A casino, tuxedoed men, beautiful ladies, high stakes.Hit! the hero announces and throws down a card onto the blackjack table. He is the crazy man, a beautiful blonde states. No, he just likes to win, he replies, referring to his Galactus trading card he threw upon the pile. His opponent, an elderly man in a white suit, petting what might either be a cat or a ferret, admits that he plays very well, Mr…? Deadpool, the hero, wearing a tux over his suit, shouts as he draws a huge gun. Barry Deadpool. That’s not his real name, his inner voice points out, only to be told to shut up and stop crowding cool action panel.
Having hopped upon the game table, Deadpool brandishing a very big gun informs his opponent that he never understood about these old Bond movies. He’s licensed to kill, right? So how come he always hangs out with the villains at the start? Gets the guided tour, goes game shooting, plays Connect 4. Why not just shout don’t &%$& with the Queen, pull a sawn-off out of his bag and kablooey the guy? He proceeds to do exactly that while announcing he hates that passive-aggressive shtick. You wanna kill someone, be honest about it at least! The English and their manners, eh?
Connery was Scottish, Dalton was Welsh, Lazenby was Australian, Brosnan was Irish, his inner voice rattles off, only to be told to stop looking things up on IMDB.
Mission accomplished he crows, drawing out the sh sound. Has he had a stroke? the blonde asks. It’s a Connery impression, she is told. This is a Bond pastiche after all. Really, she hadn’t picked that up, she replies. Too subtle. Regardless, would he make love to her?
Of course, at that point the dream ends as a small Asian man with doubtful dental hygiene shoves his face into Deadpool’s personal space and shouts at him to wake up. He get out of Tan’s airplane or Tan throw his poo at him, Yes?
Gathering his stuff, Deadpool protests he was having the most beautiful thematically relevant dream. With cleavage. Tan not care, he is told. Tan hate him. He pay Tan to fly him to England superfast. Tan has done so, despite big annoy-stench. Here is parachute. Parachute of hate. He jump now! Deadpool jumps and Tan shouts after him that parachute may not work. Tan hate him! Crap! seems the correct reply at that.
Great Britain, the HQ of MI-13. He knows this bloke, right? Pete Wisdom asks Captain Britain and points at the computer image of the deceased villain Slaymaster. Colossal and recurring pain in his flag-draped arse back in the day? Tried to kill Cap’s sister. Smashed in a perfectly good comic shop. Eventually pissed Cap off to the point that he caved his head in with a boulder? Ring any bells?
Slaymaster, Brian Braddock replies curtly. He doesn’t want to be impolite, but get to the bloody point! Don’t have a hernia, Wisdom advises him. He’s alright. Slaymaster hasn’t done the standard back from the dead bit. But… well, before he got a bit crap and Cap was slapping him about for fun, he was a tad tasty.
O, MI13’s techhead, enters, explaining that back in the late 60s and 70s Slaymaster was one of the top assassins operating in international circles. Suave. Deadly. And he had a simply fabulous array of hi-tech weaponry and gadgets. Extraordinary work, really. Don’t get him started. Legendary. Very ahead of its time. Now the awful thing is they never could quite find Slaymaster’s secret base. Filled with that magnificent arsenal. But it seems someone finally has. Hidden beneath a…
Volcano, Cap surmises. A small hill and copse in Greenwich Park, actually, O corrects him. Some treasure hunter sort dug it out, Pete continues. Probably figured he’d make millions selling Slaymaster’s gear on the Black-ops market. Sadly for him, the base has its own nasty-arsed security system and it fried him while he was still doing his celebratory jig. And word’s out in the bad lad community. London calling to the faraway towns… The Slaymaster’s tech’s available. Muchos valuables. Whitehall stuck troops out front, of course but…
By that time, Cap has already disappeared before Wisdom can even tell him he’d best get down there. Just in case, like.
When Deadpool arrives at said cope, the troops are already dead and someone has entered the lair. Cor Lumee Guv’norrr, They’z all gorn and been killed, ain’t they? he asks. Worst Dick van Dyke accent evah! one of his inner voices says while the other worries he’s going to be doing that the entire story.
Deaddpool enters the dark. Strike a lite, Mary Poppins. Lerk at the size of this Tony Blair (cockney rhyming slang for “Super-villain’s lair”). He sounds like a decongested South African, his inner voice criticizes. Reason enough to lose the accent. He wonders who did this to the troops. Inviting empty tunnel with no apparent defensive security systems. Despite there being a bounty inside worth gazillions. Doesn’t buy it. If only there was some poor pathetic sap he could throw down there to reveal the evil boobytraps…
What a fine idea, the killer, a Slaymaster lookalike, reveals himself as he kicks Deadpool ahead. Jasper Bateman, mercenary, killed the soldiers, pleased to make his acquaintance. Ah, so that’s what the Slaymaster’s security system does! he can observe a moment later thanks to Deadpool’s unwitting help as it slices and dices him apart. How impressive, Bateman observes, and admirably thorough. It would be simply impossible to pass unmolested. Unless, that is, you spent three years of your life tracking down the octogenarian gent who designed this security system back in the 70ies. Tortured him and then hung him off an Eastbourne hotel balcony until he revealed the secret entry code.
Bateman presses a button and a computer voice addresses him as Slaymaster and welcomes him home. The system is off. Hmm, Bateman muses as he walks ahead, he rather likes the way that sounds.
A little later, Deadpool, having pulled himself together more or less, moans. First the whole parachute of hate not opening and now this, he complains. American Airlines complaints departments are going to hear from him. He figured he’d need the healing factor to survive British food but this is going too far! Just needs a moment to get himself together and he’ll be as good as new.
A fist hits his chin. Deadpool swears. Give a healing factor a break, huh?! he complains. He thought the English were supposed to be reserved! They are, Captain Britain states. He could hit him harder than that. He will hit him harder than this. He will not allow him to take up his weapons and his mantle! Who’s mental? Deadpool asks. What? Cap shoots back. He said “And he’s mental.” Well, if he were South African, that’s what it would have sounded like. A decongested South African one of his inner voices offers.
What? No! Cap replies angrily. He said “And his mantle”. And who’s mental? Deadpool insists. No one’s mental! Cap replies. He wouldn’t be so sure about that, comes Deadpool’s reply. What the hell is he babbling about? Cap asks and continues. He’s saying he will not allow him to become the next Slaymaster. Deadpool aims both his guns at him, musing that he likes the sound of Deadpool: Slaymaster. Has a nice ring. It smells another monthly title, his inner voice suggests.
Deadpool fires. Sorry, Captain Springbok, but that’s not why he‘s here. Got hired to steal the Slaymaster swag and take it back to the States for a collector. God, it’s really difficult to make exposition funny, his voice complains, only to be told to be silent.
Thanks for warning him though, Deadpool calls back at the dazed Cap. If the well-mannered British types didn’t go through polite niceties, he’d never get the chance to shoot him in the face. Capt should be thankful he’s Canadian. Imagine what an American would do to him. Or worse, a New Yorker! Now, where’s this killer assassin tech?
He finds something. Cap shouts “no,” as standing before them is Jasper Bateman now wearing Slaymaster’s battlesuit and armed with his weapons. Captain Britain! he exclaims. But of course! How utterly proper! He fires his ray guns at Cap. Does he believe in fate? Bateman asks. That on the rarest of occasion the universe reveals itself to them and shows a hidden purpose? That it speaks, revealing order, where there had been previously flailing chaos? Cap falls. Does he know how long he studied Slaymaster? What began as curiosity turned into obsession, a life work, an existence’s focus. And if he had harbored any doubts Captain Britain’s arrival at the exact moment he donned Slaymaster’s helmet and weaponry dispelled them. This is a moment of grandeur, of gravitas. The moment he took up his sword, his mantle…
Look, just tell him who’s &%$$ mental, already! Deadpool shouts, firing his guns at Bateman. A little self-awareness, here? his inner voice suggests. Oh yeah, Deadpool’s mental, you bad teeth &%$&! And massively outgunned, he realizes a moment later and runs toward where Captain Britain is just getting up. Both of them look for cover behind a device.
An armory of high-tech guns! Deadpool complains. It’s like a Charlton Heston garage sale! Got to be something juicy here they can use; sarcasm and acerbic wit ain’t gonna cut it! Cap has taken up some wreckage to shield himself with. Dude, Deadpool remarks, that whole Captain / shield thing, it’s kinda been done! He’s annoying, Cap replies. What say they both grab some weaponry and return the fire? he suggests. He likes the cut of his jib, Deadpool replies. Cap believes he is ostensibly speaking English but he has no idea what he just said.
They both try to draw two levers which look like weapons, but are actually part of a Culture swap device. They are both hit by energy. The computer announces that targets are English and American. Canadian, Deadpool corrects it and is, as usual, ignored. Swap completed, the computer announces. They now have total knowledge and use of each other’s culture, mindset, language, various dialects and colloquialisms. Good luck on their undercover international mission.
Captain Britain and Deadpool stare at each other. Dude, Cap begins. I say, Deadpool rejoins. Awesome, Cap continues. Bloody hell, says Deadpool. He could so eat a nacho now, Cap sighs. Why does he suddenly want to drink warm beer? Deadpool asks confused.
Bateman has found them by now and trains his guns at them. With a Yeeah! Captain Britain flies upward and grabs him. God, the zealous enthusiasm! Deadpool moans. He’s really sorry about that. And that, he adds as Cap crashes through the ceiling. Sorry, he’s just been through a cultural mindswap, and well… he’s just really sorry!
Aaargh! he shouts, Why does he keep apologizing for everything? It’s one of their English flaws, one of his voices explains. Their many flaws. They are very sorry about that, too. Calm down, his other voice adds, they really shouldn’t make such a fuss about this. It’s not like they are a major A-list character or anything.
Self-deprecating comments too, Deadpool moans. Noo! God, this is crippling, he remarks. How do they get anything done? Dunkirk spirit, his voice replies. Didn’t they get their asses kicked at Dunkirk? the other voice asks. Sorry, their arses.
Deadpool, in the meantime, realizes that the two combatants are gone, the security system is dead and the tech is just here for stealing. Big payday. He grabs a weapon but it’s no good. He can feel that an American is having a major battle. For some bizarre reason, he feels utterly compelled to get involved.
Outside and above Captain Britain is still beating up Bateman, shouting that being an American is great! He feels all empowered and young! Confident, free, optimistic and… arrogant, Bateman concludes as he gives him an electric shock. Lacking insight of his gung ho actions. He thanks him for getting close enough to let him use the weapon Slaymaster had prepared in case Cap ever took off his ridiculous helmet.
They plummet downward as Bateman continues that Slaymaster always envied Cap’s ability to fly. He envied many things about him that drove him. Drove him to create so many wonderful gadgets… these antigravity boots, for example, which he uses to stay aloft while Cap lands hard.
Of course his Ahab-like fascination with Captain Britain was what killed him eventually. Fortunately he seems to be ticking off that particular box somewhat early. He grabs the dazed Cap by the head. Who knows what Slaymaster could be without Captain Britain to continually claw him back to the ordinary and laughable? He can return the name to glory once more! Captain Britain is just one obstacle. One final test to overcome before he takes up his…
Look, Deadpool interrupts. He liked that “he’s mental” joke as much as the next chap. But does he really have to do this again? Seeing him, Bateman exclaims, is that his idea of being English? He refers to the fact that Deadpool sits on a machine horse, brandishing a lance and sword like a knight.
What… too much? Deadpool asks. It told him just to go with the monocle, his voice berates him. Anyway, he’s wrong, Deadpool continues. He was English. But his healing factor’s been working on the negativity, the inhibitions, the really bad food. That’s all gone. He is now Super English!! “Cor lumee, guv’nor”, he shouts! “Not half!! Innit? Cry God for Harry and— “Even his voices have given up on understanding him.
Falling from the horse, Deadpool realizes that sword’s really heavy. However he can use the lance to drop Bateman. Super English, he repeats. Imagine it! None of the negatives. Just the positives. The nobility, the heroism, the grit and pluck, the honesty, the strange paralyzing inability to finish off a completely helpless foe. Because it just wouldn’t be “proper.” Damn.
His fist begins to glow as Bateman announces he is glad Deadpool inherited his Englishness from Captain Britain, Not all of them share his sense of mercy when it comes to killing… as Deadpool is about to discover!
However, Bateman is hit from behind thanks to the really big gun Captain Britain has gotten in the meantime. And he has inherited his American nature from Deadpool, Cap announces. Bitch.
“Bitch?” Deadpool asks. Felt right, Cap replies. Ok, they go find that culture swap machine now, Deadpool orders. “I dunno,” Cap replies, carrying the unconscious Bateman. He kinda likes being American. Canadian, Deadpool stresses. Whatever.