DEADPOOL

CHAPTER 1.1

SEVEN YEARS AGO

"Look, would it help if I slow it down for you? I didn't order the pizza." the Merchant guy said, frustration oozing from his voice as I finished up in the bathroom.

"Is this 7348 Red Ledge Drive? Are you Mr. Merchant?" the delivery guy pressed, clearly confused as I washed my hands.

"Yeah, I'm the Mr. Merchant, who didn’t order the fucking pie!" the guy at the door snapped back.

"Then who placed the call?" the delivery guy asked, determined to figure out the mix-up.

Before Merchant could even open his mouth to respond, I burst in with a grin, "I did!" I said excitedly, walking out of the bathroom as I dried my hands on a towel. "BBQ chicken?" I asked, my tone as casual as if I hadn’t just emerged from a stranger's bathroom.

"Sweet and meaty, like this ass," I quipped with a chuckle, enjoying the stunned expressions on both their faces. The Merchant guy and the delivery guy stared at me, utterly bewildered.

"The fuck are you?" Merchant asked, his tone dripping with confusion. But then it hit him—he had no idea who I was or why I was in his house. His voice grew more alarmed as he continued, "The fuck are you doing in my crib—" His words cut off as I casually pulled out my gun and pointed it straight at his face.

"Is it burnt crust?" I asked, my attention shifting to the delivery guy, who nervously handed me the pizza box from his bag.

"I—God, I hope not. Um..." he stammered, his hands trembling as he opened the box for me, while Merchant, wide-eyed, slowly raised his hands in a gesture of surrender.

"Whoa...man, look, if this is about that poker game." Merchant began, his voice quivering. "I told Howie... I told him that..." He trailed off, stumbling over his words as panic set in.

I took a step closer, enjoying the way his fear intensified with each inch I closed between us. His bravado crumbled, leaving him stuttering and desperate to make sense of the situation.

I stayed quiet, just watching him squirm, my gun still leveled at his head. The silence was louder than any threat I could have made, and it was doing exactly what I wanted. He was terrified, and I was loving every second of it.

"Okay, uh, look." Merchant stammered, his voice shaky as he slowly reached into his pocket. "Just take whatever you want." he said, pulling out his wallet and handing it over to me with trembling hands.

"Thanks." I replied, casually slipping the wallet into my back pocket, now officially mine.

My gun remained trained on his face, making sure he understood that this conversation was far from over.

"M'am, before you do anything to him, would you mind if I get a big tip?" the delivery guy chimed in, shrugging his shoulders with a hopeful look.

His boldness caught me off guard, and I let out a surprised chuckle.

"Uh, Jeremy, right?" I asked, raising an eyebrow as I glanced at him. When he nodded, confirming his name, I held out my fist to him. "Santiago. Santiago Johnson." I introduced myself, offering him a fist bump. He hesitated for a second, then grinned and bumped my fist.

"That is, uh, a no-go on the tiperoo, Jer." I said, finally answering Jeremy’s earlier question. As I spoke, I held up a sleek golden card with his name etched into it.

"I'm not here for him. I'm here for you." My voice was calm but firm as I slowly moved the gun away from Merchant’s face and aimed it directly at Jeremy. His eyes widened in shock, his earlier confidence evaporating in an instant.