Red
King Littlefinger
- Joined
- Jul 4, 2005
- Messages
- 12,732
- Reaction score
- 0
- Points
- 31
Scorpion sits in a beaten-down greyconvertible outside The Bank of New York. He’s careful to hide himself from passersby as he mindlessly twiddles his fingers, aimlessly counting down the seconds on the clock on his wrist till they reach 9:00pm. He had cased the joint for weeks. He needed the cash desperately; times had been hard for Macdonald recently. He had wasted the last 9 months in Rykers, waking up each morning to grim depressing sight of the supervillian Rhino and his badly fitting PJ’s.
That like everything else, every hardship, every hitch, down to the smallest detail as not paying his rent; it was all thanks to the friendly Neighborhood Spider-Man. The very thought of the wallcrawler riled every fiber of Gargan’s being. All of his suffering, all his pain was because of him.
But things had changed, Scorpion had changed. He had got early parole, they claimed he was reformed. Reformed, who did those shrinks think he was Sandman? Within a day of leaving Rykers Mac had fallen back in his old snug costume, but with a new found attitude. It was all so clear to him now. He was The Scorpion; with a simple flex of his tail he could kill a man. So why should he take orders from that fat slouch Kingpin? No, no more. No more broken jaws from Spider-Man, no more allying himself with D-string rogues to makes a quick buck, no more having to steal to eat. Gargan would hold the cards for once; Fisk’s little toy soldiers would obey him.
All he needed was a little capital and he could pull Kingpin’s empire from beneath his feet. He figured about 10 mill would suffice to get a foothold on Fisk’s turf. He had to be quick though, it was all still a dream until he had the money in his sweaty palms and if he encountered the webslinger, it would stay that way.
Mac heard The Bank Manager say goodbye to the security guard and his eyes peered over the dash as the guard replied. Perfect. He had 5 minutes until the next guy’s shift started, plenty of time. He leapt from out the car onto sidewalk, hastily grasping the Manger at the throat with his acid tipped tail before; he had the chance to quiver in fear. Mac liked the feeling of seeing other’s cower from him. That it was a change to regular laughter.
But no one would laugh at The Scorpion now; he wouldn’t be dragged to the 6th page of the Bugle anymore, made to be the punch line of a bad joke. He was moving up in the world. Mac Gargan: Kingpin of Crime. He liked the sound of that.
That like everything else, every hardship, every hitch, down to the smallest detail as not paying his rent; it was all thanks to the friendly Neighborhood Spider-Man. The very thought of the wallcrawler riled every fiber of Gargan’s being. All of his suffering, all his pain was because of him.
But things had changed, Scorpion had changed. He had got early parole, they claimed he was reformed. Reformed, who did those shrinks think he was Sandman? Within a day of leaving Rykers Mac had fallen back in his old snug costume, but with a new found attitude. It was all so clear to him now. He was The Scorpion; with a simple flex of his tail he could kill a man. So why should he take orders from that fat slouch Kingpin? No, no more. No more broken jaws from Spider-Man, no more allying himself with D-string rogues to makes a quick buck, no more having to steal to eat. Gargan would hold the cards for once; Fisk’s little toy soldiers would obey him.
All he needed was a little capital and he could pull Kingpin’s empire from beneath his feet. He figured about 10 mill would suffice to get a foothold on Fisk’s turf. He had to be quick though, it was all still a dream until he had the money in his sweaty palms and if he encountered the webslinger, it would stay that way.
Mac heard The Bank Manager say goodbye to the security guard and his eyes peered over the dash as the guard replied. Perfect. He had 5 minutes until the next guy’s shift started, plenty of time. He leapt from out the car onto sidewalk, hastily grasping the Manger at the throat with his acid tipped tail before; he had the chance to quiver in fear. Mac liked the feeling of seeing other’s cower from him. That it was a change to regular laughter.
But no one would laugh at The Scorpion now; he wouldn’t be dragged to the 6th page of the Bugle anymore, made to be the punch line of a bad joke. He was moving up in the world. Mac Gargan: Kingpin of Crime. He liked the sound of that.
