By the time Robert left the restaurant, it was already past ten.
He waved goodbye to Matt and Foggy, then made his way toward Sister Margaret's bar. The streets were quiet, the city buzzing only in the distance. As he entered the dim alleyway near the bar, he spotted two silhouettes just exiting through the side door and walking off in the opposite direction.
Robert squinted. That back looks familiar...
He kept walking toward the bar, mulling it over.
When he stepped inside, the atmosphere was completely off. Usually, Sister Margaret's was a lively chaos of drinking, brawling, and bad karaoke. But now? It was quiet. Too quiet.
Mercenaries sat scattered throughout the room, whispering. A few had pistols out in plain view—something that violated Margaret's golden rule: No weapons drawn inside the bar.
Robert made a beeline for the weasel at the counter.
"What's going on?" he asked.
"You came at the worst possible time," Weasel said grimly. "Scratch that—you and Wade are both in deep trouble."
He looked around, lowered his voice. "Remember that guy you told me about? Francis? He showed up. Brought someone with him—a woman built like a damn Terminator. They were asking questions... about Wade."
"They know he's alive?" Robert narrowed his eyes.
"Looks like it. They didn't do anything, thanks to the bar's... rep. But before leaving, they took Wade's old photo—one of him and Vanessa."
Behind the bar was a collection of framed photos—mercenaries who had passed, or those who simply didn't come back. Wade, back when he was sick, had left a picture there too.
Robert frowned. "They're going after Vanessa."
Weasel nodded. "Yeah, I figured the same. Use her to lure Wade out."
"I already called him," he added. "Wade's gone to find her. Hopefully, it's not too late."
Robert said nothing. He was replaying the movie timeline in his head.
Then he asked, "Weasel... have you ever heard of the X-Men?"
"The what?"
"The X-Men."
Weasel squinted. "Vaguely. Aren't they, like... some old Mutant peacekeeping club? Operated mostly in the '60s to '90s? Pretty sure they're a myth. Urban legends Mutants tell themselves when things go south."
He raised an eyebrow. "Why? You hoping the X-Men show up to help you two bootleg mutants?"
"Yeah... something like that," Robert muttered, clearly unsettled.
Truth was, he'd noticed something odd about this world. Mutants were real—but there'd been no news, no activity, nothing about the X-Men.
Which meant Colossus and Negasonic Teenage Warhead—two of Wade's unexpected allies in the movie—might not even exist here.
And without them, who could back Wade up against Francis?
Before he could think further, Weasel's phone rang. He checked the caller ID and signaled Robert—it was Wade.
He answered.
"Fk! FK!! That soap-scented cksucker took Vanessa!" Wade's voice exploded from the speaker. "Get my gear! I'm gonna f*ing rip him in half!"
"Wade, wait—breathe! Come to the bar, we'll—"
"I am calm! I've never been calmer!" Wade barked. "Meet at your place!"
Click. Call ended.
Weasel stared at the phone, pale. "...He doesn't have the key to my place. That lunatic is going to smash my door down."
"Relax," Robert said calmly. "You know Wade. Worst case, he just blows up your house."
Weasel: "...You're not helping."
"Come on," Robert added, already turning toward the door. "We wait too long, we'll have no house left to talk in."
As Weasel scrambled to find someone to watch the bar, Robert dashed off in another direction.
"I'm heading home to grab something. Text me your address!"
---
Later, at Weasel's Apartment...
"CALM DOWN, WADE! Calm down!" Weasel pleaded.
The door behind him looked like it had been hit by a truck.
Wade was pacing like a madman, smashing drywall with his fists. "GET ME MY GUNS! ALL OF THEM!"
Bones cracked and realigned as his hands healed instantly.
"Okay, okay!" Weasel shouted, scrambling to gather what he could. "Just please, not the TV again!"
Right then, Robert strolled in—through the now-doorless frame—wearing a massive travel pack slung over his shoulder.
"Yo, Wade. Long time."
Wade spun around, eyes blazing. "Little guy, this is NOT the time for a camping trip! Francis took Vanessa. I'm about to shove a grenade so far down his throat he farts napalm."
"I know. That's why I'm here—to help."
Wade eyed the pack. "What, bringing marshmallows? You planning to poison him during a picnic?"
Robert smirked. "Not quite."
He dropped the pack and unzipped it.
Out spilled a mountain of weapons—pistols, grenades, modified ammo, and more.
"I know it's not enough," Robert said with a sigh. "But I only had 200K saved up. This is all I could afford."
Wade: "..."
Weasel, holding a pair of SMGs: "..."
Wade turned to Weasel. "Okay, you can marry him now."
-------------
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