Been thinking about Western Spideypool
You may be wondering how Peter got here. It involved a lot of blood, sweat, and a concerning about of tacos. An outlaw, 2 alcoholic beverages, a few missing fingers, and the York saloon being torn asunder by bullets.
Peter racketed around the saloon His spurred boots clacking against the hardwood with each frantic step. Darting through the crashing glass, while dodging the bullets ricocheting in the bar.
“Wade!” He yelled out, sharp shots clinking against rickety wood, men yelling out before ducking behind tables and the bar. “Curses.” He gritted, eyes dilating to see all the targets around the room. His senses enhanced, honing in on Wade.
Wade was pulling out his two Colt Navy Revolver’s from their holster as the bullets rained down on his body. Instead of being knocked out dead on the ground; He continued to shoot, as the shots to his body doubled, tripled, quadruped, he kept walking forward. There was no blood coming from his wounds.
That’s only one way you could tell he was a Red Ghost. There was also the issue of his speed, strength and reaction time, it was fast, not faster then Peter, but fast enough to turn heads.
Of course, his immortality didn’t come for free. Wade had scars on top of his scars, making his temperament intimidating, unless you were talking directly to him, which ruined the mystique.
“You think you can kill me? Think again bastards!” Wade yelled, the whizzing sound of the shots overlapping his screaming.
Peter could almost hear a song following the scene, it didn’t strike him as a surprise, Wade invoked all sorts of unnatural things to happen around him. He swung around two Katana’s, under his body, over his shoulders, as if it was the most natural thing in the world. He knew that he was the only one privy to the fact that the Red Ghost had visited many countries, but came back to the states because he missed a good beer he’d said.
