Marvel Mayhem: The Deadly Dozen #1
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Silvermane Warehouse, Alphabet City
The group of men dressed in street clothes carefully entered the converted warehouse space , its furnishings sitting next to evidence markers, while yellow ‘crime scene tape’ was plastered over all the doors. Nervously they looked at each other, before delicately walking through the lounge, and into the kitchen.
”What are we doing here Morgan?” One of the men asked, as the twelve strong crew gathered around the centre point of the room.
“Silvermane kept a lot of files and stuff.” One of the men, a dark skinned individual wearing jeans and a wife beater shirt, grunted as he took a crowbar from one of the others. “Tombstone wants them before the cops take them into custody.”
“Why are we doing this for Tombstone again?” The man who had handed him the crowbar asked. “We don’t even work for him.”
“Well maybe we should.” Morgan announced. “Look what’s going on; Silvermane is in custody, Hammerhead is public enemy number one, the Kingpin got dunked in the harbour and the Owl, well nobody has seen him for months. Tombstone is the only big name left in town, better to be on his good side then on his bad one.”
“You got a point.” One of his men sighed. “Still can't believe Spider Woman did that to Fisk and got away.”
“Nah he'll be back, they'll all be back and when they are Tombstone will be the small fish in the big pond again.” The crowbar carrier replied, as Morgan levered up a concealed hatch in the floor, and removed a file box from the compartment.
“Not likely, with these he’ll be the big man and the others will be the small fish. This city is as good as his.” Morgan announced as he replaced the hatch, and handed the crowbar back. “For now on Tombstone is the only game in town, and we have the chance to be his most trusted lieutenants.”
“He’s far from the only game in town.” A grating female voice announced, one the caused all the thugs to spin round and stare at the speaker. There hovering in the doorway was a red headed woman, dressed in an NYPD uniform splattered with blood, her hands clutching a long handled scythe. “You never stopped to think what happened to the officers guarding the crime scene…”
“Crud the cops found us, waste her!!” Morgan yelled only to see the writing on the files twist and distort, the ink running down the sides of the box and slither across the floor and up the legs of his men. “What is this?!” He yelled in surprise as he snatched the crowbar back, and raised it ready to defend himself.
“I've been looking for a few good men.” The police officer stated, her gaze fixed on the crowbar. “And you showed all the traits that I have been looking for; stupidity, bravado and expendability.” She told him as the ink settled on the men’s faces before setting into the shape of a fly, the wings encircling the eye, while the body stretched from the base of the nose to the chin. “They are all expectable, you are not.”
“All this Vegas c**p is cute lady, but unless you want me to smash your skull open, I suggest you get out of my way!!” Morgan snarled, only to hear a whip crack behind him. Turning he saw a chariot pulled by phantom horses charge towards him, the driver holding a whip and a hook, seconds later they passed through him, and he saw his body collapse as he was pulled away through a gateway of spectral fire.
“Royal Embalmer,” The woman purred, as something massive moved in the shadows behind her, “find me a better quality of men, ones that can bring me what I seek. Tomorrow evening the sun sets on New York and rises on my Necropolis.”
**
Hypno Hustler’s Crib
“Who what you are proposing is whack!!” Hypno-Hustler yelled as he pushed the tray of martins off of the table. “I like you guys but to do this…”
“Is sensible.” Hammerhand grunted, as he shot Hypno-Hustler a glare that showed his annoyance at loosing his drink. “We pool our resources, bail each other out when we need too, watch each others backs, just like we did back at Rykers.”
“I get that but I ain’t trusting my resources with ‘The Gambler’ over there,” He announced, before pointing a finger at Chance, “I don’t want my cash, being wasted on some weed induced wager!”
“I understand where you are coming from,” Chance sighed, “but I assure you I only wager what I own and what I am owed, never the possessions of others.”
“Not that I disagree with this,” Oriole stated as he watched a lava lamp pulse hypnotically. “But shouldn’t Black Fox be here to discuss this? Where is he?”
”He got a commission from the Thieves Guild, something about a robbery and a museum for a wealthy contractor.” Chance answered as the door bell rung. “Hmm who had twenty one minutes?”
“No-one but Hammerhand was closest with twenty four minutes.” Oriole answered as Chance slipped Hammerhand a two ten dollar bills. “And that’s why Hypno-Hustler doesn't trust you with his money.” He added, as the Hustler in question opened the door, and took the pizzas from the delivery boy.
“Ah man those fools put extra cheese on mine,” Hypno-Hustler moaned as he opened the box, “it’s going to be a re-run of Vietnam if I eat this.”
“Then take a slice from mine.” Hammerhand groaned, as he took a slice of anchovy and onion pizza. “I don’t mind.”
“Wait did anyone pay the delivery boy?” Oriole asked, as he opened his box and squinted at something written on the box. “Oh cra…” He swore, only to be cut off as a hardened razor edged disc smashed through the door, and sliced through his neck. Looking down at the box, flecks of acid leaking onto the cardboard and through the floor, Chance cleared his throat and read the message.
“You owe me Holland; I bailed you out, and now I want what I paid with interest. Whatever you own is now mine, if my account hasn’t received the sum of $50,000 dollars by the end of the week, you and your friends are dead men walking.” - S. Maddicks.
“Fifty dollars says you're no longer worried about me anymore.” Chance muttered, as tendons slithered out of Oriole’s neck, and pulled his head back towards his body.
**
New York Museum of Natural History
Raul Chambers AKA The Black Fox leaned on his cane and stared at the set of four canopic jars, each one containing an organ from a long dead pharaoh. The museum was packed with tourists, but that really didn’t bother Chambers, his theft wasn’t taking place during the early afternoon rush, but rather the period of uncertainty as the museum closed. Right now we was testing the water, seeing what response he got when he pushed his luck. Gently he reached out, and ran a bony finger down the side of the case before pulling back. Nothing happened, at least not visibly but he was certain that, had security seen what he did, they would be watching him through the cameras.
Moving into the next room, he calmly and methodically made his way over to a stuffed penguin, and tapped it with his cane. The bird rocked from the blow before coming to a stop, and this time there was a response, with screaming alarms sounding throughout the room, the noise joined by everyone in the room yelling and clamouring to escape. Getting ready to put on his ‘I’m so senile, my mind is slipping’ act, Chambers sniffed once to get the tears ready to flow, he inhaled a breath of smoke. From there it was only a second before he realised that, this was a fire alarm and that, in all likelihood, he wasn’t the museum staffs main concern, and a second after that he came to the conclusion that he had to get out of there before he was brunt alive.
Dropping his cane, he shuffled into the Ancient Egypt exhibit, before coming to a stop as flames encircled around the room. Shooting a glance at the canopic jars Chambers shook his head; he shouldn't risk it, but something at the back of his mind urged him to reach out and touch the glass.
”Stop right there!!” A voice announced behind him. Turning Chambers watched as six armoured figures moved through the flames. “Touch them and burn.”
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