Marvel Mayhem Presents: The Legion Of Losers
All Characters owned and Licensed by Marvel Comics
Club Jupiter: Brooklyn, New York.
"C'mon,' man can't you let me slide this one time?" The young, black-haired hipster asked the large man in black and blue at the door. It was humid as hell in New York, and one of the biggest parties in the city was happening less then three feet away. He would be inside right now rubbing shoulders with the hottest women in the state, if only the big idiot in front of him would just be cool. Yeah, he was a minor, but only by two years.
"Sorry. You're like nineteen, and this club is twenty-one and up. House rules not mine." Max "Mad Max" Markham was having a bad time with life. He had been standing in front of one of the hottest clubs in the city, and had already, in less then two hours, been cursed at, threatened with a straight razor, teased, and snubbed by everything in a mini-skirt. This wasn't how things were suppose to be at all. He was a somebody once. He had been a professional wrestler. He had toured the states with everyone from Hacksaw Hank to Hulk Hagan. Then, after a few staged bouts turned into real assault charges, he had become a super-villain. He battled Spider-Man, the Avengers, and others! Hell. He could have even killed Spider-Man once. but despite all that he had done, he still wound up at the bottom of the barrel. Now he was a doorman. The pay was decent he guessed, but shoot, he had been paid millions before, liquid. What the hell did I do with all that money? As he thought back, flashes of nude hookers, lines of cocaine, and expensive electronic equipment filled his mind. Oh, yeah now I remember. I f--ked up.
"Listen dude, I'll slip you a c-note"
"Sorry, no can do." Max said, now just a little annoyed. What was with this kid?? It wasn't like he wanted to keep him out. Hell. At nineteen Max had nearly killed a man nearly seven years his senior. It was that display of furious aggression that got him noticed by Vince Mc'cannon. Whom just so happened to be looking for talent in the ratty boxing gym Max had been going to with a religious fever. He never thought about pro wrestling, he just worked out because it kept him from hurting people....for the most part at least. But Max had always had trouble with his anger, and now he was fighting to keep it bottled. The annoying hipster with the douchbag, black-frames and lumberjack styled jacket was tipping over the line.
"Listen d--k-face. I got money see?" The hipster asked, placing a hundred dollar bill in Max's field of vision. "I know it's hard for someone of your limited intelligence to understand," hipster shoved the bill into Max's chest. Hard. Max didn't like that. "Money talks, so get the hell outta my wa--" The hipster is immediately silenced by intense pain, as the large bouncer grabbed his wrist, crushing it.
"Now I'm pissed off you little b-----d." Max said coldly. It would be the last thing the hipster would hear before he woke up in the hospital.
Two hours later.........
"Aw, crap." Max set on the curb three blocks down from his former place of employment. He had done it again. He lost control of his anger, and it had yet again cost him everything. Luckily, some very nice kids whom had been standing in line, had vouched for the large man when authorities arrived. Unfortunately, it was not enough to help him keep his job.
His employer, Mitch, had been very generous, and had paid Max more than a thousand bucks as severance. Then sadly, removed Max as his head of security. He knew that the former wrestler meant well, but he couldn't risk another outburst, that could be bad. Hell. From what Mitch knew of the former WCW contender, things could have gone a hell of a lot worse. Max stared at the crumbled one hundred dollar bill that he managed to snag during the chaos, and teared up. He was a failure. He was too mean to be a wrestler, too scary to be a bouncer, and not effective enough to be a hero or villain. He couldn't do a damn thing right.
"I should just blow my f--king brains out," He sighed sadly.
"Or you can come home with me."
Max turned his head to the female voice behind him. She was a young woman. Possibly the same age as the idiot he had just kicked the urine out off. She was tanned and long-haired, and stunningly beautiful. She smelled like roses. "You some kinda groupie or something?" Max asked with a gruff. He knew the type. His identity was public knowledge, which really made it harder for him to find employment than your everyday ex-con. So occasion he would get approached by bad-guy groupies. Sometimes he would take the bait, but tonight, he just wanted to drown himself in his bathtub.
"What? No! Jeez, I'm Kathrine Kapoodle. My dad worked for Wilson Fisk." Katherine announced with annoyance.
"Kapoodle? Adrien Kapoodle? Yeah, now I remember." Said Max, "Your dad was a real s.o.b."
"And that's exactly why I killed the b-----d." Stated Katherine non-caring.
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