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nextgenerationmarvel2014-05-11 12:38 pm
ngm_assassin) wrote in nextgenerationmarvel2014-05-11 12:38 pm
The Devil Walked Into a Penthouse in NYC
The assassin knew up front this was not supposed to be an easy job. The mark had to know another attempt on his life was coming; two previous ones had failed. The bounty on the man's head was pretty sizable. Caution and paranoia or not, this kill was within Man-O-War's ability to do. The stocky man with buzzcut hair stepped out of the stairwell. He wore a slightly loose green, button-down shirt, blue jeans, scuffed combat boots, and a baseball hat slung low. If he had been in a monochromatic uniform, the gun on his hip might have been taken for a security guard's weapon.
Man-O-War's eyes narrowed at the front door being partially open. The assassin's booted feet tread lightly as he crept up to the door. One hand reached to slip fingertips into the opening while his other hand went to the holstered Glock. When nothing happened when his fingertips slipped inside the doorway, he quietly pressed the door open just enough to slip in. His gun stayed in his holster as he got inside the entry hall of the penthouse.
A quick glance around told him the entry hall was clear of his target and of any waiting booby traps. No shotguns aimed at the door. No tripwires across the tile floor. Nor a landmine shoved under the rug. Man-O-War let out a slow breath as his ichthyic eyes searched the entry way over one more time. When he was sure it was safe, he quietly closed the door behind him.
The door open had been a warning. He knew that much, but the rest of the 3,000 square foot apartment seemed quiet and calm. Man-O-War had studied the blueprints for it. He needed a lay of the killing grounds in mind. The mark needed to be killed as painfully as possible and then the grisly bits cleaned up so it looked like the Brazilian billionaire just disappeared.
There was a van parked two blocks away marked with a maid service logo. The assassin would bring the van closer once the job was done and haul up the cleaning supplies.
Man-O-War stealthily moved farther into the penthouse. As he emerged from the entry hall, he glanced down the short hallway to his right. It lead to a bathroom, the kitchen, and a gym. He decided to check the bathroom and gym later if he didn't find the mark hiding somewhere in the rest of the colossal place. He stepped up to the doorway to a large dining room the opened directly to a slightly larger living room.
The second thing he noticed was most of the furniture in the rooms had been moved to clutter along the walls. The first thing he'd noticed before that was Marcelo Alencar da Silva sitting in a chair by a small table right between the dining and living room.
The Brazilian had a bottle, a shot glass, and a small, framed picture sitting on the table by his arm. His dark eyes looked up from pouring a shot at the assassin. He set the bottle down with a dull thunk. "About time you showed up."
Man-O-War ran his tongue over his teeth as he considered plugging one bullet into the man's brain from twenty feet away. He could do it, but it wasn't what had been ordered. Certainly more painless. So, he would play a little cat and mouse as he moved forward. "Didn't know you had a time-table to die."
"Another day longer and you'd have to face Stephanie." The Brazilian picked up the shot glass and tossed back the contents. He slammed down the shot glass and blinked at the assassin. He looked slightly sweaty and smelled of alcohol. The job might be going easier than expected. "After two failures, I hope Shaw finally got enough money to hire a good killer. The last ones were jokes."
Drunk and cocky. This job was like money in Man-O-War's pocket already. He moved his hand off the gun on his hip. The movement made his chest tighten and shift under his button-down shirt. He moved steadily closer to the man. "I promise no one liners. Just a lot of pain."
Marcelo nodded and grabbed the bottle to pour another shot.
Or so the assassin had assumed. It had been a bad assumption as he was not ready for the bottle thrown at his head. He just barely managed to move it. So it didn't manage a full impact, but it still hurt like a bitch bouncing off his noggin. Drunk men should not be able to throw that well. Man-O-War roared in pain and ripped open his shirt. The tentacles coiled on his chest started to reach out.
"Vai raspar seu cu com a unha."
The assassin did not understand Portuguese and was going to assume that was horrified astonishment. Mostly because the bottle hit had momentarily made his eyes cross. That wouldn't stop his tentacles from grasping at the air as he stumbled forward on dizzy feet.
The tentacles came in contact with something solid. Unfortunately, it wasn't the Brazilionaire. It was the chair the man had been holding up in defense. Man-O-War's stronger tentacles grabbed the chair, yanked it out of the man's grasp, and ripped the chair in half with a crackle of broken wood. When the chair was tossed away in pieces, the Brazilian was not standing there anymore.
The mark had fled into the living room. He ran toward one of the clumps of furniture pushed against the wall. Man-O-War chased after him. The assassin was in mid-footfall when the Brazilian turned around with a small, metal ladder in his hand. If this rich dead man thought that was going to save his hide any more than that chair had...
... he'd be right for about 10 seconds. Man-O-War had not realized that was a telescopic ladder. The Brazilian had braced himself against the furniture directly behind him and pressed the button to make the ladder expand out. The metal ladder shot out and caught Man-O-War in the stomach. He fell back as his tentacles tangled with the rungs and yanked the ladder out of his attacker's hands.
Though the mark didn't stay in one place long enough to have a ladder thrown at his head. The Brazilian ducked and weaved and just missed having the ladder smack him across the head. Instead the contraption stuck into the wall.
Man-O-War growled when he caught his breath back. Then he chased after the man fleeing across his apartment. The one advantage the assassin had was he did not need to get within arms length. He only needed to get within tentacle-length. His pair of longest tentacles grabbed one of the Brazilian's arms. They yanked to make him spin.
Though the assassin was met with another surprise. While his tentacles were long, they weren't longer than the piece of artwork the Brazilian frantically grabbed off the wall. Man-O-War put an arm up to protect his head. His tentacles were whipping around, but the sharp edge of the frame smacked into his ribs. The sound of the frame cracking and glass shattering was almost lost under Man-O-War's howl of pain and frustration.
This mark was not drunk and incapacitated in any way. The assassin was going to enjoy strangling the life out of him. Particularly before he got his hands on some other tool or gadget to use on his attacker. Man-O-War chased after him, tentacles reaching for the man's broad back. The long tentacles latched onto his shoulders and yanked him back toward the smaller tentacles squirming to grab him.
Some of those smaller tentacles were poisonous. The scientists who had experimented on him had made sure he could do more than strangle. While some tentacles worked on ripping off the Brazilian's shirt, the poisonous ones searched out the freshly bared skin to latch onto.
The Brazilian yelped in pain as the poisonous ones touched his torso and slithered toward his neck. He tried punching Man-O-War in the face, but the free tentacles wrapped around his arms and kept the threatening fists at bay. The mark grit his teeth as the poisonous tentacles tightened their hold.
Man-O-War laughed. "You're going to regre-OW!"
While the Brazilian's hands were captured, his legs were definitely not. His shin connected solidly with the side of Man-O-War's knee. Once he connected with the assassin's joint he did it again and again.
The tentacled man reflexively tightened his hold through all his appendages. He tried to shift his hips to get his knee out of the incoming blows way, but he wasn't quite fast enough. He toppled over into an entertainment center, taking his assailant with him.
Some the tentacles released the Brazilian to try to grab furniture. That gave the mark his arms free. So he started throwing punches into Man-O-War's face and body. Punching some of the tentacles cushioned the body blows, but the punches to the face hit like a steel hammer.
The poisonous tentacles slacked as the assassin felt the room spin. He tried to get his tentacles under control and strangle the bastard. One of the tentacles found the Brazilian's mouth only to be bitten as it tried to snake up one of his nostrils. The pain inflicted on the tentacle was more intense than anything that had hit him before. It had to have been one of the shorter, non-poisonous ones.
Man-O-War would never admit it later, but he made a high-pitched scream. For all of a second until the Brazilian's knee tried to make his crotch his his belt buckle. All this happened while punches rained down. A chunk of tentacle was spit into Man-O-War's face as he tried to curl into himself and push away with his tentacles.
The Brazilian started shouting things about 'good enough' and 'coming back', but Man-O-War lost track of anything but pain when the man slipped into ragged shouting in Portuguese. He lost consciousness before he could succeed in getting the supposed-to-be-an-easy-human target away from his body.
When he came to later, Man-O-War's entire body ached. He slowly opened the eye not swollen shut to look right at a bottle of bleach. He slowly rolled onto his back and looked up at the metal roof of his clean up van. His tentacles moved, and a crinkle sounded in the middle of them. He reached into the mass of languid appendages and pulled out a note. The handwriting was scribbled and erratic like someone in pain from tentacle stings wrote it, but Man-O-War could read it.
It read: I won't be as nice next time. - MAdS
Man-O-War's eyes narrowed at the front door being partially open. The assassin's booted feet tread lightly as he crept up to the door. One hand reached to slip fingertips into the opening while his other hand went to the holstered Glock. When nothing happened when his fingertips slipped inside the doorway, he quietly pressed the door open just enough to slip in. His gun stayed in his holster as he got inside the entry hall of the penthouse.
A quick glance around told him the entry hall was clear of his target and of any waiting booby traps. No shotguns aimed at the door. No tripwires across the tile floor. Nor a landmine shoved under the rug. Man-O-War let out a slow breath as his ichthyic eyes searched the entry way over one more time. When he was sure it was safe, he quietly closed the door behind him.
The door open had been a warning. He knew that much, but the rest of the 3,000 square foot apartment seemed quiet and calm. Man-O-War had studied the blueprints for it. He needed a lay of the killing grounds in mind. The mark needed to be killed as painfully as possible and then the grisly bits cleaned up so it looked like the Brazilian billionaire just disappeared.
There was a van parked two blocks away marked with a maid service logo. The assassin would bring the van closer once the job was done and haul up the cleaning supplies.
Man-O-War stealthily moved farther into the penthouse. As he emerged from the entry hall, he glanced down the short hallway to his right. It lead to a bathroom, the kitchen, and a gym. He decided to check the bathroom and gym later if he didn't find the mark hiding somewhere in the rest of the colossal place. He stepped up to the doorway to a large dining room the opened directly to a slightly larger living room.
The second thing he noticed was most of the furniture in the rooms had been moved to clutter along the walls. The first thing he'd noticed before that was Marcelo Alencar da Silva sitting in a chair by a small table right between the dining and living room.
The Brazilian had a bottle, a shot glass, and a small, framed picture sitting on the table by his arm. His dark eyes looked up from pouring a shot at the assassin. He set the bottle down with a dull thunk. "About time you showed up."
Man-O-War ran his tongue over his teeth as he considered plugging one bullet into the man's brain from twenty feet away. He could do it, but it wasn't what had been ordered. Certainly more painless. So, he would play a little cat and mouse as he moved forward. "Didn't know you had a time-table to die."
"Another day longer and you'd have to face Stephanie." The Brazilian picked up the shot glass and tossed back the contents. He slammed down the shot glass and blinked at the assassin. He looked slightly sweaty and smelled of alcohol. The job might be going easier than expected. "After two failures, I hope Shaw finally got enough money to hire a good killer. The last ones were jokes."
Drunk and cocky. This job was like money in Man-O-War's pocket already. He moved his hand off the gun on his hip. The movement made his chest tighten and shift under his button-down shirt. He moved steadily closer to the man. "I promise no one liners. Just a lot of pain."
Marcelo nodded and grabbed the bottle to pour another shot.
Or so the assassin had assumed. It had been a bad assumption as he was not ready for the bottle thrown at his head. He just barely managed to move it. So it didn't manage a full impact, but it still hurt like a bitch bouncing off his noggin. Drunk men should not be able to throw that well. Man-O-War roared in pain and ripped open his shirt. The tentacles coiled on his chest started to reach out.
"Vai raspar seu cu com a unha."
The assassin did not understand Portuguese and was going to assume that was horrified astonishment. Mostly because the bottle hit had momentarily made his eyes cross. That wouldn't stop his tentacles from grasping at the air as he stumbled forward on dizzy feet.
The tentacles came in contact with something solid. Unfortunately, it wasn't the Brazilionaire. It was the chair the man had been holding up in defense. Man-O-War's stronger tentacles grabbed the chair, yanked it out of the man's grasp, and ripped the chair in half with a crackle of broken wood. When the chair was tossed away in pieces, the Brazilian was not standing there anymore.
The mark had fled into the living room. He ran toward one of the clumps of furniture pushed against the wall. Man-O-War chased after him. The assassin was in mid-footfall when the Brazilian turned around with a small, metal ladder in his hand. If this rich dead man thought that was going to save his hide any more than that chair had...
... he'd be right for about 10 seconds. Man-O-War had not realized that was a telescopic ladder. The Brazilian had braced himself against the furniture directly behind him and pressed the button to make the ladder expand out. The metal ladder shot out and caught Man-O-War in the stomach. He fell back as his tentacles tangled with the rungs and yanked the ladder out of his attacker's hands.
Though the mark didn't stay in one place long enough to have a ladder thrown at his head. The Brazilian ducked and weaved and just missed having the ladder smack him across the head. Instead the contraption stuck into the wall.
Man-O-War growled when he caught his breath back. Then he chased after the man fleeing across his apartment. The one advantage the assassin had was he did not need to get within arms length. He only needed to get within tentacle-length. His pair of longest tentacles grabbed one of the Brazilian's arms. They yanked to make him spin.
Though the assassin was met with another surprise. While his tentacles were long, they weren't longer than the piece of artwork the Brazilian frantically grabbed off the wall. Man-O-War put an arm up to protect his head. His tentacles were whipping around, but the sharp edge of the frame smacked into his ribs. The sound of the frame cracking and glass shattering was almost lost under Man-O-War's howl of pain and frustration.
This mark was not drunk and incapacitated in any way. The assassin was going to enjoy strangling the life out of him. Particularly before he got his hands on some other tool or gadget to use on his attacker. Man-O-War chased after him, tentacles reaching for the man's broad back. The long tentacles latched onto his shoulders and yanked him back toward the smaller tentacles squirming to grab him.
Some of those smaller tentacles were poisonous. The scientists who had experimented on him had made sure he could do more than strangle. While some tentacles worked on ripping off the Brazilian's shirt, the poisonous ones searched out the freshly bared skin to latch onto.
The Brazilian yelped in pain as the poisonous ones touched his torso and slithered toward his neck. He tried punching Man-O-War in the face, but the free tentacles wrapped around his arms and kept the threatening fists at bay. The mark grit his teeth as the poisonous tentacles tightened their hold.
Man-O-War laughed. "You're going to regre-OW!"
While the Brazilian's hands were captured, his legs were definitely not. His shin connected solidly with the side of Man-O-War's knee. Once he connected with the assassin's joint he did it again and again.
The tentacled man reflexively tightened his hold through all his appendages. He tried to shift his hips to get his knee out of the incoming blows way, but he wasn't quite fast enough. He toppled over into an entertainment center, taking his assailant with him.
Some the tentacles released the Brazilian to try to grab furniture. That gave the mark his arms free. So he started throwing punches into Man-O-War's face and body. Punching some of the tentacles cushioned the body blows, but the punches to the face hit like a steel hammer.
The poisonous tentacles slacked as the assassin felt the room spin. He tried to get his tentacles under control and strangle the bastard. One of the tentacles found the Brazilian's mouth only to be bitten as it tried to snake up one of his nostrils. The pain inflicted on the tentacle was more intense than anything that had hit him before. It had to have been one of the shorter, non-poisonous ones.
Man-O-War would never admit it later, but he made a high-pitched scream. For all of a second until the Brazilian's knee tried to make his crotch his his belt buckle. All this happened while punches rained down. A chunk of tentacle was spit into Man-O-War's face as he tried to curl into himself and push away with his tentacles.
The Brazilian started shouting things about 'good enough' and 'coming back', but Man-O-War lost track of anything but pain when the man slipped into ragged shouting in Portuguese. He lost consciousness before he could succeed in getting the supposed-to-be-an-easy-human target away from his body.
When he came to later, Man-O-War's entire body ached. He slowly opened the eye not swollen shut to look right at a bottle of bleach. He slowly rolled onto his back and looked up at the metal roof of his clean up van. His tentacles moved, and a crinkle sounded in the middle of them. He reached into the mass of languid appendages and pulled out a note. The handwriting was scribbled and erratic like someone in pain from tentacle stings wrote it, but Man-O-War could read it.
It read: I won't be as nice next time. - MAdS
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no subject
Some of the Brazil versus Argentina rivalry was a bit too ingrained in Marcelo. Though Chile was always a nice, neutral ground for him.
He took his glass of wine gratefully. "So, menina boba, your paperwork pulled together? I have Sancho appointment scheduled in a couple days so he can go with us."
no subject
"Everything's ready to go on my end. And good. Because baby here needs to see his Mommy and Daddy getting married, doesn't he?" Stephanie scratched gently behind his ears.
"I can't wait to go." Stephanie said softly. "It will be good to leave this all behind for a little while and just be together. And then, for the rest of our lives." She practically beamed at him before going to fill a plate with food.
no subject
"São Paulo will definitely be different from New York. I had the mansion in the north part of the city made ready to be our honeymoon home. It'll give Sancho plenty of space to roam the halls while we're consummating being Mr. and Mrs. da Silva repeatedly." He waggled his eyebrows before getting heaps of food. He hadn't eaten much while waiting for the assassin to come. Now, he realized he was starving.