn't have pissed off people rich enough to hire me to kill them. I know! I'll lose him in this abandoned factory building. He won't follow me there—it's probably full of multiethnic gangs of street trash hooligans who'd try to peer pressure him into doing drugs!"
Wanda parkoured inside, finding the factory full of atmosphere catwalks and big rusting vats of corrosive acid. She made a note to remember the place for later, in case she needed to create an arch-nemesis. Nothing for making the archiest of nemeses like corrosive acid—especially if it was boiling. She went to check the nearest vat. If it was boiling, maybe she could dunk an egg in it, get it soft-boiled.
"Hello, chica! Wanna be cool and do drugs?" said an ambiguously ethnic gang member, those some of his fellow gang members were white, so it wasn't racist.
In fact,
the yellow text box read,
aren't you a little racist for noticing?
There were six of them, and they weren't the kind of gang members you hold memorials for after the police shoot them. There were headbands. Some of them had torn the sleeves off their jackets; others didn't wear shirts under their jackets. Fingerless gloves abounded.
"Gratuitous violence!" Wanda cried. "Quick, one of you say something disparaging about my gender! That way, it'll be super feminist when I beat you up to establish how badass I am!"
"We are going to rape you!" said the gang leader, who was white, so it was super-not-racist, because the worst one of them was the white guy.
Unless you look at it as all the black, Asian, and Latin@ gang members taking orders from a white guy. That would kinda be racist, right?
"No!" Wanda pointed out, "because they're bad guys and they're taking orders from a white guy, which is bad, whereas I take orders from Da Chief, that distinguished older black gentleman with a bit of a gut who's always telling me to get results!"
That was a magazine editor. And he told you to get out of his office.
"His lips said that, but his eyes were telling me to get results."
"Who are you talking to?" demanded the Asian gang member, who was armed with a pair of nun-chucks, which was a little racist, but in a cool, edgy way.
"Your ass!" Wanda told him, and drew her samurai swords.
"Wow, that's a little appropriative," the Asian gang member said before she cut his head off.
The black gang member drew a lead pipe and the white gang leader pulled a golf club, both of them managing to block Wanda's akimbo slashes, so she dropped the swords and just shot them instead with pistols quick-drawn from her gunbelt.
"Why didn't I do this before?" Wanda wondered. "And why don't the Power Rangers ever call in the Zords to step on the monsters when they were little? And what about the eagles in Middle-Earth, why couldn't the Fellowship just ride—"
A Hispanic gang member, who was not at all representative of his proud and noble culture, hit Wanda over the head with a length of chain. Everything flashed yellow; Wanda tried to read this apparently very large caption, but then it turned black. "Oh," she said, "I'm supposed to be unconscious."
Wanda woke up tied to a chair. She didn't know how long she'd been out—it was possible she'd missed Wendy Williams like some basic bitch—but the remaining three gang members were surrounding her. The ones who hadn't hit her were both black, and they were rubbing their hands together as she came to, the lifting of her head pulling her skintight suit taut over her breasts.
"Oh, it's one of those fanfics," Wanda said. "Hey, why the hell are you reading this trash? Yeah, I'm talking to you! What's next, some loli? A little bestiality action? Just jerk it to Jenna Jameson, ya weirdo! The feminists will hate you just as much!"