Hellzone: Human Resources [Deadpool/Open, Spider Family]

[Martyr]

J. Jonah Jameson sat in his office. Before him were an assortment of papers. He opened his desk drawer. First he got out and poured some whiskey into a glass. He then brought out a box of Arturo Fuente Hemingway cigars. The government said he couldn't smoke here. To hell with them! It was his blasted building! He would smoke wherever he damn well pleased! There was no way he would be bullied and intimidated by the government to . . . someone was at the door. He could see the shadow they cased over his frosted widow.

"Who else is still here at this hour? Robbie? Is that you? Go home! I'm not about to pay you overtime. Wait, wait, wait, you're salaried, Robbie, come in here! I've got work for you!" He cut the tip of his cigar and lit it as his eyes moved once again to the door. The shadow was gone. "I ought to dock his—", he turned around to see a man now in his office. He was blind with rage and possibly the whiskey.
"YOU WALL-CRAWLING, PURSE-STEALING, GRANDMA-PUNCHING MENACE! WHAT ARE YOU DOING IN MY OFFICE? I AM GOING TO SUE YOU SO FAST IT WILL MAKE YOUR LAWYER CONSIDER TAKING UP ACUPUNCTURE! — Wait, you aren't Spider-Man! Who are you and why are you here? Don't answer that! GET OUT! No, answer that so I know who to get a restraining order against, then get out!"

[Deleted]

Upon entering the office of one, J. Jonah Jameson, Deadpool was met with a barrage of angry, heavily capitalized raging that nearly knocked him right back out the door. Wide-eyed and a touch panicked from this unexpected outburst, he instinctively pulled both sidearms from the holsters at his thighs and trained them at the cigar-chomping editor with two satisfying clicks, his heart ready to explode wholesale from his chest. “Wall-crawling? Sir, I've never crawled a wall in all my life! The purse thing and the grandma-punching, yeah, totally something I would, could, and probably did do, but wall-crawling? You'd do well not to insult me in such a manner, sir.”

The editor demanded to know who this masked man was if he wasn't the menacing Spider-Man (as if that guy didn't have enough adjectives to his name), and Wade quickly tried to gloss over his rising freak-out at not being alone in the building. He was sure, dead positive, that the Bugle had been all but abandoned after all hell broke loose in the city. After all, who would be so stubborn, so bull-headed, to still be coming to work if they didn't have to? Especially when the place could be raided or blown up or infiltrated by overly curious mutate mercenaries with unhealthy spider obsessions!

Keeping one gun still aimed at Jameson, he holstered the other one and quickly fumbled through his pouches, finding a wrinkled ball of newspaper therein. “Name's Deadpool,” he said calmly, looking over the page real quick, then cheerfully added, “I'm here about the tiara!" A beat, then followed a quick shake of his head with another frantic scan of the ad. "...no wait, I'm the......security officer?” The mercenary nodded to himself and tossed the ad onto the angry man's desk. “Yeah, I'm the security officer you asked for! I'm certain my credentials and long-term work experience will prove me to be a great asset to you and your company!” His masked eyes glanced at the gun still pointed at his supposed “boss” and hurriedly shifted that hand behind his back to hide it and continue this ruse.

[Martyr]

Ever the antagonist, Jameson stared down Deadpool and his silver guns just as he stared down Carnage and his crimson tentacles.* He took a puff on his cigar, blowing smoke into the mercenary's face. At least he could beat cancer.

"Deadpool? That is without a doubt the stupidest name I've ever heard in my decades of hearing absolutely awful names. There's a gal named Lady Stiltman. Think of that! Lady Stiltman. That's like calling yourself Girly Gentleman or Manly Firewoman. Even those are less stupid than Deadpool! What the Hell is a Deadpool? A place where some guy drowned? Is that what you do? Drown in pools? Y'just go around with those peashooters and say 'Hey guys, I'll do the blasted dead man's float!'?"

"Tiara? Tiara? What in God's name are you blathering about? I don't have a damned tiara! Nobody here has a damned tiara! If you want that go down to some jeweler! This is a newspaper! One sells jewels, THE OTHER IS A BLASTED NEWSPAPER!"

Jonah snatched the paper from his hand. "Give me that you idiot!" He scanned it with a furrowed brow. "Telescoping silver stilts . . . Scourge . . . hairbrush . . . fire-breathing . . . how did that get in my paper? . . . Moloids? . . . ba da da da . . . security officer . . . anger management . . . not worn in years."

"So. You think you can serve as security here. Do you want a drink? I sure as Hell need one." He took a stiff shot. "A few things. First, you apparently can't read. While we are looking for security the Tiara is from someone named Luke. Do you know who I am? You better! I'm JOHN JONAH JAMESON, JUNIOR! At no point in my name is there A LUKE! Do you see a lightsaber? Am I missing a hand? Noooooo! Second, you're wearing a MASK! SPIDER-MAN WEARS A MASK! I HATE MASKS! And last, and THIS IS MOST IMPORTANT!" His tone took a 180. "You need to give us a resume, it's an HR thing. I do look over every resume that makes it past the department head. I look at your work history, your personality, and references are important. They can be downloaded on the Twitter, or you can get a paper one from HR during business hours. That'd be Monday at 8 o' clock. Ask for Megan. NOW, GET OUT!"

* Back in Cold-Blooded Killer - 'Memberin' Martyr

[Deleted]

As the endless tirade of abusive language exploded forth from Jameson's vein-pulsing throat at Richter Scale breaking decibels, Deadpool waited. With an eerie sense of calmness, he stood quietly, taking it all in like fresh air on a warm spring day. He opened his mouth to speak at one point, but the avalanche of anger kept coming full-force, and thus he said nothing, instead opting to inspect his nails through the thick red gloves still wrapped about his fingers. He nonchalantly pulled up his sleeve slightly to check the nonexistent watch upon his wrist. Looking up at Jameson, he found that the man was still yelling, and Wade raised an eyebrow, shrugged to himself, and stacked his hands sweetly below his navel like a proper lady, waiting for the man to pause for a second to chomp down on the aspirin he was likely going to desperately need if this kept on for too long.

The rant finally came to an end, and Deadpool looked bored, his masked expression making him appear neutral and unimpressed by the behavior. “Are you done?” he said flatly with mock sucrose dripping from his words, speaking to Jameson as he would to a child throwing a temper tantrum. “Great, so if we could just cool it with the 18-point Impact bold for a second and scale it back to a calming 12-point Arial instead, we'll be in business.”

Mental note. If Spider-Man actually works here in his off-duty hours, do him a favor and punch this jerk in the face. Repeatedly.

The angry man at the desk had ended his rage spewing by mentioning that a resume would be required for employment. “Ah ha! As a matter of fact...” Deadpool chimed in, rather chipper again, and pulled a short stack of folded, glossy paper from one of his magical Liefeldian pouches of holding. “I always carry a few headshots on me, for just this sort of situation!”

   

“What do you think? I'm caught between this one and this one. Which shows off my better side? Personally, I like the angle in this one better, but this one you really see the star power in my eyes.”

With a goofy grin evident beneath his mask, Deadpool stood up straight and tall, saluting his new boss with his hand to the side of his head, palm out, like a proper Canadian. “Pleasure to come aboard, sir! We'll discuss my benefits and 401K plan at a later time. You probably won't regret this decision!”

[Martyr]

"Headshots? Headshots? I said 're-zoo-may' 're-zoo-may' not 're-zoom!', so there should be no confusion that I meant that piece of paper or better yet papers that list why you're better than some hobo off the street! So, what do I have here? What did you put in front of me? HEADSHOTS! What you've done is act like it says J. Jonah Jameson, Jr., owner and proprietor of Perfect Portraits Modeling Agency! WHICH! IT! DOESN'T!"

"Woah, woah, woah. Did your mother drink a BREATHTAKING AMOUNT of alcohol when you were in her body? I didn't hire you! I'm not hiring you now! I doubt highly at this point I'll hire you in the future!", he yelled when the mercenary said that it was a pleasure to come aboard.

He laughed out loud when he mentioned benefits and a 401k. "Hahahahahahahahahahaha! Benefits! 401K! Hahahahahahahahahahaha-ho-ho-ho! I'm dying over here! Wait, wait, you're serious. You actually think you're getting a 401K. Hahahaha! No. See, even if I were to hire you, AND! I'M NOT!, let's have a look-see at the ad. See this? Let's read together as you're obviously illiterate. "Security officer wanted for the Daily Bugle building." With us so far? "Pay is negotiable." Alright? Got that? This is the most important part. Let's take this one slowly so that it is crystal clear." He wet his lips.  "NOOOOOOOOOOOOOO BEEEEEEEEENEEEEEEEEFIIIIIT-TS!" He over-enunciated the last part for emphasis if the eye-popping, ear-splitting, sphincter-tightening shout wasn't enough.

"So, let's be perfectly frank here. YOU do not work for ME. YOU are NOT my SECURITY OFFICER. So, YOU don't need to BE HERE!"

[Deleted]

Deadpool pouted beneath his mask, his head slumping a bit to the side as Jameson, to be expected at this point, started screaming and carrying on once again. “C'mon guy, don't talk down to me like that. It's totally one of my turn ons.”

Addendum to earlier mental note: Switch punching to the face with bullets to the face. Repeatedly.

Jameson continued spraying angry words about the office as if his mental caps lock key was stuck in a permanently depressed position, and Wade narrowed his eyes in annoyance. With the gang warfare and arson and downright handbasket of bad things going on outside these walls, how did this asshole still only have seven holes in his head? But, nevertheless, he was still here, didn't seem to have any desire to leave, and showed no fear or even understanding of what was going on in the city right now. Deadpool would need an excuse to stick around in the meantime if he hoped to go snooping about unhindered as he originally planned.

“Funny thing about that,” Wade attempted to backtrack once it seemed like the raging cigar-chomper would stop for a breath. “Y'see, I spoke to...Megan, was it? Yeah, Megan! Spoke to her before the city shut down. She said that given the current...” he took a quick peek out the window at the city in shambles with smoke rising on the horizon, “...climate of the neighborhood, that I should be start right away. No questions asked.......at severely reduced pay?” Deadpool winced slightly at this out of habit, even though he was likely not getting paid for this “gig” at all in the first place. It might have been better to just say that, but there was no telling when he'd another chance to get a word in amidst the abusive screaming. “Unorthodox, I know, I was just as shocked at the unprofessional nature of my hiring, but you know what they say about desperate times and desperate measures! So I suppose that does make me your security officer! At least for the time being. So if you'll just allow me to securify about the office, as was agreed upon, that would be great. After all, who knows when some menacing villain or Spider-person could come skulking about and cause mischief or mayhem about your beautiful building? Did I mention I have experience in taking down Spider-people? Oh yes, I'm pretty sure I mentioned that.”

[Martyr]

Ol' Pencil-Stache narrowed his eyes. "The buck does not stop with Megan. The buck stops with me. Megan's a good gal but she wouldn't last a day doing what I do! Wouldn't last an hour! She probably would last a minute, I'm not going to down sell her." He stared Deadpool down for a moment or two before clapping his hands together. "I'll tell you what, I'll start you on a trial basis, which means that your first minor screw up means that you're out the door. It's not like there were many other applicants before or after this stuff that other papers have been over-hyping. Don't get me wrong, we've been talking about it, but it isn't the end of the world. It's not like Spider-Man being on the loose! You'll be treated like a temp, so $78 a day, and again, no benefits."

The Merc with a Mouth declared himself a spider slayer. Jameson didn't exactly believe it. "Bullcrap. You haven't taken out Spider-Man. If you did, I'd have covered you. Just like anytime one of Spider-Man's allies like Doc Ock turn on him. That was one of mine, the name, not the metal-arm thing, that was all him."

He chomped on his cigar for a couple moments. "You think I'm paying you just to wander around my office? Get on patrol! Hold on." He ran through his desk and took out a walkie talkie set. "I have the other here near my desk. Normally it's in Megan's office but she's not here so I'm reduced to taking my own calls. Somehow being around for her infant son and husband were more important than work. I'm not going to fire her for it, lawyers say it would cost me to much, but respect? That's gone. Anyway, monitor the hallways. The security cameras are flickering in and out because of the electricity situation so they won't be much help. if I need you, I know how to use this thing." He thought for a moment. "Do you?"

[Deleted]

All of New York City was literally falling apart around her.

New York had been declared a no man's land by the pencil pushers with the gangbangers running the streets into the ground. It was definitely the kind of party that Shriek was most at home. And yet after three weeks of non-stop partying, she felt burnt out. That was weird. Even her run with Carnage a few years back didn't feel so dragged on like this. Was it because for once it was somebody besides herself causing all the mayhem? Or was it just because the violence didn't feel like the kind she enjoyed. She sat on a bench and considered it for a moment. Probably the latter, she conceded.

Before she developed her powers to incite riots with her mind and emit sonic blasts, she was once a simple street dealer who scratched, clawed, screwed, and screwed over, just to get to the next day. And she enjoyed every minute of it. But three weeks on, every gangbanger worth his salt wasn't really fighting because they wanted to, no no, they fought because they needed to; and not in the craving kind of way like her.

She was bored. Really bored. She looked to her left and considered going into the Kitchen, but then she remembered that was a hotbed for all the heavy artillery at that time. I mean sure she could go to Chelsea, or even out to Harlem, but both of those areas were largely protected by what little of those heroes that decided to stick around to fight. True she saw Spooder-Meng and Daredevil every so often, but no Avengers or Fantastic Four; now that was odd.

A newspaper brushed up against her leg and she looked down at it, picking it up. A classified ad on the front page for a security guard wanted. She couldn't help but laugh in amusement; all hell was breaking loose around them but flat top needed to get his newspapers out? Was there anybody even left to read his funny papers? Well okay, they slammed the wallcrawler every day so maybe an ounce of slack should be given.

She sat there for a moment before getting to her feet.

Oh why not? She thought, and with that she aimed her hands to the ground and headed straight for the Daily Bugle, launching herself high into the air with a loud BANG! If that building could even afford security to stay open like the Baxter Building or Avengers Tower and their stupid mansion, then there's got to be something to kill there, right?

[Deleted]

Deadpool took the walkie talkie from Jameson and clipped it to his belt, signing off with an additional obnoxious salute to the new boss. “Yes sir, of course I do, thank you for this opportunity!” Did he say that already? And if so, was he saying it too many times? Hard to keep track when every line that escaped his throat was countered by another wall of oversized text slamming into him like a battering ram. He allowed his saluted wrist to go limp and flutter off to the side with a wiggle of his fingers and a wide grin as he backed towards the door he originally entered from. “Hall Monitor Wilson is on duty, monitoring halls with no ulterior motives! Let me just get out of your perfectly leveled hair.”

Slipping out of the office rather stiffly, Deadpool slowly closed the door behind him with a too loud click and leaned against it with a half relieved half distressed sigh. This was such a bad idea. What the hell were you thinking?! Well, Deadpool, let's recap. You were thinking you could protect your friend. You were thinking you could save both of you from the future. You were thinking that this place was f**k**g abandoned so you can sneak about gathering intel on Spider-Man in peace. And, of course, like everything else that's happened to me over the past eight months, something has to go completely sideways! I swear, it's like someone out there has it in for me...

Cracking his neck out from side to side, he looked both directions down the hallways and pursed his lips in annoyance, unsure what to do at this point, and chose to start moving towards the right. Oh well...at least this will be the easiest 78 bucks I've made this year. Who else besides me would try to break into an outdated news press to cause trouble, anyway?

[Martyr]

Many newspapers lined their walls with copies of important newspapers. This could be stories which the paper broke. The Daily Bugle had a few of those. They had a paper from about ten years ago about the first flight and formation of the Fantastic Four. There were general news headlines that everyone in the business covered. There was one on Watergate, for example. Buttressing most of their walls however, were inflammatory, sanctimonious, and sensationalist headlines about Spider-Man.

SPIDER-MAN SLINGS INFANTS ON STATEN ISLAND!

MENACE'S JEWELRY HEIST FOILED BY NYPD!

DRUKEN SPIDER-MAN TERRORIZES MANHATTAN!

Technically, he was drugged for that last one. Charity towards its subjects was not something a publication like the Daily Bugle would be inclined to give.

It was in this environment that Deadpool now found himself walking the halls. It was an environment created by John Jonah Jameson, Jr. It was an environment created in his image. His hostility to masked heroes and to Spider-Man in particular was something that he wore directly on his sleeve. It was one of the multiple reasons that he had been even more hostile to Deadpool than most of the population of the planet was hostile to him. 

Still, the man upstairs was still upstairs. He was waiting this out with his ally-of-the-moment. After all, what's the worst thing that could happen?

[Deleted]

Shriek crashed through the 16th floor windows, which had been vacated. Looking around she realized that the Daily Bugle in fact didn't use all 35 of its floors evidently. She wondered what would happen if she posted about it on Tumblr how many reposts she'd get. Jonah was far more hated by those people than even she, a full blown 'supervillain.' Irony.

She got to her feet and her body stiffened.

"Ow. Ow. Ow." she said as she began stretching out and looking herself over for any puncture wounds. She didn't feel any, though she did notice a small bruise on her shoulder and hip. m*th*rf**k*r. Feels like I just pole danced on Carny while he was making with the blades! she thought to herself, though knowing if that were really true, she'd be far worse for wear. Oh well, it was her thoughts and she can think what she pleased, thank you very much! she thought to nobody in particular.

Shriek took a few steps and saw a doorway that COULD lead up the stairs. Heck even the elevator was likely just down the hall; but she preferred express! She looked up and aimed her hands, forming a massive charge and after ten seconds released a sonic blast that erupted and shattered a gigantic hole that jumped up the remaining 20 levels, all the debris (thankfully) bursting away from her person.

"PACKAGE FOR ONE J. JONAH JACKASS!" she cried and cackled maniacally as she aimed her sonic blast downward and catapulted up the levels, blasting a hole that went a few floors downwards as she did.

[Deleted]

The halls of the Bugle, as was to be expected, were eerily quiet, with the exception of a few crackles on the belted walkie-talkie and the sound of heavy boots falling step by step on the linoleum flooring. Obviously, nothing of interest and importance was happening here, and Deadpool couldn't help but feel just a twinge of jealousy of the other heroes that were out somewhere in the city, probably fighting together in an amazing team-up crossover event, filled with action, adventure and drama, and learning important life lessons along the way.

And here Wade was, not having friendship-affirming adventures in the burning Big Apple, but instead bored out of his mind as he kicked up the ash and dust that had collected in the halls since the city-wide lockdown. His footfalls became strangely rhythmic, skipping and dancing and spinning about to music only he could hear. “♪I love myself~ I want you to looooove me~!♪” Deadpool sang cheerily as he strutted like a peacock at a fashion show. “♪When I feel down~ I want you abooooove me~!♪”

He abruptly paused mid-refrain and stared absently at the various framed headliners that decorated the walls, and frowned a bit at the various photos of the Amazing Spider-Man, all marked with tiny print as taken courtesy of Peter Parker. Had it been really been three weeks since he and Peter last spoke? Hell, that last team-up they had, before everything went crazy, was the first time in a long while that they had even seen each other in the first place.

And then, an awful thought occurred. Was Spider-Man even still alive out there?

Wade felt his blood go cold for a moment, and shook the thought from his head, though he couldn't help but wonder if he was actually doing what was best for the two of them at this point, or if this was just an excuse to maybe, possibly, see him again at least one more time. It was likely more the second than the first. Not wanting to dwell too hard on where his friend was or on the ethics of his general snooping about said friend's secret, personal life, Wade continued his patrol down the halls, twirling one of his guns about gleefully in one hand and singing and dancing down the hall once again.

“♪I don't want~aaaa-ny-body else~! When I think aboooouut you I--♪"

BOOOOM!

The floor beneath Deadpool's feet suddenly exploded upwards, blasting debris and plaster violently about the wide hallway in heavy, scattered chunks. The masked mercenary went flying into the ceiling tile with a sickening crack, only for gravity to prove itself a harsh mistress and smack him face first at the feet of the newly entered foe. “Well hellooo, beautiful! Somebody better call up the Hawkeye Initiative, because I am loving your look!” he said coyly with a huge grin, as he looked upon the wicked Shriek for the first time. “Forgive me for just dropping in like this. It's a bad habit...oh wait...crap.” Wade quickly realized that this was exactly the sort of threat that he had been hired to put down, and leaped back up to his feet, training his sidearms at the newcomer with two loud clicks in rapid succession. "Sorry about this, sweetheart. But you know, a job's a job. Maybe a coffee later, if I don't kill you first?"

Who knew the local tabloid rag would attract scantily clad villainesses so readily? I should have taken on this kind of job years ago!

[Martyr]

There was a clash and a clang. There was a bash and a bang. Clashes and clangs, bashes and bangs meant one thing: money. Specifically, money for repairs. J. Jonah Jameson, Jr., owner and proprietor of the building currently being assaulted by superhumans would rather do a backstroke down the river Styx than pay Kharon his dues.

His brow furrowed as he pressed the button on his walkie-talkie. "DEADPOOL! What is the name of William Randolph Hearst is going on down there? You, know, Deadpool is still a stupid name. I'm going to call you something else. Ba da da. D: I'm calling you D. It's short, sweet, and truncated. D, it's Spider-Man, isn't it? I knew it! That menace is targeting my building! AGAIN!* J. Jonah Jameson, Jr. has zero time for Spider-Man and his annoying fiends! Get them OUT OF MY BUILDING, NOW!, and remember, any thing you break comes out of your laughably miniscule paycheck, not that that matters! Frankly, in this economy, in an area of town which at this very moment is practically a third layer of ever-blazing Hades, you should pay me for the privilege of having something to do with your life!"

As his current cigar became a stump, he turned on a television in his office. It, like most things in his office at this point, was powered by a generator. He was not chasing the leads from the news networks. That was certainly not what he was doing. It just so happened that he didn't have a better explanation at the moment. 

The reports were grim. For once, he was not immediately concerned with whether or not his people were on the ground here. Harlem was hit heavily by the chaos. It was as if the Hulk itself had rampaged through. "Robbie. I knew I shouldn't have let him go home." There was little service for cell phones due to the raging battles. He had to move about his office for a while before he finally got a signal. Robbie did not answer and the phone went straight to voice mail. "Blasted masked bastards." He threw his phone across the office before tapping the walkie talkie. "D, your job description just expanded. You're escorting me to Harlem." It was about two hours on foot and in the best case scenario of hiring a taxi or commandeering a taxi, it was about twenty minutes.

*Kingpin's bootlick last trashed my place in Cold Blooded Killer. — J. Jonah "Mr. Objectivity" Jameson, Jr.

[Deleted]

Shriek looked down at Deadpool in irritation.

"Oh you've gotta be - - YOU!? SERIOUSLY!?" she shrieked and promptly aimed a channeled sonic blast right at the Merc With the Mouth. Hey, the jackoff had a healing factor, sure, but there were certain things that didn't grow back, like his hearing. Or his dignity.

"The Bugle? This is a new low even for you. No wait, the bottom of the floor looking like the poster child for Spam in a Can is! Buh-bye!" she said aiming the blast downwards. Her memory was hazy even on a good day, but she knew Deadpool's reputation, not that he never shut up about it with those stupid radio commercials of his.

Sure, this was a bit of an irritant, but hey it wouldn't be very fun if she didn't meet SOME kind of resistance, right?

"You might want to call a janitor for this mess, Jay!" she said to nobody in particular as she trotted away from the crater she made.

[Deleted]

Another loud boom-smash exploded from Shriek's soundwave manipulation, directed at Deadpool's head with a ear-drum exploding fever pitch. And explode his ear-drums most certainly did, as did every blood vessel and orifice in his face, bursting in small spurts of bloody goop from his eyes, ears, and mouth and shredding through each respective area of his mask. Wade smacked against the far wall with a painful crack, knocking several framed headlines from the wall as he crumpled into a heap on the floor, hands clasped for dear life against his ears.

“Oh great, another screamer,” he complained, once his face had properly reformed from the mess of bloodied glop back to his normal mess of deep-set scar tissue. “Never allowed a nice, quiet girl in my life, am I?” As he lay in a pool of his own blood and brain matter, a loud, static-pitched screaming mumbled and grumbled through the speaker of the walkie-talkie on his belt. Still woozy from the blast attack to his face, Deadpool unclipped the device and held it in front of his face, replying in a strained voice, “Ten-four, ol' flat top. No Spider-People will get past me! A hot chick in leather and latex with a noodle fetish, perhaps, but nooooooo Spider-People!”

With that, his face back to what he generally considered normal, Wade hopped to his feet again, pulled an additional red mask from one of the many, many pouches he wore on his belt, and inspected the rather large hole in the ceiling created by Shriek. “Craaaaaaaaap....” he whined as he hid his wrecked face away behind red fabric again, tiny crumbs of foundation and broken tile scattering down from way above. “Kiss that paycheck goodbye, Wilson...again.” Deadpool shook the dizzyness from his healed up skull and darted to the nearest stairwell, practically flying up several flights of stairs to track down the dark-haired beauty that decided to take issue with his new boss. The walkie-talkie came to life with chatter again, and Wade frowned at the sudden static-laden message as he rushed to locate Shriek again. “Sorry, bossman, gotta log that escort mission for the moment. Mid-boss fight right now. Might wanna make like the 50s, and duck and cover. It's about to get a bit nuclear around here!”