MwaM; Ch 15.5: Messiah of the Ice-Cream Factory

Author's Note: Hello there, this is chapter 15.5 of Merc with a Mouth. I really hope you will like it. It's basically an addition to the previous chapter. Have fun.

Now, without any further ado....Let's begin!

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Merc with a Mouth

-Dev Sagittarius Black

~Chapter 15.5: Messiah of Ice-Cream Factory~

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(Flashback begins)

~June, 1996~

‘BEEEEEEP!’

“John Doe, sir. Reporting with the latest cargo.” Said the man sitting in the grumbling, huffing and puffing pink truck with the large ice cream over it.

“ID and order number?”

“QW89DSB69,” The man replied. “And the order number is…well, let me check..” He pulled a small slip from the many hanging in front of him. “Ah…yes, 87965AA for a Mr. Tim Burner. Boot's unlocked; you can check.”

There was a moment of silence before a couple of guards wearing their pale blue uniforms opened the backdoor of the truck and went inside. John decided to simply finish his double cheeseburger as he looked around the old warehouse of the ice-cream factory. It was a large unfinished building consisting of multiple floors and numerous rooms.

He could only guess why the building needed so many rooms since he had never been permitted to go past the unloading dock that was on the ground floor.

The guards stepped out of the truck and closed the door before giving the signal to the controllers, who opened the gate for the truck. 

John simply drove the truck inside, moving straight towards the unloading area where another platoon of guards was waiting for him. He turned off the engine and got down from the ice-cream truck before opening the back doors.

“Rise and shine, you dumbfucks, your new home’s here.” John barked as two guards approached him. “C’mon, don’t let me come in there and kick you lot out.” He grinned, his beady black eyes glittering with greed as the guards approached them and peered inside. “Meet your new wards, mate, freshly brought from three orphanages, no less. Tell, Mr. Burner I want full payment in cash.”

It took them some time to empty the truck, as a few children were huddled too close and were resisting quite hard. The guards eventually got them all out and took them to the third floor, where all the new recruits were placed before they’d be cleaned and then put on the list for potential buyers after a week.

By nightfall, the new arrivals had been fed, washed, and cleaned and had even been shifted into their new cells. Two armed guards were placed inside each cell to keep the fresh faces in line and ensure that none of them are too ‘bold’ to speak, shout or cry.

“What do you think, Mike?” Said George, one of the guards, as he lit his cigarette and leaned back in his iron chair. “Which one of these newbies would leave us the fastest? Me thinks it’d be that blondie over there.”

“Bah! Too nerdy.” Mike replied, leaning back in his chair as he glanced at four kids in front of him. “Fucking sure it's gonna be that greenie in that corner.”

“Why so?” 

“Well, he has a nice built….you know, large and all that.” Mike shrugged. “And a cute enough face. I can bet a hundred that either Miss Sullivan or that old bloke Douglas would pay a pretty penny for that kid.”

“Think so?” George asked, frowning at the boy in question. "Well, yeah, he does have a huge body that might interest both Douglas and Keats, but I don’t reckon he’s pretty enough for Sullivan." 

“Oh, please.” His friend replied, playing with his baton. “She’s a sucker for green eyes, and with that face? Hell yeah. That boy’s catching her eye for sure.”

The boy in question simply shook his head and instead looked around the dirty cell in which he had been placed along with three other boys: two that were over fifteen and a blonde twelve-year-old brat who had been crying ever since he had joined them in John’s truck.

Honestly! Why was that kid even crying in the first place?! It wasn’t as if the boy’s orphanage was providing him with a five-star hotel experience. No, his orphanage, Blackmarsh Haven, was nothing more than a dilapidated old building with a broken roof, too many whining children and two old greedy arsehole caretakers who treasured money more than any kid under their care.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake!” The emerald-eyed boy snapped. “Shut up, will you? God! I can’t believe a tiny little shit like you could have this much energy.”

His outburst was followed by pin-drop silence. Even the two guards who had been having a merry time betting on who’ll be sold first blinked in surprise. They had been ignoring the boy since it was quite normal for the young ones to cry, but to see one of the newcomers shout at another was something fresh. 

“Wh-What?” The blonde kid asked him.

“I said, ‘Shut up.’” He replied. “Look, there’s no one coming to save you; you were in an orphanage where no one even wanted you, and there’s no way either of those two dicksuckers would let you out no matter how hard you cry. Why are you even crying for that matter?”

“I-I miss m-my sister…” He mumbled, sniffing as tears started to well up in his eyes once more. “She….She’d be….” He broke down once more.

“Oh god….not this again…” The green-eyed one gave a tired sigh before he got up and went towards the blondie. “What’s your name, boy?”

“Hey! Go sit in your corner, laddie!” Mike thundered, slapping his baton against the bars. “Or do you need me to come in and teach you a lesson?”

“Fuck off, Baldy.” The boy bit back. “I’ve been having a hard day, and I need some rest, so either take this boy to some other hellhole or let me shut him up so I can sleep.”

“Why you—” Mike began only to be stopped by George, who held him down.

“Leave them, mate. No need to get prissy over it.” The other one intoned. “We don’t get paid enough to babysit these titsuckers all the time. Let the boy have his own fun.”

The other one glared at the teenager who had insulted him but didn’t say anything, preferring to simply lean back in his chair and watch them. The boy, on the other hand, turned back to the blonde kid with a clear question on his face.

“Ri-Rick,” he answered, stammering and sniffing as the rest watched them silently. “Rick La…Langford, my sis..siter named me.”

“Your sister?” He frowned. “What’s her name?” 

“Velora.” Rick mumbled, looking up at him with tearful grey eyes. “Velora Langford.”

“Velora…hmm…nice name, mate. Is she here with you, or is she in that orphanage these nice guys brought you from?”

“She’s still there…” Rick nodded, his frail body cowering in fear. “She became the caretaker’s assistant a month ago. Gives us all extra food, she does.” 

“Sounds like a good lady, eh?”

“She is!” The youngest gave a rapid nod. “She’s the best! Everyone loves her! She sings us songs and tells us stories of…of brave men and superheroes! Sometimes she even gives us gifts that she gets from…elsewhere.”

“I see…” He nodded, kneeling down to his level. “And I noticed that you were wearing a Batman t-shirt when you came. Is that from her as well?” He asked, getting a small nod in reply. “Do you like him? What does he do?”

“He’s a superhero who…..protects Gotham.” 

“And do you think he exists?” The boy asked again. “Think he’ll come to save you?”

The boy shook his head in denial. 

“Really?” He frowned, “Why so?” 

“Batman…won’t come here.” Rick sniffed once more, trying his best to not cry anymore. “Velora…she told me he only works in America….that’s why he couldn’t save us from the caretakers either.”

“That’s sad.” He nodded. “But then who do you think works in Britain?”

“I…” Langford blinked in response. “I…don’t know? Who?” 

“What would you do if I told you?” He smirked, looking towards the other two who had been watching him with suspicion in their eyes. “What if I told you that there’s actually a superhero much more badass than that broody mess, Batman, and that he’ll save you from here tonight?”

“What?”

“That’s what I asked, kiddo.” He grinned, flashing his perfect row of pearly white teeth.

“There’s no such thing as a superhero.” One of the other kids replied. “They’re only in fictional stories.” 

“Exactly why you have one as well, you dumb NPC.” He bit back. “Now shut up and stay in the background. You’ll get your own lines when the writer deems you ready.”

“....what?” The boy asked, confused. “What are you talking about?” 

“Ugh…NPCs.” The boy waved off before turning back towards the kid. “So, what would you do if I told you his name and he saves you tonight?”

“I….” The boy began before he frowned in concentration. “I will call him my superhero, of course, and….and promise to be like him!”

“Nah, kid, don’t live in delusions.” He smiled, getting up as he patted the boy’s hair. “No one ever was, and no one ever will be like him.” 

“Who?” 

“Deadpool,” Harry announced as his fingers twitched, and twin bolts of red erupted from thin air, hitting both the guards squarely in the chest. Before the two could’ve collapsed like fat sacks of potatoes, he stunned the boys as well and disapparated with a crack.

He reappeared in front of the cell and immediately took both of their guns before tying them up with a wandless Incarcerous. After that, he sealed the door with his own magic to completely silence the room.

Finally, he placed his hand just above Mike’s chest and whispered, “Rennervate.”

The bald guard jolted awake—bound and weaponless—staring up into the crazy green pools of the wizard who had just done the impossible without so much as making a squeak. 

He was shocked and, of course, reasonably terrified.

He didn’t know what had happened, and he had absolutely no idea how in the devil’s name the boy who had been inside the cell a few seconds ago was now in front of him, pointing his own gun at his head with a smile on his face.

“I’ll ask this just once, and if you don’t reply, I'll first kill your mate George here, and then I’ll kill you. So, make sure to answer as honestly as you possibly can.” Harry smiled, trailing the tip of the gun across Mike’s face. “Understood, Baldy?”

“You—you can’t be serious…” Mike panted, his eyes following the gun’s tip. “There are..guards…guards patrolling the corridors, and they’ll hear the—”

Harry pointed the gun behind him and fired without batting an eye. He smiled when Mike screamed like a little girl who had just witnessed her first bedtime monster. Only that this monster was as real as his dead friend, who was slumped in his chair with a hole in his head.

“You were saying something, Mikey?” Harry grinned, pointing the gun at the man’s bald head once more. “So…do we have an accord?”

“You….You’re….” Mike gulped down the fear, beads of sweat pouring down his forehead, trying his best to calm his frazzled nerves as he looked at the boy. "You're a monster. A bl-bloody monster!”

Harry couldn’t help himself anymore. He barked with laughter. 

Children, in everyone’s generous opinions, are the beautiful little creations of God…..but that night, Mike saw the one man who was created by the Devil himself. The one insane entity who didn’t care about anything but his own goal: Free the children, kill the men.

(Flashback ends)

What happened in that ice-cream factory that night would forever be known as “The Massacre of the Ice-Cream Factory”, where a single boy of no more than sixteen years of age went against seventy-nine guards and came out alive.

The guards? Not so much.

Least to say that the incident also became the legend which instilled the fear of the ‘Burner Killer’ in the hearts of all those who had ever dared to buy and sell humans.

After that, Harry voluntarily took the missions that would get him to clean any such organisations. His trick was simple: Get into the transporting vehicle midway, and then kill the guards at midnight, leaving a bold message for anyone who’d ever dare to get back into the trade.

And that’s how the slave trade came to a rather violent end in the relatively peaceful country of Britain. 

Somehow ‘Deadpool’ became a piece of folklore and an all-time favourite superhero of all the kids in every orphanage that was around the nation, and his heroic deeds became new bedtime tales for every child that was afraid of bad men.

The good writer, obviously, had nothing to do with it.

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Ending Note: There we go! Liked it? Loved it? Needs some changes? Please, do tell.

I am waiting for all your comments. Constructive criticism is always appreciated.

Thank you for reading and your comments,

With regards,
Dev Black