Thread: Marvel: A dame to remember (DeadPool)  -Zomb x Temptation-

My face was plastered on a billboard nearly every second street on New York City. As the latest playboy hit and first model to keep her clothes on for their social media campaign, I was a growing success. From swimsuit and underwear modeling to a giant poster of me in lingerie - I was everywhere. Even on the side building of a grocery store, advertising a beach clothing company, conveniently eating fresh fruit. It was enough media spotlight to catch the attention of a very wealthy man, Wilson Fisk. My, my. Fisk looked over my body and my face with absolutely no transparency. It was a look I was all too used to. Even the most devoted and loyal of husbands always seemed to comment one way or another on my appearance. My eyes were undeniably noticeable. That was something I grew to accept and embrace in my modelling career. A leading supermodel, indeed. A vision. He smiled, trying to charm his way into my mind as we unfolded his arm to gesture me to sit at the table before him. We were in a high status restaurant and the place was empty like Fisk has rented the whole place out. My agent seemed confident in Fisk's intentions, and offered me a meeting one on one with Fisk to discuss the contract. However, this was more of a one on one PLUS a dozen body guards. I wondered why a man needed so much protection. Thank you. I smiled lightly. Although I was nervous, the smile remained genuine. I was just as good of an actress as I was a model so no matter my anxiety in the moment, I appeared calm and collected. My agent, Luis Cortez, he sent me here... on such short notice. Told me you wanted to meet in person. It appears I am grossly under-dressed. My eyes gazed around the restaurant. I was simply dressed in casual but stylish ripped jeans and a warm turtle neck sweater. Although I always wore heels, this was very much a 'night out shopping' sort of look. Was there something wrong with the contract? There was silence as Fisk stared at me, with nothing but a nauseating smile. ... No. Contract is fine. He finally admitted. I'm a big fan of yours. I have to admit, I couldn't wait until the night of the Gala to meet you. I stared at him, pretending to be content, although I was suspicious. There seemed to be an eerie feel in the air and I couldn't help but feel like the eyes of the body guards were burning into the back of my head. Maya Myers. Fisk rolled my name off of his tongue. It's got a nice ring to it. Yes, I smile, chuckling softly. My parents thought so too. Trying to be cheeky, I received no reaction from Fisk except for a dead-pan stare. At the snap of his fingers, a waiter came over with a covered tray. The waiter placed the plate on the table before us and then lifted the lid to reveal an assortment of foreign sweets. My eyes widened slightly at the sight of the mound of Turkish Delights on the plate. This, surely, was not a Turkish restaurant. And in the middle of Hell's Kitchen, I wondered where the hell did Fisk get his hands on that. He smiled bigger at the look in my eyes. The look of growing fear. Rahat lokum. He said, Also know as Turkish Delights in more western terms. I did not realize there was a Turkish bakery in Hell's Kitchen. I smiled, trying to keep it together in front of a potentially dangerous man. I have to admit, as much as I love international foods, I have never tried a Turkish Delight. He chuckled quietly, almost sadistically at me as I said that. Are you sure about that? Becoming visibly tense, I moved my jaw slightly to the side, trying to interpret this scenario. Because, uhm... He leaned forward slowly, Your mother had a lot to say about you, Roya Yilmaz . At this moment, all eyes were on me. I glared at Fisk like he was the scum of the earth in this moment. My mother is dead. I rose from my seat, visibly insulted. So unless you're clairvoyant who can communicate beyond the grave, our business here is done. Fisk rose right after me, challenging my demeanour with his massive frame. You're lying. Fisk tried to interrupt, but I wasn't having it. Sit down. Fisk grunted through his teeth. But at this point, I wasn't intimated any longer. I changed my name to Maya Myers. Ever heard of a stage name? I turned to his guards, giving them the stink eye. Tell your boys to save their ammo. I'm a Turkish immigrant, not a god damn terrorist. In that moment, looking into his stale eyes, I saw a vivid vision a prediction of the future. My pupils dilated completed as I saw a horrific scene unfold in my mind. Fisk wasn't some hot shot politician and business man, he was a cold blooded killer . Fisk suddenly changed his behaviour. I have insulted you. He looked at me now like a puppy with his tail between his legs. It appears I have made a mistake. I reverted back to reality as if I had seen nothing. Externally, I appeared to be a hot-headed model. But internally, I was panicking. If you have any other requests, you can go through my agent. I stormed for the door, passing the body guards without a single care for what they might do. With my back to him, put in the last word. Enjoy your Turkish Delights . I scoffed, evidently mocking him as I pushed open the resto door and stormed out. The moment I exited the restaurant, pulled my phone to my ear. Misyon tehlikeye . I mumbled in another language before quickly hanging up. I gunned it for the nearest taxi, not bothering to even look over my shoulder. I melted into the seat, the sudden urge to vomit hitting hard. W-wait! I opened the door back again before the taxi could drive off. Leaning out the door, I heaved the contents of my stomach on the sidewalk. Sliding back into the back of the taxi, I took a breath and rolled my head to the back of the seat. Food poisoning . I falsely pretended as the taxi driver looked at me suspiciously. 48th Street, please. - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - Shit! I yelled out under my breath, speaking to no one but myself in my small, but lavish, New York apartment. I curled over my bathroom counter, with both hands on either side of the sink as I looked up into the mirror. I stared deeply into my own heterochromic eyes for a second as I frowned. Slamming my hand suddenly onto the ceramic edge, I yelled it again. Bok, bok, bok ! I repeated, except in Turkish, and not English. My cover had almost been blown with Fisk - and if he was able to dig up information about my real identity, it meant that many other bad people could, too. I not only hated myself for agreeing to model for this notorious man, but also, for following my conscious all the way to his office. Now, not only was I dealing with the devil, but I was meddling with his violent secrets, too. He was on to me, and even worse, I was on to him. With a the memory of the murder of Doctor Garret fresh in my mind, this was no longer a vision of the potential future, it was a real live event. ' I should have never gone to his office ' I thought to myself, having just witnessed Fisk pummel the medical experts head until it was just play-dough in Fisk's hands. I felt sick just thinking about it. Now, I was involved. REALLY involved - and if I didn't find all the dirt I could possible dig up on Fisk, soon I would be in bigger trouble than I already was. I had to out-hunt the hunter - and that was going to be nearly impossible without turning to my secret Turkish resources. I had come to America to escape my past - but now I realized, I had just traded one hell for another. Taking a deep breath, I ran my fingers into my hair over my head and exited the bathroom. I was dressed in nothing but a white bra and matching lace panties. I had just showered after returning from Fisks office with a mindful of blood and gore, a queasy stomach, and enough drama and stress to last me a lifetime. Trying to unwind, I wandered into my living room, where I turned on the tv and stood before it dangling the remote from my fingers. I turned on the news, which seemed to only feature two things - growing ISIS terrorism movement and of course, Wilson Fisk and his leading politics. I sighed, frustrated with the though of him. I tossed the remote onto my couch and was about to head to the kitchen when suddenly... My big window exploded beside me, sending a wave of glass all over me and my living room floor. I fell to the ground in sheer reaction to the startling bang. Having placed my hand over my face to protect me from flying shards, I slowly lowered it, my breathing heavy as I opened my eyes to face the culprit. There I saw a face I recognized all too easily. It was the red and black figure and mask of Deadpool - one of the most feared mercenaries in the country. My stomach sank as my eyes widened. I barely had a moment to vocally react before you were already rambling about the decor in my apartment. In a compromising position, upright sitting on the ground, I grew more and more confused the more you spoke. W-what? I said softly, trying to figure out if you were being genuine or just pulling my leg. Unicorns...? I mumbled, but the thought was just passing as I was suddenly being asked how I was. Uh... I stammered, taken aback from the strange display. Before I could register an answer, only two words chimed loudly in my mind. Shut up. Although the silence was not intended for me, it appeared that way in my perspective. Instantly snapping, I growled back at you, Hey! If you just gave me a second to fit a word in- But you were still going. Rambling now even more, but less confidently, more nervously. I arched my eyebrow, leaning back slightly as I slithered my hand discreetly underneath my couch. The moment I heard assassin I was ready to reach for my gun and shoot you straight in the head. I know who you are. I smirked, not at all impressed with this first conversation. What do you want from me? I mumbled but instantly received my response. Do me!? Now... now I was REALLY pissed. Pulling the gun from the couch, I stealthily rose from the ground and had the 9mm pointed right at your forehead. With only a few feet distance between us, I lowered my brows and grimaced. With a final moment to answer your question, I hissed. Just a loaded 9 millimeter and a bad temper . Taking a step back, I held the gun with the utmost confidence. Get out !