This is Going to End in Disaster

"I need to fix this before the body starts decomposing."

"Shiklah!"

Wade didn't know where else to go. He didn't know who else to turn to. He burst through the door to their bedroom, barely paying attention to the handful of demons and monsters in bed with his wife, and made eye contact with the purple-skinned succubus at the center.

"Wade." She answered back simply, one hand on the head of the multi-limbed demon between her legs, eating her out like it was their last meal. Hawt.

It might've been a display that would have given Wade pause, or had him asking if he could join, but not today. He was on a mission and he was panicking .

"I need you to help me get into hell."

"I'm sure that's something you could manage yourself, husband . It's not that hard. "

"No, I - I think I made a big mistake. A huge one. Colossal mistake. And I need your help right now, PLEASE. I need to fix this before the body starts decomposing."

Shiklah paused, and raised an eyebrow. She must've detected the frantic note in his voice, or maybe it was the way he went straight to his closet, strapping weapons to his body like he were about to take on a whole army. She shooed the rest of her bed partners away, beckoning only for the demon currently pleasuring her to continue.

"Let me finish first."

Wade grunted, focused entirely on pulling out a fresh Deadpool costume and tossing his blood-soaked clothes (Peter's clothes) to the side. By the time he was strapping on the last of his weapons, Shiklah was redressed and standing next to him.

"Do I even want to know what happened?" she asked.

"Parker. Peter. You know, the guy I was being paid to," he made a gun motion.

She nodded, "Yes, the sleazy millionaire scum bag."

"Well, I found a human experimentation lab in his building,"

Shiklah's eyes flashed. Not so much because it was a human experimentation lab, but because of the "experimentation" part itself. She's lost a lot of subjects to humanity cutting open and "experimenting" on monsters and demons; she didn't like the word just as much as Wade did. It didn't help that Wade had ranted about Peter Parker to her on multiple occasions, and divulged all sorts of stories about crazy, rich white men who did terrible things.

"Do I need to reserve a special place in hell for his torture?" She grinned, all teeth, with a hardness in her voice that would've made a lesser man pee his pants. "I can get us front row seats. We haven't had a date night in a while."

"No, no!" Wade waved his hands. "Not that. Actually I - uh, I think there's been a mistake about him. A big one. And I thought the same as you, immediately, so I pumped him full of lead the moment I saw him. But I think something's wrong, and I need to get him back RIGHT NOW, it's super-duper important. Do you think you can find him?"

Shiklah frowned, but considered this, stroking to her chin in thought. "Perhaps. You already wanted me to reserve a spot in hell for him. He could've ended up there regardless of any special treatment."

"Ooh, baby please don't say that," Wade held his head, mentally trying to push back the voices. They haven't stopped yelling since he left Parker Industries. "I think I'm going to throw up if you say that. Question: how bad is hell? Is it really as terrible as people say? Its not, is it?"

"It's worse."

Wade made a noise of pain, like a dying animal, but Shiklah cut him off with a raised hand. "If he's truly as bad as you thought, he'll have ended up there anyway. I can check and see if he's arrived, and if he has then you don't need to worry this...newfound conscience of yours." It sounded as though the word tasted like vinegar in her mouth.