Lady Deadpool: The Art of Tactical Insanity by JadeGretzAI on DeviantArt (original) (raw)

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Lady Deadpool: The Art of Tactical Insanity by Jade Gretz

### The Last Stand of Lady Deadpool

The sun hung low in the blood-red sky, casting a sickly glow over the shattered remains of what had once been a thriving city. Skyscrapers, now crumbling monoliths, jutted out of the ground like broken teeth, their windows shattered, their steel frames twisted and scorched. The streets, once teeming with life, were now deserted, the silence broken only by the distant, eerie moans of the undead that roamed the desolate landscape.

In the midst of this apocalyptic wasteland, a lone figure moved with the confidence of someone who had nothing left to lose. Clad in red and black spandex, with a mask that covered her entire face save for her wild, blonde ponytail, Lady Deadpool strode through the ruins, her twin katanas strapped to her back, guns holstered at her hips, and a wisecrack ready on her lips.

“Geez, it’s like a scene straight out of The Walking Dead,” she muttered to herself, kicking a loose piece of rubble out of her path. “Except, you know, with more spandex and fewer soap opera subplots.”

Lady Deadpool—Wanda Wilson, to those who knew her before the world went to hell—wasn’t the kind to let a little thing like the end of civilization get her down. She had survived too much, fought too hard, to give up now. Even if that meant slicing and dicing her way through hordes of zombified former superheroes who once fought alongside her.

“Hey, Cap!” she shouted, spotting a familiar star-spangled figure shambling toward her, his shield dragging on the ground behind him. “Looking a little worse for wear there, buddy! You should really try exfoliating. Maybe a nice mud mask?”

Captain America—or what was left of him—let out a guttural growl as he lunged at her, his decaying flesh hanging off his bones, his once-proud uniform now tattered and stained with blood. Lady Deadpool sighed, drawing one of her katanas in a flash of silver.

“Always the strong, silent type, huh? Well, I’ve got news for you, Cap—it’s time for your final curtain call!”

With a swift, fluid motion, she brought her katana down, the blade slicing clean through the former hero’s neck. His head toppled to the ground with a wet thud, his body crumpling a moment later. Lady Deadpool wiped the blood from her blade with a casual flick of her wrist, sheathing the weapon before continuing on her way.

“Sorry, Cap. But hey, look on the bright side—at least you won’t have to deal with another round of Avengers reboots!”

The truth was, Lady Deadpool wasn’t just wandering aimlessly through the ruins of this once-great city. She had a mission—a last-ditch effort to save what little was left of the world. The source of the zombie plague that had turned her fellow heroes into mindless, flesh-eating monsters was somewhere out there, hidden in the twisted remains of what had once been the Baxter Building. Reed Richards, the so-called “smartest man in the world,” had unleashed the virus in a desperate attempt to cure his wife, Sue Storm, of an alien disease. But the cure had gone horribly wrong, transforming not just Sue, but nearly everyone on the planet, into the undead.

Wanda could still remember the day it all went to hell. She had been in the middle of a mission, something routine involving a Hydra base and a few hundred heavily armed goons, when the first reports started coming in. Heroes all over the world were falling to the virus, their superhuman abilities making them even more dangerous as the infection took hold. Wanda had barely escaped with her life, forced to watch as her friends and allies succumbed one by one.

“Good times, good times,” she muttered sarcastically, her fingers tightening around the hilt of her remaining katana as she approached the ruins of the Baxter Building. The once-imposing structure was now a twisted wreck, its upper floors having collapsed into a smoking pile of debris. The air around it was thick with the stench of decay, and Wanda could see the shambling forms of the undead moving through the rubble.

“Looks like Reed’s little science experiment didn’t go quite as planned,” she said, her voice taking on a sing-song quality as she approached the building’s entrance. “But don’t worry, I’m here to clean up your mess. Again.”

As she stepped into the shadows of the ruined lobby, Lady Deadpool’s senses went on high alert. The air was thick with tension, every creak of metal and rustle of debris setting her on edge. Her heart pounded in her chest as she moved deeper into the building, her katana at the ready, her eyes scanning every corner for signs of movement.

The silence was almost deafening, broken only by the occasional distant moan of the undead outside. But Wanda knew better than to let her guard down. She had been in too many situations like this, where the calm was just a prelude to chaos.

Her instincts proved correct when a blur of movement to her left caught her attention. She barely had time to react before something—or someone—came hurtling out of the shadows, crashing into her with enough force to send her sprawling to the ground. Wanda’s katana flew from her grasp as she rolled to her feet, her eyes locking onto her attacker.

It was Wolverine—or rather, what was left of him. His once-proud figure was now a twisted parody of itself, his flesh decayed and rotting, his once-sharp claws now dull and chipped. His eyes, once filled with a fiery determination, were now empty, lifeless, and hungry.

“Logan, buddy, you really let yourself go,” Wanda quipped, reaching for the twin pistols holstered at her hips. “But hey, at least you still got those claws. Mind if I borrow them for a bit?”

Wolverine lunged at her with a feral snarl, his claws slashing through the air. Wanda dodged to the side, her pistols coming up in a flash of silver. She fired off a rapid series of shots, the bullets tearing through the undead hero’s chest, but it did little to slow him down. He was relentless, driven by the insatiable hunger that now ruled his once-noble mind.

“Okay, tough guy, let’s see how you like this!” Wanda shouted, diving to the side and grabbing her fallen katana. She sprang to her feet just in time to block Wolverine’s next attack, the force of his claws against her blade sending vibrations up her arm. She gritted her teeth, pushing back with all her strength, her muscles straining against the onslaught.

But as strong as Wolverine was, he was no match for Lady Deadpool’s agility and speed. She ducked under his next swing, spinning around to deliver a powerful kick to his midsection. The blow sent him staggering back, giving her just enough time to bring her katana down in a deadly arc.

The blade sliced clean through Wolverine’s neck, severing his head from his body in a single, fluid motion. His body crumpled to the ground, lifeless once more. Wanda stood over him, breathing heavily, her chest heaving as she tried to catch her breath.

“Sorry, Logan. Guess that healing factor wasn’t enough to save you this time,” she muttered, wiping the blood from her blade before sheathing it once more.

But there was no time to rest. Wanda knew that the noise of the fight would have attracted more of the undead, and she wasn’t about to stick around to find out how many. She turned on her heel, sprinting deeper into the building, her eyes focused on the elevator at the end of the hall. If she could just reach the lower levels, she might be able to find whatever was left of Reed’s lab—and with it, a way to end this nightmare once and for all.

The elevator doors were partially open, the car stuck between floors. Wanda didn’t hesitate. She pried the doors open with her katana, slipping into the narrow gap and dropping down onto the roof of the elevator. The shaft was dark and foreboding, the air thick with dust and decay, but Wanda didn’t let it slow her down. She moved quickly, prying open the maintenance hatch and dropping down into the car below.

The lab was in the sub-basement, hidden deep beneath the building, where Reed had kept his most secret—and dangerous—projects. Wanda wasn’t sure what she would find down there, but she knew it was her only chance. If there was any hope of reversing the virus, of stopping the spread of the undead, it would be in Reed’s lab.

As the elevator creaked and groaned its way down the shaft, Wanda’s mind raced with thoughts of what she might encounter. She had faced the undead versions of some of the most powerful heroes in the world—Thor, Hulk, even Doctor Strange. But there was one she hadn’t yet faced, one whose absence had been a constant weight on her mind.

Deadpool. Wade Wilson. Her other self.

The thought of facing Wade—or whatever was left of him—was almost too much to bear. They had been through so much together, fought side by side, laughed in the face of danger. And now, he was just another mindless monster, lost to the virus that had claimed so many others.

But Wanda knew she couldn’t let her emotions get in the way. She had a job to do, and if that meant putting Wade down for good, then so be it. She would do what needed to be done, no matter how much it hurt.

The elevator came to a jarring stop, the doors creaking open to reveal the dimly lit corridor of the sub-basement. The air was thick with an unnatural chill, as if the very atmosphere was soaked in dread. Wanda tightened her grip on her katana, stepping out of the elevator and into the eerie silence. Her heart pounded in her chest, each beat echoing in her ears like a drumroll of impending doom.

The hallway stretched out before her, lined with flickering lights that cast long, ominous shadows. Broken equipment and debris littered the floor, evidence of the chaos that had consumed the lab in its final moments. Somewhere down this corridor lay Reed Richards' secret lab, and within it, the key to ending the nightmare that had engulfed the world. But first, Wanda had to make it there alive.

She moved cautiously, her senses on high alert. Every sound, every shift in the shadows, sent a jolt of adrenaline through her veins. She knew that this place was a breeding ground for danger, a lair for the worst horrors imaginable. And deep down, she knew that Wade—her counterpart, her friend—was waiting for her somewhere in this labyrinth of madness.

The thought of facing him twisted her insides, but she pressed on. She had no choice.

As she neared the end of the corridor, the faint sound of laughter reached her ears—an all-too-familiar cackle that sent chills down her spine. It was a twisted, maniacal laugh, one that had once been a source of comfort, a beacon of humor in a world gone mad. But now, it was a harbinger of something far darker.

"Wanda," a voice called out, dripping with mockery and menace. "So you finally made it. I was starting to think you'd chickened out."

Wanda froze, her heart skipping a beat. She turned slowly, her eyes locking onto the figure emerging from the shadows.

It was Wade—or rather, what had become of him. His red and black suit was tattered, his mask torn to reveal half of his decaying face. His once lively, mischievous eyes were now dull and lifeless, consumed by the same hunger that had overtaken the others. But the worst part was the smile—a grotesque, twisted grin that bore no resemblance to the Deadpool she had once known.

"Hey, babe," Wade crooned, his voice a distorted echo of what it once was. "Miss me?"

Wanda swallowed hard, her throat dry as sandpaper. She could feel the weight of her katana in her hand, the blade trembling ever so slightly. This was it—the moment she had dreaded. The moment she had to face the person who had been her closest ally, her other half.

"Wade," she whispered, her voice cracking with emotion. "I... I didn’t want it to come to this."

Wade’s grin widened, his decayed lips stretching impossibly wide. "Come on, Wanda, don’t get all mushy on me. We both knew this was how it was gonna end. You, me, one final showdown. It’s what the fans want!"

He spread his arms wide, as if inviting her to strike. "So come on, give them what they came for! Let’s make this one hell of a show!"

Wanda took a step back, her mind racing. This wasn’t the Wade she knew—this was a twisted, zombified shell of the man she had once fought alongside. But beneath the bravado, she could see the pain in his eyes, the remnants of the man who had been consumed by this plague.

"Wade, I don’t want to hurt you," she said, her voice trembling. "Please, let me help you."

Wade’s laughter echoed through the corridor, a haunting sound that made her skin crawl. "Help me? Oh, sweetie, you’re the one who needs help! I’m free! Free from the pain, the suffering, the endless reboots! I’m finally living my best afterlife!"

He lunged at her suddenly, faster than she expected. Wanda barely had time to react, raising her katana just in time to block his attack. The force of the impact sent her stumbling back, but she quickly regained her footing, her eyes locked on his.

"Wade, stop!" she shouted, but her plea fell on deaf ears.

He attacked again, this time with more ferocity. His movements were erratic, a chaotic mix of martial arts and sheer brute force. Wanda parried his blows, her katana clashing against his decaying flesh with sickening squelches. Every strike was a reminder of what she had lost, of the friend who was now beyond saving.

But as the fight dragged on, something strange began to happen. Wanda could feel a connection between them, a faint link that transcended the physical battle. It was as if part of Wade was still there, trapped within the monster he had become. She could feel his pain, his confusion, his desperation.

"Wanda..." he growled, his voice breaking through the madness. "End... this..."

Her heart shattered at the sound of his voice, the real Wade fighting to the surface for one last time. She knew what she had to do, but it was the hardest thing she had ever faced. With tears in her eyes, Wanda steeled herself, raising her katana for the final blow.

"I’m sorry, Wade," she whispered, her voice barely audible over the sound of their clashing weapons. "I’m so, so sorry."

With a swift, fluid motion, she brought the blade down, aiming for his heart. Wade didn’t move to block it—he just stood there, a faint, sad smile on his lips as the katana pierced his chest.

Time seemed to stand still as the life drained from his eyes. Wanda held the blade steady, her breath catching in her throat as she watched him fade. For a moment, she could almost see the old Wade—the one who cracked jokes at the worst times, who fought with reckless abandon, who had been her friend through thick and thin.

"Thanks, babe," he whispered, his voice barely a breath. "You’re... the best..."

And then he was gone. His body went limp, his decayed flesh crumbling to the floor in a heap. Wanda stood there, her katana still embedded in his chest, unable to move, unable to breathe. The reality of what she had just done crashed down on her like a tidal wave, and she fell to her knees, tears streaming down her face.

She had won the fight, but the victory was hollow. She had lost her friend, her partner, and the weight of that loss was almost too much to bear.

But she couldn’t give up now. Wade had given her the strength to finish this, to end the nightmare once and for all. With trembling hands, Wanda pulled her katana from his chest, wiping the blood from the blade before sheathing it. She rose to her feet, her resolve hardening like steel.

The lab was just ahead, and with it, the final piece of the puzzle. Whatever horrors lay in wait, Wanda was ready to face them. She had lost too much, sacrificed too much, to turn back now.

With one last glance at Wade’s fallen form, she turned and made her way down the corridor. The door to Reed’s lab loomed before her, a heavy, reinforced steel barrier that had been designed to keep out intruders. But Wanda wasn’t about to let a little thing like that stop her. She drew her remaining pistol, aiming at the control panel next to the door, and fired a single, precise shot.

The door hissed open, revealing the dark, foreboding interior of the lab. Wanda stepped inside, her katana at the ready, her eyes scanning the room for any sign of danger. The lab was a mess, equipment and papers scattered everywhere, the aftermath of Reed’s desperate attempts to find a cure. But in the center of the room, illuminated by the dim, flickering lights, was the object of her quest—a small, unassuming device, its purpose unknown.

Wanda approached the device cautiously, her heart pounding in her chest. This was it—the key to ending the plague, to saving what was left of the world. But as she reached out to take it, a cold, mechanical voice echoed through the lab.

"Warning. Security breach detected. Initiating lockdown."

Before Wanda could react, the lab doors slammed shut, the lights dimming to a deep, ominous red. She spun around, her katana at the ready, but the lab was empty—save for the device in her hand.

"Well, that’s just great," she muttered, her voice laced with sarcasm. "Looks like we’re doing this the hard way."

But as she stared at the device, she realized something. This wasn’t just a tool for stopping the plague—it was something more. Something dangerous. And she had no idea how to use it.

"Guess we’ll have to figure this out on the fly," she said, her resolve firm. "Just like old times."

With the device in hand, Wanda prepared to face whatever horrors the lab had in store for her. The final battle was about to begin, and Lady Deadpool was ready for anything.

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