Post by CAPT Issac R. Madden on Oct 13, 2011 4:51:41 GMT 1
Alright. Here's the first chapter of my Marvel story. Reviews would be appreciated, especially since I'm not as up-to-date on the Marvel Universe as I should be. Tentative setting is pre Mutant Registration Act/Civil War.
"SPIDERMAN: THE MENACE CONTINUES!" the main headline of the Daily bugle shouts from the newsstand. Whoever is in charge of that place needs to get a fucking life, a young man decked out in a pair of relaxed fit jeans, leather biker jacket, well-worn leather boots, and simple leather gloves thinks as he pauses to buy a copy of the paper.
"What do you think of Spider-Man?" the newsstand clerk, an older man with a thick Brooklyn accent asks as he takes the money.
"Honestly? I think he's doing good by the city, what with him taking down psychos like the Green Goblin and the like," the young man answers, his voice a deep, slightly gravelly tenor.
"Yeah, I hear ya. Take care now."
"Thanks, you too."
Opening the paper, the young man skims the headlines for something fairly specific. They should have something about it by now, he thinks, finding what he's looking for after a couple minutes.
"Alley Beatings May Be Connected," the headline reads, heading a small article that covers barely a fourth of a page in the middle of the paper. "In the past several weeks, there has been a series of vicious assaults in various areas of the city. Assaults that cannot be linked to either Spider-Man, Daredevil, or The Punisher. The only common threads are a small silver pin left behind by the attacker. Eyewitness reports are sketchy and there are rumors that these incidents are linked to similar attacks in other large metropolitan areas. Is it possible that there is a new vigilante in New York? More as this story develops."
Took them long enough, he thinks as he tosses the newspaper into the garbage can, heads for his motorcycle: a Yamaha Midnight Warrior, puts an earbud from his iPod in his ear, tunes it to a local radio station that specializes in hard rock and heavy metal, and puts on a black full-faced helmet with a full tinted visor. Kick-starting the engine, he tools down the street, just killing time until he has to get back to the theatre where his band, Swords of the Fallen, is scheduled to open for a miniature metal festival. Took us a lot of work to get this far. Hopefully we won't blow it.
"Your mama told you not to talk to strangers. Look in the mirror; tell me do you think your life's in danger? Yeah… No mo- We interrupt this broadcast to bring you breaking news: Police are in a shoot-out with multiple heavily armed and amored robbers at the National Bank in Brooklyn. As of now, there haven't been any deaths, but there are several wounded," the news broadcaster says, cutting off Ozzy's "No More Tears".
Well, now. I'm not that far from there. Let's see if I can make the front page, he thinks, pulling into an alley for a moment to take the license plate off of his bike and stash it one of his inner jacket pockets before racing back out into the street and weaving a path to the bank.
As he gets close, he spots a crowd of rubberneckers blocking his path. Of course. Gunfire is going off so everyone has to stop and see what's going on. Frustrated, he honks his horn a few times and rides up onto the sidewalk, the on-lookers hurriedly clearing a path for him. Then he runs into another barricade, this time a literal one: the police set up a perimeter to prevent the robbers from escaping. Shit, he thinks, looking around and spotting an empty car-hauling semi rig about two hundred feet from the line.
Turning the bike around, he goes back down the street a couple blocks and lines himself up. I can't believe I'm going to try this… he thinks, gunning the bike and taking off in a cloud of burnt rubber, horn honking rapidly as he picks up speed. Before he realizes it, he's almost at the trailer. Giving the bike one last burst of the throttle, he braces himself as he hits the trailer and takes off, clearing the barricade by several feet and somehow manages to keep from crashing.
Running on adrenaline, he races the throttle and crashes right through the glass doors at the front of the bank. Once inside, he slides the bike across the open tile floor, using the back wheel to tail-whip three of the ski mask wearing robbers before smoothly using what's left of the bike's momentum to stand it back up and casually setting it on its kickstand. Getting off the bike like he owns the place, he snaps his right arm out and an asp baton shoots out of the forearm strap he has concealed under his jacket and into his hand, extending at the end of its trip.
Moving with a sense of purpose, he dispatches the still-conscious robbers he'd hit with his bike with strikes across the temple, jaw, and base of the skull; hard enough to render them unconscious, but not hard enough to kill. While he's doing this, the others recover from their initial shock and move to attack him with knives and bats, but he proves to be the faster, not even looking at his enemies as he takes them down one at a time with one strike a piece from his baton, dodging their attacks and countering them with ease. After less than a minute, there are only two enemies left standing; one armed with a pump-action shotgun the other with a Glock pistol.
The shotgun wielder, the closer of the two, tries his best to take care of the seemingly inhuman biker with a shotgun blast. However, the shot finds only air as said biker literally dodges the blast, and darts in to counter the threat: trapping the shotgun under his arm to tie up the robber's arms and using him as a human shield as his remaining partner fires his Glock in a blind panic, wildly spraying his shots until the gun clicks empty. Grabbing the first robber's collar, the biker almost casually headbutts him unconscious and slowly advances on his final adversary.
The robber desperately tries to fire his empty gun, completely gripped in panic. Deciding to use this last man as his example, the biker whips his baton around and smashes it into the robber's gun hand, the distinctive sound of bone breaking audible over the smack of metal on flesh. Crying out in pain, the robber clutches his mangled hand to his hand as he falls to his knees. Waiting for a moment to draw this out, the biker places the tip of his baton under the chin of the weeping man and uses it to put pressure on a pressure point there, forcing him to stand and tilting his head back to expose his throat. Slowly the biker rears back with his left hand formed into a fist with the second knuckle of his index finger exposed and his thumb braced on his middle finger to reinforce the exposed knuckle. Pausing for a brief second, he waits for the would-be robber to look directly into the blank blackness of his helmet before firing his one-knuckle punch right into the man's carotid artery, striking just hard enough to stun, but not enough for a complete knock out.
Taking a few moments, the biker walks around the bank lobby and then takes a quick look outside, searching for more enemies. Satisfied that no one else wants to play, he takes out a small pin in the shape of a stylized silver raven and pins it on his last enemy's collar before striding over to his bike like he's got all the time in the world. Kick starting the bike, he revs the engine a couple times and drives out of the bank, finding a hole in the police perimeter as he leaves the area as fast as the bike will carry him.
"SPIDERMAN: THE MENACE CONTINUES!" the main headline of the Daily bugle shouts from the newsstand. Whoever is in charge of that place needs to get a fucking life, a young man decked out in a pair of relaxed fit jeans, leather biker jacket, well-worn leather boots, and simple leather gloves thinks as he pauses to buy a copy of the paper.
"What do you think of Spider-Man?" the newsstand clerk, an older man with a thick Brooklyn accent asks as he takes the money.
"Honestly? I think he's doing good by the city, what with him taking down psychos like the Green Goblin and the like," the young man answers, his voice a deep, slightly gravelly tenor.
"Yeah, I hear ya. Take care now."
"Thanks, you too."
Opening the paper, the young man skims the headlines for something fairly specific. They should have something about it by now, he thinks, finding what he's looking for after a couple minutes.
"Alley Beatings May Be Connected," the headline reads, heading a small article that covers barely a fourth of a page in the middle of the paper. "In the past several weeks, there has been a series of vicious assaults in various areas of the city. Assaults that cannot be linked to either Spider-Man, Daredevil, or The Punisher. The only common threads are a small silver pin left behind by the attacker. Eyewitness reports are sketchy and there are rumors that these incidents are linked to similar attacks in other large metropolitan areas. Is it possible that there is a new vigilante in New York? More as this story develops."
Took them long enough, he thinks as he tosses the newspaper into the garbage can, heads for his motorcycle: a Yamaha Midnight Warrior, puts an earbud from his iPod in his ear, tunes it to a local radio station that specializes in hard rock and heavy metal, and puts on a black full-faced helmet with a full tinted visor. Kick-starting the engine, he tools down the street, just killing time until he has to get back to the theatre where his band, Swords of the Fallen, is scheduled to open for a miniature metal festival. Took us a lot of work to get this far. Hopefully we won't blow it.
"Your mama told you not to talk to strangers. Look in the mirror; tell me do you think your life's in danger? Yeah… No mo- We interrupt this broadcast to bring you breaking news: Police are in a shoot-out with multiple heavily armed and amored robbers at the National Bank in Brooklyn. As of now, there haven't been any deaths, but there are several wounded," the news broadcaster says, cutting off Ozzy's "No More Tears".
Well, now. I'm not that far from there. Let's see if I can make the front page, he thinks, pulling into an alley for a moment to take the license plate off of his bike and stash it one of his inner jacket pockets before racing back out into the street and weaving a path to the bank.
As he gets close, he spots a crowd of rubberneckers blocking his path. Of course. Gunfire is going off so everyone has to stop and see what's going on. Frustrated, he honks his horn a few times and rides up onto the sidewalk, the on-lookers hurriedly clearing a path for him. Then he runs into another barricade, this time a literal one: the police set up a perimeter to prevent the robbers from escaping. Shit, he thinks, looking around and spotting an empty car-hauling semi rig about two hundred feet from the line.
Turning the bike around, he goes back down the street a couple blocks and lines himself up. I can't believe I'm going to try this… he thinks, gunning the bike and taking off in a cloud of burnt rubber, horn honking rapidly as he picks up speed. Before he realizes it, he's almost at the trailer. Giving the bike one last burst of the throttle, he braces himself as he hits the trailer and takes off, clearing the barricade by several feet and somehow manages to keep from crashing.
Running on adrenaline, he races the throttle and crashes right through the glass doors at the front of the bank. Once inside, he slides the bike across the open tile floor, using the back wheel to tail-whip three of the ski mask wearing robbers before smoothly using what's left of the bike's momentum to stand it back up and casually setting it on its kickstand. Getting off the bike like he owns the place, he snaps his right arm out and an asp baton shoots out of the forearm strap he has concealed under his jacket and into his hand, extending at the end of its trip.
Moving with a sense of purpose, he dispatches the still-conscious robbers he'd hit with his bike with strikes across the temple, jaw, and base of the skull; hard enough to render them unconscious, but not hard enough to kill. While he's doing this, the others recover from their initial shock and move to attack him with knives and bats, but he proves to be the faster, not even looking at his enemies as he takes them down one at a time with one strike a piece from his baton, dodging their attacks and countering them with ease. After less than a minute, there are only two enemies left standing; one armed with a pump-action shotgun the other with a Glock pistol.
The shotgun wielder, the closer of the two, tries his best to take care of the seemingly inhuman biker with a shotgun blast. However, the shot finds only air as said biker literally dodges the blast, and darts in to counter the threat: trapping the shotgun under his arm to tie up the robber's arms and using him as a human shield as his remaining partner fires his Glock in a blind panic, wildly spraying his shots until the gun clicks empty. Grabbing the first robber's collar, the biker almost casually headbutts him unconscious and slowly advances on his final adversary.
The robber desperately tries to fire his empty gun, completely gripped in panic. Deciding to use this last man as his example, the biker whips his baton around and smashes it into the robber's gun hand, the distinctive sound of bone breaking audible over the smack of metal on flesh. Crying out in pain, the robber clutches his mangled hand to his hand as he falls to his knees. Waiting for a moment to draw this out, the biker places the tip of his baton under the chin of the weeping man and uses it to put pressure on a pressure point there, forcing him to stand and tilting his head back to expose his throat. Slowly the biker rears back with his left hand formed into a fist with the second knuckle of his index finger exposed and his thumb braced on his middle finger to reinforce the exposed knuckle. Pausing for a brief second, he waits for the would-be robber to look directly into the blank blackness of his helmet before firing his one-knuckle punch right into the man's carotid artery, striking just hard enough to stun, but not enough for a complete knock out.
Taking a few moments, the biker walks around the bank lobby and then takes a quick look outside, searching for more enemies. Satisfied that no one else wants to play, he takes out a small pin in the shape of a stylized silver raven and pins it on his last enemy's collar before striding over to his bike like he's got all the time in the world. Kick starting the bike, he revs the engine a couple times and drives out of the bank, finding a hole in the police perimeter as he leaves the area as fast as the bike will carry him.