"So this is the place, Lord Taskmaster, the one who knows how to copy anything," Rize said as she looked at the shaded building in front of her. She placed a hand on her hip and leaned against the car door.
"Couldn't we—or you—have stopped in the middle of a shop to buy clothes for your cute student, huh, Master?" she added, glancing down at her savage mix of tactical gear she was wearing.
Taskmaster stepped out of the car without a word, slamming the door shut behind him with a dull thunk. He cast a sidelong glance at Rize, who was still admiring her mismatched outfit with a blend of amusement and annoyance.
"This ain't a fashion show, kid," he muttered. "You want clothes? Earn them."
Rize crossed her arms and pouted. "Oh, come on. You expect me to 'blend in' looking like I escaped from a sci-fi horror movie? People are gonna scream before I even whip out a tentacle."
She narrowed her eyes. "You're lucky Mr. Flower told me not to hurt you. Most people who talk to me like that end up as appetizers."
Taskmaster didn't flinch. "You're lucky I don't care about threats. Most people who try them end up regretting it."
Rize snorted and followed as he approached the shaded building. "So, who's this 'favor' guy? Is he like you? Cool mask, creepy skills, doesn't smile?"
"This isn't him. This is not the favor guy, but someone else."
"So why are we here then?"
"For you to get a new identity, my damp-ass student."
Rize blinked, processing that with a scrunched nose.
"Wait—identity? Like… new name, new papers, the whole 'I was never a bloody tentacle monster' package?" she said, miming quotes with her fingers.
Taskmaster grunted. "Exactly. You think you can just walk around as Rize the Human Blender and not attract heat?"
"But Rize is such a cute name! It even sounds like 'rise'—you know, like rising from the blood of my enemies and I think no one know me either "
Taskmaster gave her a long, tired stare. " it doesn't matter if people know you or not but You do need psychological help. And a haircut."
"Huh? What's wrong with my hair, sir-skull-for-a-face? I think you're just bald under that mask," Rize said with a smirk.
Taskmaster slowly turned his head toward Rize, the black visor of his mask catching a sliver of light as if it was glaring at her in silent judgment.
"…You really want to test me today, huh?"
Rize grinned wider, clearly enjoying herself. "I'm just saying, for a guy with a cool skull helmet, you're awfully sensitive about this matters. It's okay to be bald, Master. Embrace it!"
He exhaled slowly through his nose. "You know, I've worked with assassins, spies, and lunatics—but you're the second person that makes me consider throwing myself off a building just for some peace and quiet."
"Aw, come on," she said, skipping a step beside him as they walked into the dim building, "you love my energy , but who is the first person?"
Taskmaster didn't stop walking. "It's Deadpool."
Rize blinked, then let out an overly theatrical gasp. "THE Deadpool? the one that never-shuts-up Deadpool?"
"Yeah. That one."
"Oh my God, Master, are we going to fight him? Or team up with him? Or maybe I can eat him! I've always wondered if someone who regenerates tastes different after the fifth bite!"
Taskmaster halted mid-step and turned slowly to stare at her.
"No. You are not eating Deadpool."
"Aww. You never let me have any fun."
"He'd probably taste like burnt plastic and bad decisions anyway," she muttered.
As they stepped inside the building, the interior revealed itself to be a dim, cluttered workspace lit by flickering fluorescent lights—half lab, half underground forger's den. Tables were scattered with printers, plastic laminates, and computer monitors. Sitting at one of the computers was a random-looking guy.
"Hello, Weasel," Taskmaster said.
"'Hello, Task. Who is this sweet one here with worse fashion choices than the people at the Met Gala?' Weasel said, looking at Rize.
Rize placed a hand on her hip, tilted her head, and gave Weasel a mischievous grin. "Excuse you me mister neckbearded looking guy this is vintage blood-stained savage mix of tactical gear."
Weasel raised an eyebrow and leaned back in his chair. "Right… So this is"
"She's a project," Taskmaster said again, his voice flat and already tired.
Rize skipped forward and extended a hand cheerily. "Hi! I'm Rize! Adorable eldritch horror."
"So, what do you want me to do for her?" he asked, ignoring Rize.
"She needs a new documents," Taskmaster said, cutting to business. "papers, background history, school records, whatever else you can whip up. She needs to blend in. "
Weasel scoffed. "Yeah, hmm that a lot for your new murder Muppet here."
Rize perked up. "Oooh, I like that one! Murder Muppet. Can that be my new name?"
"No," both men said at the same time.
"Aww, it is a good name, I think!" she said.
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