Rise of Marvels: Year One -- IC Thread

Discussion in 'RPG Archives' started by Carnage27, Jul 30, 2014.

  1. Andy C.

    Andy C. Repent, Harlequin!

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    OSBORN



    Norman was a bit shocked by Fisk's bluntness in his proposal. In truth, he had toyed with the prospect of extending his military services into domestic operations, but at the time, the risks and hassles outweighed the benefits. It was one thing to know that PMC operators were carrying out missions and neutralizing threats in some insignificant corner of the third world, but to have a privatized military force on American soil would turn the public against him.

    "It's an interesting proposition, Mr. Fisk," he said with a sigh, "but I doubt the general public will support it. As inefficient as government programs may be, as incompetent and corrupt its officials can be, people will always defer to some form of ordered authority rather than risk the uncertainty of the free market. 'Oh, but who will build the roads,' and all that. It's a disappointing aspect of human nature, but one that's nigh impossible to shake off. Even when the services you and I could provide would be vastly superior, the sad truth is that your average citizen wants to feel that his rulers are there to protect him."

    Osborn's eyebrow arched, a moment of inspiration upon him.

    "Unless......" he mused, "the threats facing the public become too severe for the government sector to handle. If the police are routed, the military and HAMMER stretched too thinly, well, they'd have to turn to the private sector for alternative methods."

    Osborn found his mind racing. Those projects he had commissioned from Connors and Warren and Smythe. The prototype hardware he had acquired when buying out lesser innovators like Abner Jenkins and Adrian Toomes.

    With the right combination of firepower and enough layers of deniability to avoid suspicion, he could create an ideal scenario. A city-- a country, perhaps-- in panic, eager to find anyone who could turn away forces that outgunned their paltry defenses. The profits would of course be unimaginable, but more importantly, the power that could be attained from such a system......

    "If you'll excuse me, Mr. Fisk," Osborn said, glancing back into the room of empty-headed dilettantes, "I believe I need to check up on my son before he gets too carried away with himself. Still, I thank you for the stimulating conversation; it's given me several things to think about. I should be in touch before long with some ideas on your proposal. Until then, good luck....or should I say, good hunting."
     
  2. sabetoonth

    sabetoonth Where You Get Those Eyes?

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    I looked at the tickets in Leo's hand and he shook them in an attempt to make them look more enticing. They did, 'I could go for a vacation if I'm honest' I think to myself. Can I afford it? I think I have the vacation days to go there. It was plenty enticing.

    My eyes wandered from the tickets to the rest of the bar a moment. I felt a pair of eyes on me from the corner. Someone was watching me, I'd like to know why.

    Just over Freddy's left shoulder I spot them, the eyes that I felt on me before. They are a brilliant emerald green set in the face of a beautiful woman. The way she looked at me was like there was no one else around. Eyes like that looking at you that way pull you in, entrance you like the swinging watch of a hypnotist.

    Mallory began telling a story about what he had been up to all week since we had last seen each other. Vinny and Leo were listening as I stared unbashfully at the mystery woman. Without a doubt she had seen me. After only a few seconds I turned around again and tried to listen as my friend told the story of meeting a gorgeous red head in the subway, and his outstanding valor defending her from muggers in the last car with martial arts prowess I was unaware he had.

    But those eyes, boring into my very being, like they knew me better than I did. It was disconcerting.

    I tried to brush off that unshakable feeling of being watched all night. Freddy told his tale, and then Vinny recounted his own. He shared a horrifying suspense of his week, the work, the danger of being a crane operator, the heroism, the fame he had garnered around the workplace. He blew himself up to be something larger than life. Leo remained silent, he narrated no tales, not outrageous nor moderate. He shares himself in little ways, and only then in small bits, but tonight there was no sharing from the grimmer of us. It must have been uneventful.

    ----------------------------------------
    -----------------------------------------------
    -------------------------------------------------------

    I scratched the doorknob around the key hole before finally slipping the little peice of metal into the key and unlocking my door. I'd eaten far too little for as much as I had drank. Staggering in the front door of my small, mostly empty apartment I left the tickets in the little wicker basket for my mail. It may have been the safest place in the whole apartment for them. No one ever touched my mail, I hardly ever did. Most of what came through the slot was junk mail, credit card offers, insurance offers, this and that sweepstakes. I picked my bills out and any other envelopes that mattered to me and the rest were left in the wicker basket as I slid out of my coat and turn on the TV. Its background noise for now and so the channel doesn't make a difference to me as I throw together something to eat from left overs in my freezer. I burn myself a time or two and the meal ends up a tad overdone but is far from ruined, a little black never hurt anyone.

    Sitting on the old couch I got from a goodwill as I sober up I dug into the thrown together meal in time for a news report to come on about the Fourth Reich's attempted taking of Independence Hall. A handful had been caught and half had killed themselves. The remaining two weren't talking. All I could think then was how bad things looked o be getting when Independence Hall wasn't even safe. I took a glance in he direction of those tickets, maybe it was a good idea to get away for a bit. Asking Jane didn't sound like a bad idea either.
     
  3. Keyser Soze

    Keyser Soze AW YEEEAH!

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    "A pleasure to meet you, Mr. Osborn. I shall leave such considerations in your capable, far more qualified hands. I am, after all, just a humble dealer in spices."

    Fisk was watching Osborn depart, heading back into the party, when his phone rang. His smile faded when he saw who was calling, and he put the phone to his ear.

    "Yes?"

    “It’s me. There’s an issue. I need you to meet me at my house.”

    "...I'm on my way."

    Fisk hung up, letting out a wearied sigh. He would have to find a way to explain his absence to Vanessa later. It seems he had business to attend to.

    ...

    Not too long afterwards, The Kingpin's car drove up to the home of Dean Martini. He exited, flanked by two of his henchmen, and made his way into the house. Martini was a flurry of apologies and explanations, but The Kingpin disregarded him, never beaking eye contact with this newcomer, this Fred Myers, all swagger and bravado.

    The Kingpin said not a word. He sat down directly across from Myers and his cronies, and waited for him to start talking.
     
  4. Keyser Soze

    Keyser Soze AW YEEEAH!

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    Star-Lord hadn't been in orbit long when he realised he was being followed. Peter Quill may have been arrogant, he may have been foolhardy, but contrary to what he preferred the world thought of him, he was not an idiot. Whoever was pursuing him, they were good, keeping a reasonable distance. And they weren't interested in engaging him in space, which suggested they were aware of his precious cargo and wanted to preserve it. They'd attack him when he landed.

    Quill had to admit, he was curious. And so he set a course for Cresyx IV, a largely uninhabited world with a breathable atmosphere, and touched down there. He set off a couple of flares, created a trail of smoke, made it look like the Milano had suffered some kind of malfunction that required an emergency landing. Then he found a hiding area near the ship that gave him a good view of the landing zone, and waited.
     
  5. Hound55

    Hound55 Byfar The Most Evil Thing

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    The gates opened and a car slowly crept through. Martini’s men obeyed their orders and left out the back door, as Myers eyed the gangster who had his gun traced on him.

    Dean Martini craned his neck, to make sure his men had really left through the back door. It was less than a second, but for a man of Myers means it was more than enough…

    There was a flash of silver. Metal clanged off the gun in Martini’s hand, and the clip fell from the bottom of the gun to the floor. Stunned, Martini raised the gun to square off at Myers.

    “What the--! Stay back!”

    Fred Myers leered. The other two men got to their feet.

    “I’ve still got one in the chamber.” Martini growled, regathering control after the initial shock. “Stay back.”

    “You may have one in the chamber.” Myers rasped, softly but clearly. “But there’s 3 of us. I’ve had enough of the gunplay.”

    “There may be 3 of you. But the bullet’s got your name on it.”

    Fred smirked. “If that’s the case, then there’s only one outcome here. Whether you do hit me or not. You don’t walk away from this alive. And neither do your family.”

    “Yeah? How do you figure?”

    “Because my two boys here… they WILL kill you.”

    “And the Kingpin’s on his way. You’ll all die. He’ll clean up your other two.”

    Myers chuckled. “That he might…”

    Martini smiled darkly. “…but he’ll be exposing his identity to your family. Considering you just had your men leave the scene, I’m pretty sure that would be a death sentence. And if your panic room is set out like any that I know... Those security cameras. They’re wired to monitors in there, aren’t they?”

    The smile dropped from Dean Martini’s face.

    “There’s only one place to stick that bullet and have everyone walk away.”

    Martini’s pallid face turned back to a scowl. He aimed the gun to the corner of the room.

    P-TAFF!

    The camera was emphatically disabled, just as a wrapping could be heard on the front door. Martini ran to the door.

    “Oi! Deano!”

    The gangster turned. Another gleam of silver. Martini ducked away and tried to cover his face with his arms…

    …as the metal projectile veered off and sank itself into another camera by the front door.

    “Never say I don’t do anything for ya…”



    Fred Myers pulled out a small angular flick blade - a palm-sized boomerang - and cut through the tarpaulin, revealing the face of Albright.

    “I believe this belongs to you…”

    Martini turned to gauge The Kingpin’s reaction. A stern scowl not revealing anything. Uncomfortable silence as the pair were deadlocked.

    “What’d he do?” Martini spoke up, breaking the silence.

    “He made me drink Fosters…” Myers deadpanned, drawing guffaws from his two companions.
     
    #55 Hound55, Oct 20, 2014
    Last edited: Oct 20, 2014
  6. Keyser Soze

    Keyser Soze AW YEEEAH!

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    Fisk let out a small, bored sigh in response to Myers' smug theatrics. He had spent far too long rising too far too high to be forced to humor such disrespectful bravado. He decided he needed to quickly and firmly set the perimeters and dynamics of this conversation and make it clear to the petulant Mr. Myers just what kind of sleeping dragon he'd prodded with his toy boomerangs.

    The Kingpin raised his left hand in a casual gesture. The guffawing laugh was still in the throats of Myers' two lackeys when...

    PHUT!

    A splash of blood and brain matter hit Fred Myers across the face, and Myers' red-headed friend collapsed in a heap, a smoking crater where his forehead used to be. There was no evidence of the marksman positioned outside Martini's property save for a small, perfectly circular hole in his large kitchen windows.

    Myers' arrogant smile faded. Good.

    "Mr. Myers, you have taken me away from a rather important social engagement. My time is precious and, as I hope you now realize, yours is fleeting. So, you can use however much you have left to make glib remarks, or you can get to the point and tell me why you have chosen to present me with the corpse of Nathan Albright."
     
    #56 Keyser Soze, Oct 20, 2014
    Last edited: Oct 20, 2014
  7. Keyser Soze

    Keyser Soze AW YEEEAH!

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    Picture New York City. It's a massive, sprawling metropolis, an assault on the senses, the greatest city on Earth. My home. Imagine now that you were tasked with learning its every nook and cranny by heart. No mean feat: most of the city's taxi drivers can't even manage it. But think of how you might do it. How you'd use various key landmarks around the city as your signposts, and span outward from each of them, thinking of the various navigations through streets and avenues to get you back to your markers. Then you'd note the other memorable visuals to let you know you were on the right track. And as you built outwards in these concentric circles as your confidence and familiarity with the city, you'd start to see different ways that all these areas overlapped and interconnected. You'd reach out from Manhattan and start getting to grips with Brooklyn, Queens, each of the five boroughs. By the end, it would be a vast amount of knowledge to try and keep in your head.

    Now imagine doing all that with your eyes closed.

    Back when I could see, my New York City was very small, confined to a small chunk of Manhattan stretching from 34th to 59th Street and spanning from 8th Avenue to the Hudson River. These days many refer to it diplomatically as Midtown West. But for me it'll always be Hell's Kitchen. But when radioactive waste took away my sight as a boy, I got other things to compensate. My four remaining senses were enhanced to a superhuman degree, and my sight was replaced with a kind of 360 degree echolocation I've taken to calling my "radar sense", which I use to make out shapes and contours all around me. I can navigate through pretty much anywhere in New York City with reasonable confidence, but my picture of New York City is likely very different from your picture of New York City.

    I can tell which part of Brooklyn I'm in by feeling the texture of the brownstone under my fingertips. The air in Queens has its own distinct smell and taste that sets it apart from the air on Staten Island. And the iconic Manhattan skyline is shaped out like an intricate, comforting grid by my radar sense. my unique perspective making its rooftops and flagpoles a far easier, more serene route of travel than its bustling, noisy streets.

    My current resting spot is on top of a modestly sized 14-storey office building at West 44th Street and 9th Avenue. I like this little nook of the city. 9th Avenue is known for some of its great eateries, and there's a French place called Marseilles and Five Napkin Burger both on the ground floor of this building, not to mention a couple of pizza places across the road. The smells coming from them are mouth-watering. And while this building is reasonably high up for this area of Manhattan, it's hardly a skyscraper, meaning I'm not too far removed from the people roaming the streets on this brisk but thankfully dry New York City evening. I've trained enough to cope with it, but rain has more of an impact on my abilities than the inconvenience of getting my tights wet. From here, I can sit still, and listen to the city share its song with me, my ears attuned to pick up certain lyrics...

    "...that'll be four dollars and seventy-five..."
    "...watch where you're going you..."
    "...not you, it's me, I..."
    "...TAXI! TAXI..."
    "...then I told him that if he's gonna act like..."
    "Help me!"

    Help me. A woman's voice, about 8 blocks down. I leap from rooftop to rooftop, headed in the direction of the screams, using the grapnel hook in my billy club to assist in the longer jumps. When I'm almost directly above the scene of the crime, in a densely packed back alley, I stop. A man and a woman are struggling. The man is average height, wears snakeskin leather shoes. Judging by his stink, he regularly uses chewing tobacco. But I'm more interested in the woman. She is screaming for help, and she certainly sounds scared, but her heartbeat tells a different story. Steady, only slightly elevated from exertion. Not the mad, spiking rhythm you'd expect from somebody fearing for their safety. So, an actress then. I scan the area and pick out two other men, believing themselves concealed behind a dumpster. One is short, with a very slender build. They reek of cheap cologne, the kind of watered-down bootleg junk that was probably sold as a brand name before it got watered down with other chemicals. With his nose he might not even know the difference, but to me the noxious fumes roll off him in waves like formaldehyde. Next to him is a giant of a man, nearly 7 foot tall, who judging by his body odour hasn't showered in at least two days.

    This is quite clearly a trap. I smile at the thought that they've gone to all this effort for me.

    Now that I'm aware of the set-up, it would be very easy to get the jump on them and end this quick. But then they might not be so talkative. My gut tells me I'll be able to find out more from them if they think they have the upper hand. But that depends on the assumption that this trap involves them sending a message rather than just quietly killing me, and they won't just try to put a bullet in my head the second my feet hit the ground. My radar sense tells me that Cheap Cologne and Chewing Tobacco are both carrying guns, but they were holstered, and Cheap Cologne was clutching a blunt instrument around the size of a crowbar. Seems like their plan is to take their time and beat to death. Yeah, good luck with that.

    Of course, all this is speculation. They could still open fire once I show my face. I smile to myself. We'll cross that bridge when we come to it. I descend into the alleyway, leaping willingly into the trap that awaits.

    [​IMG]
     
  8. Carnage27

    Carnage27 No one's puppet

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    [​IMG]

    "Bank robbery in progress at Manhattan City Bank," the nearly microscopic radio/police transmitter I embedded into my mask goes off, "all units respond. Metahuman activity suspected on the scene. Repeat, all units respond."

    "Boys, you're playing my song," I say as I tip myself off the skyscraper I had been perched. As I plumet and reach terminal velocity, a wide smile spreads across my face. I tuck my arms behind my back to reduce my wind resistance and gain even more speed before slinging a web to the nearest building. The line goes taut, sending me through a violently fast arc. I detach from the line and flip through the air before slinging yet another.

    It's amazing how much having superpowers changes your confidence level. Wait, I guess that's not so much amazing as it is expected, but you get the idea. A year ago I wouldn't event have wanted to be in a building this high, let alone swinging between them like some sort of circus performer with a death wish. And don't even get me started on the fact that I'm preparing to go on my first real date with Gwen. Up until this point I'm still amazed I managed to have a friendly conversation with her let alone ask her out.

    Focus, Parker.

    I'm hoping the Shocker will be at this crime scene. That's the guy's name. Shocker. You'd think he'd come up with something less...euphemism-y, but hey, who am I to judge. I called myself Spider-man. So far, I have been unable to figure out how his gauntlets work, but I know I need to get him off the streets either way. Those things could kill a lot of innocent people if he desired to do so. That doesn't fly in my town.

    The smoke and dust coming up from the scene as I approach from above tells me Shocker or no Shocker, I need to put a stop to whatever is going on down there.

    I land in the middle of the cloud of dust, and my spider sense explodes. I manage to backflip out of the way before a shockwave shatters my bones. The wave clears and the image of Shocker comes into view, "Well, well. Back for round two, Spider-jerk."

    "Seriously?" I ask as I spring out of the way of another round of blasts from my enemy. "Spider-jerk? I'm not one to discourage battle-side banter but come on!"

    "You talk to much!" the super criminal yells as he buries a shockwave into my chest.

    I fly through the air, firing a web to the front of the bank to stabilize my flight pattern. Another webline to the facade stops me, and a quick tug on both sends me rocketing towards the Shocker. I manage to connect with a punch to his jaw, but he also connects with a blast from one of his weapons. The force sends me hurtling through the lobby's ceiling and into the second floor.

    "Oh that one's gonna leave a mark," I groan to myself.

    The entire floor around me begins to rumble and cave in as the Shocker wallops the structure with his gauntlets. The integrity of the structure gives, and the second floor collapses beneath me. I tumble end over end as I fall, right into a left hook from Shocker, "Does this barrel into ever situation work out for you often, Spider-man?"

    "You know, it usually does!" I spin, still hurting from the punch, and use the overload setting on my webbing. The adhesive fires out in a huge burst...and is promptly swallowed up by a full blast from the wave generators on his wrist. The full force wave smashes into me, sending me through more walls than I can count.

    When I finally stop, I find myself in the bank vault. No doubt the Shocker is already gone.

    "Good one, Pete," I mutter to myself.


    **********

    On the other side of town, a contingent of the Big Man's goons stand outside the armored car they were sent to hijack. Thanks to the Shocker's diversion, the cops of the city were focused on him instead of them. The lead man opens the back of the car and grins maliciously at what he sees inside.

    "Boss," he speaks to his employer, "it's here."

    "Good, O'Hirn," the Big Man responds. "Get it here immediately."
     
  9. Carnage27

    Carnage27 No one's puppet

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    [​IMG]

    San Francisco, CA

    Stephanie had a hat and hood pulled over her head to hide her features from passers by as she walked down the street towards her target. Fury had gotten a contact that Batroc and his men had been sighted in San Fran, but the contact wanted to give the rest of the information to Stephanie herself. Cap worried that she was walking into a trap, but she had to trust Fury. If the small team she had didn't trust each other, they had already lost.

    The small corner cafe was exposed, she had to admit. The man she was meeting had at least gotten a table with their back to the wall. Plus she had Falcon on the rooftops ready to extract her if the occasion called for it. He'd come in handy, that's for sure.

    The guy couldn't have given off more of a secret agent vibe if he tried. The suit and the sunglasses in the shad made her roll her eyes as she approached, "Coulson?"

    "How are you?" he asked as if he had known her all her life. "Your mother said you'd be in town. I'm so glad you were able to see me."

    "Well, I couldn't pass up seeing an old family friend," Steph smiled and took the seat he offered her. Well, he was good, that was for sure. There was no hint of confusion in his speech. He knew the code and was playing along perfectly. "What have you been up to?"

    "Well," he smiled cordially, "work has been hell, to tell you the truth."

    "Oh?" Steph took a sip of the coffee he had ordered her. "Why is that?"

    "Well, we've had a lot of new hires recently," he shook his head, "and they don't necessarily get along with a lot of the people we've already got here, if you catch my drift."

    The Captain did, of course. Batroc and his men were in San Fransisco, and they were planning on using the drug they had stolen from HAMMER. Steph figured the others Coulson was talking about were San Fran's mutant population. She had heard rumors the city had a large population of them due to the city's more welcoming stance in all things. It would be a perfect place to test the effectiveness of the drug as a weapon.

    "I'm sorry to hear that,"
    Cap answered after another sip from her drink. "Where did these new workers come from?"

    "Overseas, somewhere," Agent Coulson shrugged. "Somewhere there's a lot of water."

    So they were stationed on the docks somewhere. Good to know.

    "Well, I think you should get back to the office if you're so busy," Cap put down her coffee.

    "You're probably right," he stood and buttoned the top button of his jacket. "It was great to see you. Safe trip home. And I just want to say...your father. He'd be proud of you."

    "Thanks," Cap nodded. She didn't know if Coulson knew her father like Fury seemed to, but she figured he probably did. "Good luck at work."

    Once he was a significant distance from the cafe, Captain America stood and began walking back towards her team's safe house. As she did, she opened a comm to the team, "Batroc and his team are planning on using the cure in the city to test its effectiveness. They're stationed somewhere in the shipping district."

    "I'll go scope the skies-" Falcon began to say before he was cut off.

    "No, you're too visible," Cap commanded. "Come back to the safehouse. We'll come up with a plan there."

    "We're already working on getting the layout of the city and theorizing the best places to place a dirty bomb for maximum impact," her mother said.

    "I've also got feelers out to the local authorities," Fury added. "I've got other people I can trust here. It'll keep them off our backs."

    "Good. I'll be there in ten."
     
  10. Byrd Man

    Byrd Man El Hombre Pájaro

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    The Cheetah Room
    Lower Manhattan
    3:15 AM



    Tracy hated himself.

    It wasn't for the usual reasons one engaged in self-loathing. It wasn't because he was broke. On the contrary, he had more money that he could hope to spend. It wasn't because of his looks. Despite the bad burn on his neck from Iraq he looked passable and never heard any complaints from the women he brought home. It wasn't because of his station in life. He was part of the inner circle of the city's biggest crime boss, a place many men would give their left nut for. Tracy hated himself because he was becoming his old man.

    Like Teeg Lawless, Tracy was seen as one of the baddest mother****ers in all of New York, someone you avoided at all costs if you liked breathing. Like Teeg, Tracy's power was an illusion. It was a gifted granted to him by Fisk seemingly on a whim. Tracy knew he was feared and respected as long as the Kingpin allowed it. And that made him sicker than anything. He wanted to avoid becoming Teeg, wanted to avoid this city all together, but some dumb ass mistakes led him right back to New York and right under Fisk's thumb.

    The Cheetah Room was part of the Kingpin's benevolent streak. The strip club was a gift to Tracy that was a pretty ****** gift. Tracy got a ten percent cut of the profits for managing it. Running the club meant having to deal with all the headaches nobody wanted to handle. Most guys out of the loop thought running a strip club entailed lapdances and blowjobs gratis. Instead Tracy had to listen to the strippers' drama and get sucked into the day to day tragedies that were their lives. Think of dealing with hormonal teenage girls, crying all over the place and hating each other and themselves... only all the girls have big fake silicone ******* Added to getting caught up into their personal bull****, Tracy also had to make sure none of the girls of other staff dealt drugs or peddled gash on the side. Fisk approved of the girls hooking and pushing blow, but only as long as he got his cut.

    Tracy was taking his boss's cut of the action that night, sitting in the backroom with Gingy, the closest thing this diseased hellhole had to an assistant manager. Gingy was over fifty with bright red hair that came out of a bottle. She wore cowboys boots and tight jeans with black t-shirts. She looked every bit of the butch lesbian that she was. While Tracy didn't take advantage of the girls, Gingy was known on occasion to shack up with a few of the sapphicly inclined strippers. Gingy counted out Fisk and Tracy's cuts in twenties, a menthol hanging out of her mouth with half a cigarette's worth of ash dangling off the tip.

    "That's 1,000," she said after counting out fifty twenties that went into Tracy's pile.

    She dumped the ashes and started on another set of twenties when the burner cell in Tracy's pocket went off. He looked at the number and knew something was up.

    Red Hook property. One hour.

    Tracy closed the phone and looked at the clock on the wall before standing.

    "I have to go," he said to Gingy as he got his coat. "Count it all out and put it in the safe below the desk, put my share in one bag and the big man's share in the other."

    "You got it, sweetheart. I'll keep the ship running in your stead."



    Red Hook, Brooklyn
    4:18 AM



    Tracy parked the Charger down the block from the four story walk-up and made his way down the street on foot. Waiting for him on the fourth floor was Stein. Stein was one among the army of lawyers Fisk constantly kept on retainer, with a few of them acting as messengers when the man himself was preoccupied with something. Everything said between Fisk, Stein, and whoever he relayed a message to would be cover by attorney-client privilege. A rumpled polo shirt and khakis replaced the downtown lawyer's usual three-piece power suit.

    "Lawless, how are you, boychik?"

    "It's four in the morning and I'm in Red Hook, how do you think I am?"

    "Right, so no small talk. Down to business, yes? Works for me. Now listen up, because none of this is on paper. Jimmy Bags' bookie shops have been getting hit over the past three weeks. Three robberies from a four man crew. They've been taking anywhere between ten and forty large each heist. Kingpin wants the feygeles found and killed in a very public way. Twenty grand per dead heister, got it?"

    Tracy kept his hands in his pockets and silently mulled over what Stein had just told him. There was plenty of wiggle room inside of Fisk's vague orders, and he planned to use what he could to his advantage.

    "Got it. Tell Kingpin they're as good as dead."
     
  11. Hound55

    Hound55 Byfar The Most Evil Thing

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    “Well seeing ‘s I’m fast running out of friends in here right now,” Myers muttered under his breath, “I might just get to the point…”

    “That man, right there, came to me looking for me to seek you out and kill you. I know you think you had some kind of control over him, or saw him as an asset of some kind, but that clearly wasn’t the case. Instead he came to me and offered me a job. Whatever it took, everything he owned, just to kill you.”

    This statement caused Martini to squirm somewhat, at the thought of a potential showdown inside his own house. Already bullets and boomerangs had flown, destroying a window, his sky-light, multiple security cameras, an expensive table and couch.

    The Kingpin sat firm, calculating, never removing his eyes from Myers.

    Again it was Dean Martini who broke the silence. “So, you’re here to try and kill him? And you just let him know that, even with your friend dead here?”

    Fred just smiled, “Kill him? You’ve got this all wrong. The bag there?” He kicked it, with no respect for the life that once existed in the tarpaulin. “The bag offered me a job.”

    “I don’t want a job. I want a career…”
     
    #61 Hound55, Oct 28, 2014
    Last edited: Oct 28, 2014
  12. Keyser Soze

    Keyser Soze AW YEEEAH!

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    After a short pause that hung in the air like it had lasted an hour, Fisk finally spoke in response.

    "Interesting."

    He stood up, towering over everyone else in the room. Slowly, he paced in a small arc around the room.

    "I admire your tenacity, Mr. Myers," Fisk said, "But the fact remains that you have seen my face. You should have been killed the moment you spoke my name. I have been exposed by being brought here, and someone must answer for that."

    "Yeah, that's right," said Martini, "This punk thinks he can order around The Kingpin? We'll make an example outta..."

    Impassively, his face betraying no emotion, The Kingpin lowered his massive, bearpaw like hand around the seated Martini's head, enveloping it completely. Then he began to clench his fist. There was a wet crunching sound, and Martini made a small, whelping sound, like a wounded animal, his legs spasming violently. The Kingpin never broke eye contact with Myers, staring at him cold and unblinking. He clenched his fist tight, there was a harder crunching noise, and Martini went quiet and still.

    "Consider yourself hired."

    Fisk unclenched his fist, and Martini's body crumpled forwards onto the floor. Fisk stretched his bloodied hand outright, flexing his fingers. Then, withdrawing a handkerchief from his jacket pocket, he proceeded to clean the excess blood and bone from his hand in delicate sweeping motions, as casually as if he were wiping his hands clean with a napkin after a meal.

    "Your first assignment should be obvious. Mr. Martini foolishly brought you to his home. There can be nothing to link my presence to this place. Nothing. I assume he'll have placed his family in his panic room. A man of your talents should have no difficulty in bypassing the security systems and doing what needs to be done."

    Fisk cast a sideways glance at Martini on the floor.

    "Unless you have any objection?"
     
  13. Hound55

    Hound55 Byfar The Most Evil Thing

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    “No objections. Interest of full disclosure, though, we took the cameras out before you came in. They’d have seen us, but not you. ‘No loose threads’ I get it, and no objections at all, but I hardly want to start off on the wrong foot by keeping information from my employer, now do I?”

    The Kingpin’s intimidating stony faced glare told Myers he wasn’t interested in his opinion. He’d been given a task and he wanted it handled, if his own handiwork was anything to go by he wanted it done crispy and efficiently. That was fine with Fred; he revelled in his work and took pride in a clean job.

    “Old Jack, with me. We got a lockbox of greaseballs to crack open.”

    “He’s my tech-guy. I need him.” He addressed the Kingpin, looking over his shoulder and calling down the stairs.

    “What the f*** did you drag me into… the guy’s nuts.” Old Jack hissed once the pair were out of earshot.

    “He’s not nuts. He’s taking care of business and proving a point to us.”

    “He f***ing killed Red.”

    “Yeah. He did. And I’ll talk to you about that later. We’ve got a job to do or we’re not going to walk away either.”

    “Whoa…” The bartender grabbed his assassin friend by the sleeve. “Camera. We didn’t get them all.”

    “S***.” Fred swore under his breath in contemplation.

    “What?”

    “They’ll have comms stuff in there, won’t they? Millionaire safe-room. The wife probably knows not to call the cops because of the type of business he does, the kind of things he tries to protect her from knowing, but if we try to crack in there…”

    “S***.” Old Jack recapped.

    “Well, we’d better bloody take a look anyhow.” Fred said, carefully ducking under the view of the camera and proceeding down the upstairs hall.

    The pair stopped outside of the solid door, hunched over inspecting it.

    “Re-inforced steel, maybe 4 inches thick with Kevlar plating on top of that on our side.” Old Jack noted.

    “More s***.”

    Fred noted the floor which jutted out beneath the door. “Oi.” He hissed. “Bathroom tiles.”

    “Yeah. Millionaire house. Real deal billionaire estates tend to go with basement or cellar safe rooms. Cement provides added protection. That kind of thing costs a bloody arm and a leg though. Millionaires tend to have to make do with a modified combined bathroom/safe room or even attic/saferoom. This’ll still stand up to more than one of your bangerangs, though. More than enough.” Old Jack whispered. “We could probably crack in there by force eventually, but they’d hear us coming. Again, the comms stuff in there…”

    A plan started to formulate in Fred’s head.

    * * * * *

    “No bloody way. I’m not going down there on my own with that big bloody gorilla knowing we haven’t done the job yet. You saw what he did to Red!” the bartender hissed.

    “Well you have to. I’d do it, but I don’t know how to do your part!”

    Old Jack was trapped between a rock and a hard place.

    “Just tell him you’re in the middle of solving the problem. He’s not going to kill you if you’re in the middle of helping him. You saw how he responded to the Albright job.”

    “Yeah… he killed his own bloody guy.”

    “No. He recognized that Albright was no longer an asset. No good to him anymore. And accepted the loss. He then killed his own guy because he compromised him. A weak link. We’re doing what he asked.”

    “And what’s to stop him offing me as soon as I’m done..?”

    “Again, I told him you’re useful to me. You’re my tech guy. After that I’ll also tip him off how good you’d be at keeping him informed. You’re a bloody bartender for chrissakes. As long as there’s a use, you’re fine. It’s how these guys think, they’re all risk/reward. Now get your arse down there and do it, before she starts to wonder what’s taking so long and calls the cops early.”

    Old Jack crept away, carefully ducked under the camera and walked back downstairs. He shot the Kingpin a big warm smile as he walked past, “Just getting the job done now.”

    The Kingpin’s dour expression never improved. The smile dropped from the bartender’s face as he scurried off.

    The door opened to the laundry, whilst the light stayed off. Old Jack grabbed a pen-flashlight from on top of the fuse-box, and opened the box with the torch in his mouth. He hadn’t done anything like this since school, and hoped the idea would still work…

    Old Jack walked over to a large pipe that came down from the ceiling and jammed the boomerang that Fred had given him into the wall right next to it. A red LED light blinked on and off, and Fred scurried to the other side of the room.

    Upstairs, Fred knelt by the door and waited for his opportunity. Any second now. So much of the time, the job came down to focus and nerve in waiting for the opportunity to present itself.

    Boom!

    “AIIIIIIIIE!” Fred could faintly hear squeals come from the other side of the thick steel door.

    “Oh my gaaaawd!” The mother called out.

    Fred waited for his moment.

    Finally it came, the small trickle of water from under the door through the groove in the tile grout.

    With insulated gloves, Fred took the stripped down wire from the electrical socket he’d pulled apart and jammed it into the water coming through under the door. The lights went off. He listened intently, taking care not to touch the steel door, as he heard three thumps of bodies hitting the floor on the other side of the door. There were no screams. No survivors mourning. Silence came from the other side of the door.

    Suddenly the lights came back on. Old Jack had isolated the main feed and light fuses from the points fuse.

    Fred jammed a boomerang into the bolt-end of the door and took cover as the red LED flickered. As first thought, it wasn’t enough to open the door but it was a start…

    By the time the bartender had got back upstairs, Fred had got through the heavy door. Three bodies were on the floor, no blood, no mess other than the water from the exploded toilet, no survivors. The pair carried the bodies down the stairs and lay them next to Martini, Red and Albright. Old Jack went over the floor with a bath towel, and there was no mess upstairs.

    “Clean.” Fred stated, addressing his new employer. “And no mess short of some of Martini’s blood in the shag, and the bullet hole from the sniper.”

    “Now have you got a clean-up guy for this lot, or do I chalk it up to expenses? ‘Cuz left up to me, the Hudson’s gunna get mighty crowded...”
     
    #63 Hound55, Oct 29, 2014
    Last edited: Oct 30, 2014
  14. Carnage27

    Carnage27 No one's puppet

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    [​IMG]

    "So have you gotten your suit yet?' Gwen asks nonchalantly from over her lunch.

    The question catches me off guard as I look over the report from my incident with Shocker the day before. His attack on the bank was nothing more than a diversion so whoever he's working for could hit a military armored car transporting some sort of weapon through the city. I don't know what that is, of course. No one would comment on the truck's contents when asked. Leave it to the military to not give me the information I need. Thanks guys. I'm sure whatever it is won't hurt too bad when I come up against it.

    "Uh, no. Not yet," I shake my head. "Is that a bad thing?"

    "Well, I got my dress," she shrugs sheepishly. "It's blue. By the way."

    I blush, "Okay. Cool. Yea, I'll get on that."

    I shift uneasily in my seat and curse myself. Gwen and I never had problems talking before, but ever since I asked her to homecoming things have been weird. We still talk, but it's awkward as all get out. It makes me wonder if I made a big mistake taking our relationship to this level. But then again, she doesn't seem put off by it. Maybe it's just growing pains. Yea, that's probably it.

    God I hope that's it.

    "So that Shocker guy attacked again, huh?" she makes note of the article I'm reading. "And someone stole something while he was attacking the bank?"

    "Yea, sounds like they're working together," I nod. "Things are getting out of hand."

    It's a statement that works in the conversation, but also one that I thought of when I first read the story. When I started my fight as Spider-man, I thought I would be putting away petty criminals and mob bosses. But now super powered criminals are robbing banks and hijacking military technology out of armored cars. Is this my fault, or is it just a coincidence it all started after I did?

    "Well, Spider-man will take care of them," Gwen winks. "That's what he does."

    "Let's hope," the weak smile across my face doesn't give much confidence.

    **********

    "You're sure about this, O'Hirn?" the Big Man asks his best enforcer as he prepares to put on the weapon they stole from the military. The mob boss isn't one to be squeamish, but O'Hirn had been a loyal friend through his entire rise to where he now finds himself. "You know you won't be able to leave it?"

    "Boss, we've been through hell together," Alex O'Hirn responds, clearly determined to fulfill the mission. "We've fought tooth and nail to get to this point. Yet we're still second fiddle to Kingpin and the Maggia. With this we can finally rule this city like kings. And not even Spider-man could stop us."

    "Okay," the Big Man nods. "Let's do it."

    The process is a quick one. O'Hirn enters the suit and the other men get to work on sealing him inside. The man's large frame is encased in the goop contained in the truck, which nearly immediately hardens to a substance harder than steel and concrete. The thug begins to move around, laughing at his new found strength and durability. O'Hirn will never be the same again. In fact, Alex O'Hirn no longer exists.

    He is now the Rhino.
     
  15. Keyser Soze

    Keyser Soze AW YEEEAH!

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    "There'll be a fire. Nothing left. Tragedy."

    The Kingpin made his way to the door, stopping just before his exit to make one more parting remark to Myers.

    "We'll be in touch when we have use for you, Mr. Myers. Do make sure you're available."
     
  16. Keyser Soze

    Keyser Soze AW YEEEAH!

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    I land in amidst the fray, causing a momentary spike in heart rates all around. Even though they were waiting for me, I still managed to surprise them. Chewing Tobacco throws a punch, I see it as a solid mass of motion propelling at me through the dark. I sidestep it with minimal effort, grabbing the arm attached to the fist and using Tobacco's lack of balance to sweep him off his feet.

    As expected, the woman stops screaming and runs off, her part in the drama done.

    "Mr. Devil Man!" shouts Cheap Cologne, "We've been expectin' you!"

    I make a point of looking up in the direction of the voice. I can "see" 360 degrees, but in order to not give away my blindness while in costume, "looking" in the direction of voices is a habit I had to train myself into. But even as I make a show of turning towards Cheap Cologne and Body Odor I'm aware of Chewing Tobacco pushing himself back onto his feet.

    "We've been watchin' you," evidently Cologne is the talker of the group, "You may have some of the cheap amateur hoods convinced you're some kinda demon, but we know you're just a man. Fancy Dan ain't scared of no man."

    "That's you, I take it?"

    "Yeah," he replied, "And the big fella behind me goes by the name of Ox. You've already acquainted yourself with Montana."

    "Howdy," says Chewing Tobacco behind me.

    "People call us The Enforcers," Fancy Dan continues, "We're under instructions to make sure you suffer a great deal before we let you die. You've been makin' the wrong kinda waves with the operations you've been interferin' in. We need to make an example outta you to make sure no other fool thinks about puttin' on a silly costume to change the world."

    I love it when they can't stop talking. Saves me the trouble of an interrogation later. I clutch onto the billy club in my holster.

    "Well you'd best get started then, shouldn't you?"

    All three charge at once. Fine by me. I vault off the ground, leaping over Ox and kicking off his back, pushing him forward so he barrels right into Montana. I land behind Fancy Dan, and he's about halfway through turning round and raising his crowbar in the time it takes me to draw my billy club and extend it, then bring it swiping across his face, knocking him off his feet.

    KLIK

    Montana's drawing his gun. I follow the sound and pick up the outline of Montana on his knees, taking aim. I throw the billy club like a javelin and it cracks square into his wrist, jerking his hand upwards and causing him to drop the gun. Then I get hit by a bus. Or that's what it feels like, at least, as Ox rams into me, sending me flying off my feet and crashing hard on my side into the ground. I let out a ragged cough, trying to catch the wind that's just been knocked out of me. I try to take a moment to readjust, my ability to pick out clear shapes from my radar sense dampened when it feels like my whole head is still vibrating. I feel a massive boot connecting with my gut, causing me to roll along the ground. I spit out a wad of blood, still rattled enough to throw off my radar sense. I focus, and listen...

    Thud-thud-thud-thud...

    hear footsteps rushing towards me. Lighter footsteps than Ox's heavier footfall. Fancy Dan back on his feet. I roll onto my back, and my radar sense comes in focus just in time to pick up Fancy Dan's weapon being swung down towards my head. I catch it, and kick Fancy Dan with both feet to separate him from his weapon. It's cold in my hand, metallic, course. Seems my crowbar guess was correct. I roll round onto my feet, keeping a low stance, and scan my surroundings.

    THUD...THUD...THUD...

    Heavier footsteps, slower. Ox is approaching on my left. Just as he lunges, I swing the crowbar hard and low, embedding the clawed end in the back of his shin, the back one he was putting the weight on to push off from.

    "AAAAAAAARRRGGHHH!"

    Good, that hurt him. He collapses down onto his knees. I use the opportunity to run and springboard off his back, connecting with a flying knee right to Montana's chin just as he had started to move towards me with my own billy club.

    KRAKK!

    Sounds like something broke. I land on my feet as Montana hits the gound like a ton of bricks. My radar sense picks up my billy club swinging overhead, having been dislodged from Montana's grip after that last strike. I raise my hand and catch it without even looking. Montana's breathing pattern tells me he's now unconscious. One down.

    Ox's arm swings round and clubs me, even the glancing blow enough to throw me off-balance. Even on his knees, he still hits like a grizzly bear. I regain my balance and start moving towards Ox when...

    KLIK!

    Another gun, Fancy Dan's this time. I'm not in the position to disarm him from a distance in time like I was with Montana, so I pull back a fraction of a second before Dan pulls the trigger, and the bullet sails past where my head had been a moment earlier and embeds itself in Ox's shoulder. Ox doesn't even get a chance to scream from that wound before I haul the embedded crowbar out of his shin.

    "AAAAARRGHHHHH!"

    I send it swinging at Fancy Dan and it clocks him square in the face, around where I imagine his nose would be.

    "UNNH!"

    He drops the gun and clutches his face. That'll give me a breather. I turn to Ox and hit him with a flurry of blows from my billy club to various pressure points around his torso, before leaping upwards and bringing the club crashing down into the side of his head. That rocks him enough to bring him slumping forward, where I hit him again with a sharp strike to a precise point in the back of his neck. He crumples forward, and his slowed breathing tells me he too is now finally unconscious, the giant cut down to size. Two down.

    CHIK!

    Sounds like a switchblade. Fancy Dan is moving towards me tentatively, his heart pounding in his chest like hell. For all his talk, he's scared now. I smile and holster the billy club. Now it's my turn to make an example of him.

    He takes a swipe at me, slashing across my chest. Just a glancing blow, enough to draw blood but hopefully not enough to leave a lasting scar. He tries again and this time I'm ready for him, rolling into his slashing motion and grabbing a hold of his knife hand. I crash it into my knee to make him let go, but then the slippery son of a gun does a flip of his own to break free from my hold. I go to strike and he blocks with a parry. The guy has some moves, he's light on his feet. He hits me with a leg kick as I block my torso. He hits me with another, same area, and already I feel myself favoring the leg. I adjust my stance, lowering my guard, and then Fancy Dan swings with a roundhouse kick and connects with the side of my now unguarded head, with the strength of a knockout blow.

    Or, at least, that's what he's going to do. My radar sense picks up a stronger vibration coming from the ground around his back foot, suggesting he's about to push off it with greater force than in his previous strikes. I anticipate the move, and at the exact moment he raises his left foot off the ground, I swing in with my right fist and clock him square under the chin, knocking him to the ground. And in an instant, I'm on top of him. He's struggling, writhing, but he's rocked from that last blow. I land an elbow strike to weaken his guard, then follow it up with two punches in quick succession to the nose area, already softened up by that crowbar blow from earlier, and then that's the fight over.

    From beginning to end, that whole fight lasted less than two minutes.

    Fancy Dan is dazed. I wake him up by grabbing a hold of his hand and breaking a finger.

    "EEEEAAAAAHHH!"

    "Manfredi hired you, didn't he?"

    "Nnn... go to hell..."

    Another finger gets snapped.

    "AAAAH! Yes, yes!"

    "And once you'd killed me, how were you to let him know?"

    "Nnnn...nnnn...a p-phone in my jacket pocket. We've to use that to c-call him."

    His heartbeat confirms he's telling the truth.

    "See? You're a fast learner. Now you know to be afraid of me."

    Another elbow strike, and Fancy Dan is unconscious as well. I'll leave the three of them for the police to pick up. I remove the phone from Dan's pocket, juggling it around impotently in my hands. Most likely the number he'd to call would be logged in his contacts. But that's not any good to me if I can't see the display screen. I can take out three assassins in close-quarters combat, but I'm useless when it comes to navigating a cellphone.
     
    #66 Keyser Soze, Nov 2, 2014
    Last edited: Nov 5, 2014
  17. Byrd Man

    Byrd Man El Hombre Pájaro

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    Bedford-Stuyvesant, Brooklyn
    4:11 AM



    Tracy Lawless cracked his knuckles and settled back into the seat of his car. Six hours into the stakeout and he began to settle in for a long haul. The house he was sitting on was a dump, a scorched husk of a building that someone torched years ago. It was the perfect place for squatters and people trying to lay low. Tracy had James Bagotti to thank for leading him here. Bagotti aka Jimmy Bags, capo to Silvermane and one of the many cogs in the Fisk organization, ran a dozen bookie shops around the outer boroughs. Tracy spent three days boning up on Jimmy Bags through his contacts, following the man and his family as they went about their day to day tasks.

    Bagotti's bio read like a million others who joined the lief. He was old school Maggia, joined the outfit when he was still a teenager. Purse snatching led to strongarm robberies which led to hijacking and running numbers. Sixty years old and Bagotti had climbed as far on the criminal ladder as far as he could. To some that would mark Jimmy Bags as a suspect for the robberies. He couldn't get past old man Silvermane, so he was letting his own joints get heisted and he was splitting the money. He got paid and it was a way to rub s*** in the old man's eye.

    The clues that tipped Tracy off to the real culprit were long sleeves and itchy arms. Bagotti's youngest son, Carlo, still lived with his folks at the age of thirty. Tracy watched him coming and going the past few days. He always wore a long sleeve shirt and always picked at his arms when he walked down the street. It took Tracy all of ten minutes to peg Carlo as a junkie, the sleeves hiding the track marks that itched so bad when the kid needed a fix. He followed Carlo to a shooting gallery down near the waterfront. From there Tracy followed the guy Carlo copped from which led him to a stash house in Bed-Stuy. A small pack of four dealers worked out of the house. Four dealers, a four man crew ripping off bookie spots, a weak junkie whose father ran the bookmaking shops, a junkie could give them information for a fix.

    He waited until nearly five in the morning before he made his move. Tracy slipped on a pair of surgical gloves and carried a Glock with a supressor attached to the end under his coat. He looped around the back of the building and came through a broken window, slow and quietly. Tracy pulled the gun out along with a flashlight covered in tape, emitting only a pin-sized light to use as a guide. He held his nose when he passed by three buckets that had been used as latrine. It took him ten minutes to find their stash tucked away in a baseboard near the fireplace. Tracy found nearly a hundred grand in crisp twenty dollar bills inside a satchel, not the type of money junkies handed over for horse. No, this was the type of money Jimmy's places carried before a big payout was coming. In addition to the cash, he found a half pound of uncut H and four machine pistols. Tracy tucked the money, dope, and guns into the satchel and swung it over his shoulder.

    Tracy slowly glided up the rickety stairs like a ghost. Muscle memory kicked in when he reached the landing where the crew was sleeping. Check the corners, clear the rooms, plan your escape, kill as soon as you have eyes on the target. Flashbacks went through his mind, killing a Bosnian national in the 90's with a sniper rifle, garroting an Al-Qaeda cutout in Iraq. He was a Lawless, he had killing in his blood, but it was Uncle Sam who polished him and made him into a sparkly diamond of murderous potential.

    The four guys were passed out on piss-stained mattresses. Tracy kept the flashlight beam low and aimed. Recoil shot up his elbow as he fired off four quick shots. The rounds hissed through the room, four bullets exploding the four men's heads. He fired off four more to each man's heart to be sure he was dead before calmly walking out into the early morning air. Tracy tucked the gun into his coat and climbed into the car, driving six blocks away before burying the gun and his gloves in the trashcan.


    Park Slop, Brooklyn
    10:11 AM



    "Who the **** are you?"

    Jimmy Bags sized Tracy up like a piece of meat. Tracy stood on his doorstep, impassively meeting the mobster's gaze.

    "I'm Lawless. You know who I am, who I work for. Let's take a ride."

    The look of recognition filled Jimmy Bag's eyes, quickly followed by fear. He knew what Tracy did, and why he was visiting him like this.

    "Oh, God... Please--"

    "If I was going to kill you you'd be dead already," Tracy said with slight annoyance. "Let's take a ride."

    Thirty minutes later Tracy and Jimmy Bags were sitting in Tracy's car, parked outside a coffee shop ten blocks away from his home. Tracy retold the story, the guys robbing Jimmy's shops, following the trail and killing the four men, and of course Jimmy's own son.

    "Look... I know Carlo has had problems, and me and my wife we've tried to help him... but... you..."

    "You know who I work for,"Tracy said with a cool tone. "I'm offering you the chance to do it on your son's terms. Fisk will hold you and your family responsible for this theft. If he has his way, I'm gonna come back to your house with four more guys and we'll chop your entire family to pieces."

    Jimmy Bags slumped forward in the seat and began to shake as he sobbed. Tracy ignored him and instead pulled a covered syringe from his coat pocket.

    "This spike is loaded up with pure heroin. I don't care if your boy is goddamn Layne Staley reincarnated, this much pure H will kill him. It's either the OD or that other option I mentioned. Either give it to him or inject him tonight when he's asleep, but he does not live to see tomorrow."

    Tracy slipped the syringe into Jimmy Bag's jacket while the man continued to cry. He felt a stab of remorse and something else much more powerful. Tracy realized it was envy. If Teeg Lawless would have been faced with this same dilemma, he knew Teeg would not hesitate to sacrifice his sons to save his own ass.

    Jimmy Bags went back home somber and quiet. They rode in silence, the only time Jimmy acknowledge Tracy at all was a short nod to him as he got out the car and went into his house. For an old soldier like Jimmy, the nod was final acceptance to do what needed to be done. Tracy texted Stein that the job was completed. He told the lawyer to notify the Kingpin to check the papers and he'd find five deaths in Brooklyn all within the same day of each other, a quadruple homicide and one OD. The lawyer texted back his appreciation and told Tracy where to drop off the cash and drugs he had recovered. The money for the job would be waiting for him when he arrived home that night.

    Tracy started up his car and headed back home to Manhattan. It wouldn't be long before he got another text with another job and another person who needed to be hurt. Tracy hated himself, not because he was becoming his old man, but because he had become his old man. He glanced up in the car's rearview mirror and wasn't entirely sure who it was he saw staring back at him.
     
  18. Keyser Soze

    Keyser Soze AW YEEEAH!

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    I've spent the past hour or so crouching on top of the Gotham Mini Storage building on 10th Avenue between West 38th and 39th Street, overlooking the Javits Center, a phone clutched in my hand, waiting for it to ring. My encounter with The Enforcers this evening tells me that I've started getting the attention of the right people. Now it's time to move up the totem pole...

    RING-RING! RING-RING!

    I fumble along the surface of the phone, feeling the texture of the "answer call" button under my thumb and pressing it. I hold the phone to my ear, and wait.

    "...Dan? What's your progress report?"

    That's Silvio Manfredi's voice.

    "Dan?"

    "Dan's not here. Your Enforcers will be in police custody by now."

    I fire my grapnel hook into a neighbouring building and take off, swinging through the city with the phone still pressed to my ear.

    "Who is this?"

    "I think you know who it is."

    "You're the masked man, the vigilante who was causing trouble at the docks."

    That's good. Keep him talking.

    "That's me. You can call me Daredevil. You'll be hearing a lot from me from now on."

    "What business is this of yours? You do-gooder types feel the need to stick your nose when you're not gonna make one bit of difference. You think you're going to change the world, but it never ends well for the likes of you..."

    "It's going pretty well for me so far."

    I'm swinging through Midtown now, scanning through all the voices in the streets below. Where would you be making this call from, Silvio?

    "This isn't over! You think The Enforcers are it? We're gonna find you, and when we do, you're gonna wish you hadn't messed with us!"

    Bryant Park. Gotcha.

    "Not if I find you first."

    Silvio Manfredi is sat at a table in Bryant Park. He's in a more secluded corner, but there are still other people around in the park, not to mention some hired muscle standing nearby. This will need to be a quick snatch. I swoop low on the grappling hook and, before onlookers even have a chance to gasp, I've snatched Manfredi out of his chair and launched myself back up to the rooftops. The henchmen will be too scared to fire their guns in case they hit their boss, I can only hear them screaming impotent obscenities below. I swing down a good few blocks, carrying a wailing and screaming Manfredi under my arm the whole way, before finally settling on top of a tall building and dumping Manfredi like a sack of potatoes.

    "You're crazy! Who the hell are you!?"

    "Can't you see, Silvio? I'm the devil, come to hold you account for your sins."

    His heart is pounding in his chest like a sledgehammer. For a moment I worry he might have a heart attack, but then my attention is caught by my radar sense picking up the outline of a gun under his jacket, which he's now reaching for. I kick him in the chest, knocking him back, then grab the gun and throw it away.

    "You talked about how people like me always lose to people like you. Well, maybe that's because they played by your rules. I don't. I'm all for sorting this out nice and quick..."

    I produce a tape recorder from inside my belt.

    "You're going to say your full name for the recording, and then you're going to confess to every crime you've ever committed."

    "Go to hell, you lunatic!"

    I don't say anything back. I just walk over, grab him by the collar and drag him to the edge of the rooftop. I drag him far enough along so that his head is dangling over the side, the wind whipping his hair, then I kneel on his chest, and repeat...

    "You're going to say your full name for the recording, and then you're going to confess to every crime you've ever committed."

    I turn on the recorder, hold it in front of his face.

    "And you better not lie. I'll know."

    There is silence for a few moments. And then...

    "My name is Silvio Manfredi..."

    ...

    When we're done, I done Manfredi in front of the NYPD Midtown South Precinct building, hogtied, the recorder taped to his back. It's filled with a lot of material. I know it's all useless, and it's not going to lead to a conviction. I'm a lawyer, remember. Any attorney worth a nickel will claim extortion and intimidation, that Manfredi was forced to make a confession under duress and so whatever he said cannot be submitted as evidence in any prosecution. Combine that with having the right connections with the right people, and Manfredi will at most be held until he's bailed, and then never see trial.

    But that doesn't matter. What matters is that I've shaken him up. People like Silvio Manfredi have for too long thought themselves above all the misery they cause, under the illusion they're some legitimate part of society. I'm all too happy to remind the Manfredis of the world that they're still no better than common crooks, and that the head of the Maggia in New York City can be dragged to a police station and thrown in the cells just as easily as anyone else. It's a message. It's letting this city's underworld know that Daredevil is coming for them.

    [​IMG]
     
  19. Carnage27

    Carnage27 No one's puppet

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    [​IMG]


    San Francisco, CA

    Captain America slinked across the darkened San Fransisco docks in search for any sign of Batroc and his men. A simple search during the day yielded no success, though she didn't expect it to. These men were professionals, they wouldn't give away their position in broad daylight. The downtime between then and when the sun went down proved to be productive, however. Cap spent the time researching Batroc more fully to gain an edge of preparation against her target. He came from a war torn section of Algeria where he was the son to a French warlord left over from the post WWII era. The intelligence community believe that he killed his own father after being paid off by the opposition before transitioning into the mercenary life. It's believed he's the most agile, non-powered human on the planet, and a master of the Savate martial arts form. Batroc was the very definition of deadly, and the men and women that followed him weren't far behind.​

    But what worried Stephanie even more than that was the fact they were a mercenary group. Someone knew enough about this HAMMER cure that they sent Batroc's Brigade to not only steal it, but to set it off as well. As terrible as the idea of HAMMER being behind this was, there was an even deeper fear that someone was working unknown in the shadows. When the enemy you know is terrifying, the enemy you don't is incomprehensibly frightening.​

    "Anything?" Fury's voice came through the intercom. ​

    "Nothing," Steph answered. "Falcon?"

    Now that night had fallen, Sam had safely taken to the skies as recon. His dark uniform and wings were nearly invisible to those on the ground, allowing him to stay hidden, "I might have something."

    "Where?" Cap's ears perked up.​

    "Noth of your position," he responded as the comm links struggled to drown out the air rushing through as he flew. "Fenced in location with seven or eight guys patroling the interior perimeter. Looks like that's our target."

    "Be there in a flash," Steph said as she took off towards the north. She skillfully lept on top of a shipping container before transferring to the rooftops of the dock buildings with another jump. She traversed the docks like it was second nature, jumping, leaping, sliding and swinging from one roof to another using cables and shipping cranes. Before long, she found herself standing in the shadows outside the fenced area Falcon had mentioned. She timed the guards as they walked around the area before effortlessly clearing the fence with a high jump and setting up behind one of the shipping containers in the yard.​

    [​IMG]

    "I'm in position," she called out over the comms. "Falcon, Fury. If the alarm goes off and they run, I need you to help round them up."

    "I'm flying the friendly skies, Cap," Wilson commed in his affirmative.​

    "We're a few blocks down," Fury answered. "Locked and loaded."

    The Captain didn't say another word. She knew one of the guards would be by her position any second. Listening closely, Steph heard the man's footsteps approaching. In a quick motion, she sprung from her cover and delivered a swift kick below the man's jaw. She slid the man's unconcious body to where she had just been hiding before sprinting down the line of containers. The second guard rounded the corner before she got there, forcing her to toss her shield at him. The unbreakable metal object slammed into the man, crumpling him to a heap at her feet. ​

    That took care of the guards on this side of the warehouse, so she moved towards the building. The others on the exterior would realize their comrades were out of synch with their patrol schedules soon enough, and Cap wanted to get to Batroc before that happened. ​

    Steph sacled the side of the warehouse and slid in an open window, landing on the catwalk of the second floor. Below her she saw Batroc and his two lieutenants playing cards. Two guards stood by them, but it didn't look like either was expecting trouble. Batroc was an imposing figure, even as he lounged in relative comfort. He looked at ease even though he was dressed in tactical gear. The muted purple and gold of his family's house decorated the bullet proof armor her wore. Next to him was the agent known only as Swordsman, the world's master with a blade. He was small compared to Batroc, but what he lacked in size he was said to make up for with speed. The trio of leaders was rounded out by the woman known only as Machete. A Mandipoorian assassin who had joined Batroc only recently. ​

    Steph vaulted herself over the rail of the catwalk, tossing her shield as she did. The projectile took out one guard, while she landed on the other, incapacitating him as well. With a snarl she addressed the leader of the mercenaries, "Where's the bomb, Batroc?"

    "Ah, Le Capitan," the merc smilled while he and his associates stood. "We 'eard you may be in town. Nice of you to take advantage of our 'ospitality."

    "Save it," Steph snapped. "The bomb location. Now."

    "I do not think so," he smiled. It might have just been his accent, but Batroc gave off more of an air of superiority than even the Red Skull had, which was impressive. His ridiculous facial hair didn't help matters much. "Machete, deal with our guest."

    Stephanie barely had time to react to the throwing knives. The Asian assassin moved like lightning, tossing two knives from her waiste with a flick of the wrist. Cap managed to get her shield up to deflect them, but that gave Batroc and Swordsman the time to race to their getaway vehicle and for Machete to press her advantage. She pulled two of her namesake weapons from sheathes on her back and charged towards Cap.​

    As the villain's weapons clashed against her shield, Steph called to her allies, "Batroc and Swordsman are on the move. Intercept if possible."

    After her transmission, Captain America went on the offensive. Machete was fast, but Stephanie was the super soldier. The assassin's blades danced in the air amidst the sparks generated when they sliced against Steph's shield which was kept between her and the strikes expertly. Cap analyzed her fighting style, and found a hole. Cap pushed forward with her shield, breaking Machete's dancer-like rhythm. One hand slammed against the shield, and Steph caught the other. Machete was tossed across the room by Captain America, smashing through a crate in the process.

    The assassin stood and readied herself to come at Cap again, and the superhuman soldier smiled, "You sure you want to do this?"

    "You're my mission," Machete responded with venom. "I get paid to do this."

    "Okay," Steph shrugged, "but I warned you."

    The killer for hire charged at Cap, and the two entered more of a dance than a fight. The assassin tried desperately to land a killing blow with her weapons, but Steph managed to avoid everything she through at her. Cap noticed she had been moved towards a pulley system in the warehouse used for moving heavy loads. As Machete lunged for another attack, Steph spun out of the way and wrapped the mercenary's arm in the pulley's chain. After kicking out the stopper, Machete was suspended in the air by her arm. The assassin cried out in pain, and Cap yelled, "Now that we've got that out of the way, where's the bomb!?"

    Machete tried to hold out. She tried to ignore the pain, but it was too much. Before long she blurted out, "The Transamerica Pyramid!"

    Steph allowed her to drop back to the ground before calling out to Sam, "Falcon, the bombs at the Transamerica building. Probably on top of the spire. Get it out of the city."

    "Where to?" he asked tentatively.

    "Toss it in the ocean for all I care," Steph responded. "As long as its not dispersed into the air it won't kill anyone. And the compound only affects mutants. It won't harm wildlife."

    "Roger that, Cap," Sam confirmed. "Breaking off pursuit of Batroc, though."

    "We'll find him," Steph assured her partner. "And next time he's not getting away."

    Stephanie turned back towards Machete to find the assassin had disappeared, no doubt to join back up with her allies. A truck rumbled by outside, and Cap exited the building to find the men guarding the area gone as well, no doubt with Machete. She cursed herself for not tying the killer up. It could be a mistake that would bite her in the end.

    "We lost Batroc," Fury comes over the comm. "He managed to blend in with traffic."

    "And I lost Machete," Steph cursed.

    "Good news is the bomb is underwater," Falcon added, happily. "We won tonight guys. Don't forget that."

    **********
    Below the Pacific Ocean

    Batroc's dirty bomb settled on the ocean floor after being tossed into the sea by Falcon. The current carried it for miles before it hit the bottom, its timer going the entire time it did. The strange device was found by a strange creature. They had never seen such a device from the surface. They carried it back to their home and showed it to their leader. Surface technology was viewed as dangerous by their people, and the leader was about to command its destruction before it went off.

    The poison, which would have been deadly in the air to a surface dweller, seeped into the seawater of the city. The creatures, who breathed with gills underwater, absorbed the poison through the liquid. The ones in the immediate area died instantly, while those in the city surrounding the area fell ill within minutes.

    Another scout group from the city returned days later to find an apocalyptic sight. Their friends and family were either dead or dying from an unknown disease. The group tracked the path of the sickness to the governor's palace, where they found the device from the surface.

    In a rage, the leader of the scouting troup yelled at his men in their language, "Prepare for a great journey. The king must know what happened here. Namor must know, and justice must be served!"​
     
  20. Byrd Man

    Byrd Man El Hombre Pájaro

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    Fisk Tower
    10:45 AM



    Tracy always felt out of his element when he went to Fisk Tower. Criminals didn't meet in office buildings, they met in back alleys and bar rooms. It was a run of the mill building, but it never failed to remind him that he was just the son of a two-bit thief from Hell's Kitchen. To the old guys like Tracy's dad, the building was proof that people like Fisk were bad for business. They were nothing but glorified accountants that counted up kilos of heroin instead of tax figures. Tracy didn't follow the old school's thinking. After all, what kind of accountant would crush men's skulls with their barehands?

    The regular security staff eyed him for a moment before letting him through to the elevator bank. Another group of security guards waited by the private elevator at the end of the row. They wore baggy suits to hide the body armor and automatic weapons they kept on them. Tracy got a few dirty looks as he approached. They all knew him and what he did, but they all got off on frisking Tracy to make sure he wasn't carrying any weapons up to the penthouse. One hard boy gave Tracy a ticket as he took his .38 from him, saying with a smile that he would hold on to it for safe keeping while Tracy boarded the elevator.

    He watched the view from the street as it rose into the clouds. It dinged at the tip top and the doors slide open. He didn't see anyone near the penthouse entrance, but he knew someone from down below had called up after he'd gotten into the elevator. He looked around another few moments before stepping into the room to find his boss.
     
  21. Keyser Soze

    Keyser Soze AW YEEEAH!

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    "Hello, Tracy."

    Vanessa Fisk smiled warmly at Lawless as he stepped out of the elevator. She'd received the call from security about his arrival, and had waited to greet him as he stepped out into the penthouse.

    "Wilson's in the kitchen. I'll be in a minute to brew you some coffee. Black, yeah?"

    Lawless entered the expansive, modernly-furnished kitchen to find Wilson Fisk sat at the table, a large plate of breakfast before him, and a paper spread out on the table next to it. Fisk didn't even look up from the paper as Lawless approached.

    "Tracy, good morning. Sit down."

    This wasn't an invitation, it was an order. Fisk wasn't offering for Lawless to grab a plate and join him, he was telling him to sit there and wait for him to finish eating his breakfast. There was a distinction.
     
  22. Byrd Man

    Byrd Man El Hombre Pájaro

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    Tracy sat down opposite Fisk and sat there in silence while his boss ate. A few moments later his wife brought in a mug of black coffee. Tracy sipped on it and stared ahead impassively. His relationship with Fisk was... complicated. In addition to being forced to work for him, there was the personal history between them. Tracy knew that it was Fisk who killed his father, Teeg, when Teeg got too strung out back in the 90's. Tracy was in the army by then and he was glad the old man was dead, but he still hated Fisk for being the one that did it. He wanted to be the one who killed Teeg, he had spent years as a teenager trying to work up the nerve to do it and always fell short of going through with it.

    At last count Tracy had roughly a dozen different ways to kill Kingpin, everything from the simple (walking up and blowing his brains out) to the complicated (blowfish toxin in his soup). He knew he would never act on it unless his life depended on it. He wouldn't kill Fisk because he realized the sad truth that the Kingpin gave him a purpose. And truthfully it didn't matter if he killed for the mob or the army, it was the same goddamn thing. But still the plans were handy to keep buried in the back of his mind, they gave him options.

    Tracy put his coffee down on the table as Fisk finished up his food. He knew the rules. Conversation started when he wanted it to, and until then Tracy did not speak until he was spoken to.
     
  23. Keyser Soze

    Keyser Soze AW YEEEAH!

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    It was Vanessa who broke the silence first, as she walked back into the kitchen pulling on her jacket.

    "I'm going to stop by the gallery for a bit, I'll be home this afternoon."

    Fisk smiled at his wife, and stood up to kiss her on the cheek. Vanessa had worked in an art gallery when they first met. When they'd married, he bought her a gallery of her own. He put enough money into the place that it was in no danger of going under whatever she did with it, but it gave her some semblance of independence, so he was happy for her to have it.

    "Take care, Tracy," Vanessa said with a smile as she headed for the elevator.

    Fisk didn't sit back down. Instead he grabbed his empty teacup and saucer, and sat them on top of his empty plate. Then he took Lawless' empty cup and sat that on top of the plate, and carried it all over to the dishwasher, leaving the table clear and pristine. Wilson Fisk was not a man who could abide mess or clutter. He motioned for Tracy to follow him with a hand gesture, and the two of them took the elevator up to Fisk's private office.

    Once in the darkened room, The Kingpin sat himself down behind his desk, and lit up a cigar, finally looking directly at Lawless.

    "I take it the Bagotti situation was resolved in satisfactory fashion?"
     
  24. Byrd Man

    Byrd Man El Hombre Pájaro

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    "Yes. I left the details with your lawyer, but the robbers and their inside man will no longer be a problem."

    He left out the part about the inside man being Jimmy Bags' own son. He knew that it wouldn't matter to the Kingpin if Jimmy's son was dead, he would still hold Jimmy responsible for the robberies. Tracy heard the story of the Papa Ace Kwan, the guy who ran Fisk's underground casino in Chinatown. Papa Ace started skimming off the top, a little at first before he got sloppy and got noticed. Ace, his wife, three daughters, and six grandkids all ended up as Lo Mein.

    "I'm sure someone who works for you has already ran the numbers, but the Cheetah Room is looking to make more money this year than it ever has since you bought it. Those Russian girls you brought in have been a big boon to business."

    And that was just declared income, only roughly thirty percent of the money the strip club actually made was declared. The rest, the cash from pimping the girls out and bouncers dealing blow to the customers, was all under the table.
     
  25. Keyser Soze

    Keyser Soze AW YEEEAH!

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    "Good, good. Unfortunately, not every enterprise is proving so successful. We suffered a rather annoying setback last night."

    The Kingpin took another leisurely puff on his cigar, letting it form a cloud around the room.

    "Silvio Manfredi. He is acting head of The Maggia in New York City, a man who to a casual observer is supposed to have some power and influence. And yet last night, he was assaulted and dragged to the nearest police station like a common criminal in what I shall charitably refer to as a citizen's arrest."

    Fisk let out a derisive chuckle, a hard bark devoid of any genuine mirth.

    "According to my contacts at the police station, Manfredi has testified that he was captured by a masked lunatic in red tights with horns on his head. Called himself Daredevil."
     

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