January, 2001
Manhattan Island, New York
I stared at the E-mail, carefully reading over the details while I considered my options. On one hand, Kingpin. Notorious mob boss who's number of enemies was only matched by the number of bodies he'd had dumped in the Hudson. Literal Supervillain, and not an unfortunate one. I'd known people in school who had disappeared mysteriously because of him, everyone in this city had been hurt by him in some way or another. He was like an oppressive smog, strangling the entire city with his presence.
However, on the other hand... how many zeros was that? One, two, three, four, five, six... that was an awful lot of money. Money that could get me an office larger than a shoebox. That is, if it was legit... if this job was legit. It was Kingpin. It said 'Charity Gala Security Contract', but did that mean it actually was? The last thing I wanted to do was get my employees on the wrong side of the law, especially right now.
Okay... from what I knew about Fisk, he was a monster with principles. He was an evil bastard through and through, but he had lines he wouldn't cross. He didn't allow organ trafficking into the city, he didn't like violence against children... well, small children, usually. He liked to have 'his' city be nice and orderly, the iron fist he kept around New York's criminal underworld was probably the biggest thing that kept us from living in a complete warzone like Detroit really.
Most importantly for this, Kingpin liked to keep his meats and greens separate. His business and... other business didn't cross-pollinate if he could help it. His identity as the Kingpin and his identity as Wilson Fisk had never been connected with any real evidence. It was probably the biggest thing that had kept his empire running where others had imploded. The Wilson Fisk Charitable Foundation was a legitimate organization, they actually did pretty good work, their ties with Fisk's construction companies meant that they'd regularly fund renewal projects to fix up the worst parts of the city, without them Hell's Kitchen would basically be 90% broken windows and abandoned storefronts at this point. It was through them that Fisk had managed to get his name plastered on more parts of the city than the city itself.
Hel, I'd met the man personally, years back, when he'd put together a charity gala in my Grandad's name. Fisk definitely knew how to put on a cheerful act in front of the rest of us, complimenting Grandad posthumously on his contributions to science and medicine. Knowing what I did now… well… even then, I had difficulty separating my memories of the jolly and friendly man in a big white suit and a comically oversized diamond cane telling my sister and I how we should be proud of everything Grandad had ever accomplished, while at the same time, in another life, I'd seen page after page of the same man ordering the deaths of hundreds, beating men into paste with his bare hands, and crushing the lives of thousands for more profit.
Dissonance is a hell of a thing. And it was what Fisk relied on.
But... the necessity of maintaining those illusions of legitimacy meant that if Fisk was presenting something as above board, publicly, with not just his name attached to it, but his beloved mother's? Yeah, I was willing to bet that anybody caught with so much as a weed baggie in that Gala was going to be in for a really bad time.
So, this was probably legitimate work. Legitimate work with more than six figures on offer to stand around guarding a fancy party for a few hours and allowing high society creatures to shake hands and rub lapels or whatever they did at these events. Nice, simple, and no hidden clauses about fighting superheroes or anything. I even did a bit of digging on my own, just to make sure, and found that the event was basically a yearly feature. Just a normal, high society gala to raise money for the hospital.
Now, most people might balk at the idea of taking money from someone like Kingpin, legit or not, and honestly I couldn't fault them for that. But personally? If an evil bastard wanted to pay me for something that wouldn't involve murder or getting my employees in hot water again? I was perfectly happy to remove as much cash as I could from Wilson Fisk's bank accounts.
I knew what I had to do… I just wanted to not feel horrible about it. So, I did the only rational thing for the situation. I picked up my phone and punched in a number.
The phone rang a few times, before picking up. "Hello? Who is this?" The voice on the other end asked.
"Hey Vicky. Still haven't gotten caller ID yet?"
"Ash! Oh my gosh, sorry! I haven't put your new number in! You know how it is…" I could hear my sister blushing with embarrassment. "How are you? I heard you'd gotten your stuff all set up! Something about actually fighting some real Supervillains? Mom wasn't the most specific…"
I had to laugh a little at that. "Yeah, I kinda figured. It wasn't really a Supervillain fight per se… mostly just some goobers with a bit of tech who thought they were big shots. And my employees have been in the game for a long time. The.. uh, Not-So Fearsome Five didn't stand a ghost of a chance."
"Really? Well, that's a relief! By the way, who did you hire? Mom said they were some of Spider-Man's rogues. You gotta tell me! Was it Electro? Scorpion?"
I giggled, shaking my head despite Vicky not being able to see me. "No no. I don't hire psychos. Wouldn't touch Electro or Scorpion with a twenty-foot pole. It's Shocker and Rhino. You know, some of the actually sane ones."
"Oh wow! I mean… it's still amazing that you're still working with people like them.." Vicky trailed off, seemingly realizing she'd put her foot in her mouth.
With a heavy sigh, I leaned back in my chair, the old leather squeaking as I moved. "Vicky, they're people just like you and me. It's just they never had the opportunities we had. Herman had to turn to crime really early in his life, and Aleksei got brought to America by the Russian Mob to be just another thug. Any fair shake they've been given before now has either been a pittance, or a front for some illegal bullshit anyways."
"Yeah… I get that but it's just… you know… we've seen people like… well, Supervillains and Superheroes on TV for like… forever… I'd be a bit starstruck…"
I shifted again, trying to get more comfortable on the not particularly soft surface. "You'd think… but honestly? Like I said, they're just people when you get to know them. Sure, they've got gimmicks and costumes and all that… but I guess I do as well now, so it all evens out."
The electric kettle sitting on the small bookcase off to the side of the room dinged, and I looked up. "One sec Vicky, need to finish making tea."
"Well, at least you're not ragging on me about my cappuccinos anymore…" Both of us laughed before I set down the phone and went off to pull out a bag of peppermint tea from the tin next to the kettle, and dumping both it and some water into the #1 Niece mug that my Uncle Jim had gotten for me last Christmas, and then returned to my desk.
"Sorry about that. Anyways, the only reason I'm not rightfully giving you crap about your stupid cappuccinos is that we're not in the same house and you can't steal all of my cream, which I bought with my own money to make them." The conversation continued on into normal catch-up stuff, before I turned it all around at the end.
"Vicky… you remember what dad always says about lawyering?" I asked, voice a lot more serious.
She paused for a bit, and I could almost hear her thinking. "That sometimes you've got to defend people you wouldn't want anything to do with to provide for yourself and others? Something like that I think."
Again, I nodded, slumping back into my chair and blowing on my tea before taking a sip.. And recoiling slightly when it turned out to still be too hot.. "Yeah. I think I finally get what he meant about that. I've…. Got an offer from some people who… well…"
"Are kinda shady, and they want to pay you really well to do something you'll regret?" Vicky was right on the money, like usual. She might be kinda ditzy sometimes, but she could always read me like a book. Mostly.
"Well… not quite. The people are shady, the job seems clean and…" Before I could finish, she cut me off.
"How much?"
"Well-"
"Ash, tell me. How much are they paying you?" Vicky was steadfastly forceful in tone, and I could almost hear her putting her hands on her hips. So I told her. And she was silent for a good few minutes. "Wow. Okay. Just… wow. Honestly, do you really want my opinion on this?"
I took another sip, having remembered to dip a spoon into the mug to cool things off faster, and didn't burn my lips this time. "Well… yeah. That's kind of the idea."
She gave me an absolutely exasperated sigh. "Ash… you should take the job. If it's legit like you said… Screw it. You're getting the money, you can put it to good use. I know you've got this! So stop beating yourself up and get freaking rich!"
With a laugh, I set my mug on it's coaster, before opening the email and starting to type up a response. "Thanks Vicky… it's… well, I think you can guess why this is so hard?"
"Yeah. Yeah I can. But hey, if everything was easy, there wouldn't be a point to anything!"
"Yeah… yeah. You're right. Have a good rest of the day Vicky… talk to you later." My thumb hovered over the 'End Call' button.
"You too Ash. Love you!"
"Love you too!"
With a click, the line disconnected, and I set the phone back on it's cradle before going back to composing that email. I was feeling a lot better, and a lot more sure of myself. And besides. This was only the start of the day.
The next item on the itinerary was just as important as sealing the deal on the absurdly lucrative Fisk contract, but on a more daily basis. That being, interviews for my secretarial position. I was reallyfeeling the side effects of not having a proper secretary and doing pretty much all of the paperwork stuff myself. It was exhausting, irritating, and led to so many goddamn papercuts.
Thankfully, I'd gotten more than a few applicants. Unfortunately, a lot of those had been duds. Three of the applicants had gotten on my bad side instantly. Seriously, how difficult was it to put down 'Ashling Anderson' on your letters or email headers? Another spelled it as 'Ashley Andreson', and yet anotheraddressed it to 'Mr. Ash Andorson'. I'd never been on this side of the hiring process before, so all of the issues and idiocy involved had come as a bit of a shock. Still, those three aside, there had been more than a few applicants who I'd actually interviewed, but most of them had either been very inexperienced, or more concerningly… had given the vibe of being loony fans. It had been Herman who pointed out the signs to me ahead of time.
Supervillain Groupies were a thing here, and they were… unsettling. Like, Serial Killer fetishists existed both here and back in my original world… but it was kind of nuts to think there were people who thought that the likes of Norman Osborn or fucking Thanos were worthy of adoration.
That left me with… not the best options. Well, aside from my final applicant.
Marnie Watanabe was only the last person I was interviewing due to the insanity of my schedule. According to her resume, she had over forty years of experience as a secretary for Worthington Industries before her retirement, which was already a plus, on top of a long list of other qualifications. I was very excited and hopeful when I heard the doorbell of the office ring it's scratchy, whining alert.
Opening the door, I was greeted by my last hope for experienced help with the menacing box of papers on the other desk in my office.
Mrs. Watanabe was in her 70's, with short white hair… and that was basically a lot of the extent of me being able to tell her age save for some wrinkles around her eyes and heavy creases around her mouth. There was something about her that was… off. Not in a bad way, but in a similar way to Aleksei. A sort of hidden gingerness around everyday objects, as if there was a worry about something breaking. When we shook hands, her grip was very firm. Much more firm than I would expect of a woman her age, to an extent that almost made me raise an eyebrow. But, I pushed that to the side.
Her name wasn't ringing any bells when it came to Marvel Characters, but it was entirely possible she was still some kind of enhanced individual. It's not like Mutants weren't fairly common, along with all manner of various mutates or other weird quirks of birth. Either way, I was going to give her a fair shake.
Things felt a bit less awkward than my first few interviews, especially because Mrs. Watanabe was an old hand at all of this. She gave quick, concise, and relevant answers to my questions. It became very apparent over the course of everything that she was by far the best choice out of all my applicants.
So, after much less consideration than was necessary for the Fisk contract, I basically hired her on the spot.
With that out of the way, I could really get the ball rolling for the… festivities near the start of the new week.
Herman and Aleksei were… more than a little surprised by the fact that we had accepted a job from Wilson Fisk. I saw a flash of fear go through Aleksei's eye in specific at the mention of the name, but neither of them raised any kind of complaint when they heard the payout. I was also reasonably certain that they didn't realize I knew that Fisk was the Kingpin.
"Boss, be careful around Wilson Fisk." Aleksei rumbled, his accent a lot less pronounced in private. "He is not the kind of man that he seems. So long as everything is in the correct order, nothing bad should happen… but…"
As a comic reader, I knew that Rhino had done business with Fisk before… and specifically in this case that it had something to do with why Aleksei was no longer stuck in his Rhino Suit… and that the ending of Fisk's employment of the Rhino had not been on particularly good terms. But… everything else was fuzzy. It was just one piece of a fairly complicated time in Spider-Man's publishing history, on the cusp of some of the most tumultuous shenaniganry in the history of Comics as a whole.
Herman was equally wary, but at the same time just as mercenary. "Aleksei's right… but it's also a massive paycheck. I ain't gonna complain about that Boss."
All in all, there was a great deal of trepidation in the air as Tuesday the 30th approached. But, thankfully, nothing(big) exploded in the time between now and then. Well, okay, the Fantastic Four fought Ultimo above the Empire State Building in a clash I could see from the tiny window of my office, and I saw Spider-Man swinging around the neighborhood more than a few times. Of course, that could just be because my office was in the same building as The Bar With No Name… but it happened just enough times that I was kinda suspicious.
I took some time out of my schedule though, on the day before the Gala, to stop by and volunteer at F.E.A.S.T. again, this time without my armor.
Once again, it was a fairly rewarding experience, and the other workers there were very welcoming. It seemed I was a lot more approachable when I wasn't wearing four-hundred and twenty or so pounds worth of ex-Soviet Power Armor. It was just something nice to do right before I took the plunge directly into the Deep End. A few hours serving soup to people, and generally feeling warm and fuzzy.
But.. that couldn't last, and soon enough I had to head back to my apartment, and descend into fitful sleep… dreading the dawn of the next day.
Tuesday, January 30th, 2001
Manhattan Island, New York
Unlike the simple last couple of jobs, the three of us went all in on this. We pulled up to Fisk Tower in the middle of Manhattan bright and early on the morning of the 30th, Herman driving our rental van into the loading dock, where we all piled out. Sure, the Gala wasn't until tonight, but we had a lot of prep to do, and this job was a bit more complicated than just standing around and looking menacing. Nobody was in full gear yet, that would be just asking for someone to get an itchy trigger finger. Instead, we were all in presentable, if not expensive, black suits. Herman and Aleksei's were seemingly on the baggy side, but that was because they were made to fit over their real Suits, and neither the Rhino Armor or Herman's heavily padded and shock absorbent costume were particularly sleek.
We met with the Chief of Security, a man by the name of Lester Poindexter, who gave me the absolute creeps for some reason I couldn't properly tell. I was reasonably certain that I was forgetting something about him that was veryimportant… but while I can remember most of the big names, and a lot of the small… it's been a while, and I haven't really had access to a massive stock of basically omniscient comics for the better part of over a decade. Still, despite being creepy as fuck, and wearing an incrediblygarish Yankees cap, Poindexter was very helpful giving us the layout of the gala space, the windows… and the vents. Herman was very insistent on knowing details on the vent systems. Especiallywhen it came to the centerpiece of the Gala.
Fisk had brought in fifteen rare and valuable paintings… or at least seemingly so. As it turned out, the ten he'd seemingly borrowed from several prestigious museums were in fact replicas, and he'd just given the museums a large amount of money to take those specific paintings off of public display for the duration.
The remaining five were from Fisk's personal collection, and included a Vermeer: The Concert, a Rembrandt: Christ in the Storm on the Sea of Galilee, a Van Gogh: The Parsonage Garden at Nuenen, and a Cézanne: View of Auvers-sur-Oise. Looking at them, I realized that they were all stolen. I didn't say anything about it. Jesus fucking Christ, that was so terrifyingly blatant that it sent a shiver down my spine. Fisk knew that nobody would ever be truly stupid enough to call him out on it and live.
Despite that, we went about our work professionally and quickly. I let Aleksei and Herman take charge, since they were the most familiar with the necessary stuff for the job, and they apparently already knew Poindexter. Herman looked just as uncomfortable as I did talking with the guy, if not more. They spent an hour going over possible infiltration routes for either thieves or assassins, including the vents, crawl spaces, and especially the windows. Aleksei pointed out that it would be very easy for someone with super strength to just leap up and through the tempered glass of the big arch window at one side of the ballroom. Not that there was much we could do to stop them from doing that with the time and resources on hand… but it never hurt for the more standard security team to be prepared.
After another hour, the man of the hour himself made an appearance… and it was not who I had originally expected until I'd read the full details of the contract and the Gala. Rather than the eye-grabbing bulk of Wilson Fisk, the one in charge of the day's festivities was instead Richard Fisk. Fisk the Younger was a polar opposite of his father. He was slim and blond where his father was bulky and bald. He was a lot less imposing… but I couldn't forget that he too was also a Crimelord. Sometimes independent, sometimes working for his father, Richard was more commonly known as The Rose… or Blood Rose, if he was feeling particularly edgy this publishing cycle. Described by his creators in my previous universe as a 'Criminal Middle Manager', Richard was only less dangerous than his father in terms of reach and scope.
I knew there was always a fair amount of animosity bubbling under the surface between Fisk the Elder and Fisk the Younger, usually near-exclusively on Richard's side of things more than Wilson's… and that made Richard more than a little bit of a wild card. Still, he was genuinely acting in his father's name while Wilson had taken a trip overseas for a month or so, the job of managing the annual event falling squarely on Richard's shoulders.
And he was doing a very good job, at least as far as I could see. He was polite, charming, and very good at handling everything that we needed. We were provided each with a set of StarkTech EnviroSweep™ Sunglasses, which could tap directly into select cameras in most of the necessary sections of the building to observe, which made keeping an eye on things much easier, especially with the patented MultiTaskAssist™ software.
Security patrol schedules and routes were planned, we talked things over with the teams, did several equipment checks, including one at the very last minute… and then we all got into our gear.
Like I'd mentioned before, Aleksei and Herman were wearing their fancy suits over their work suits, including the provided sunglasses. They looked… a little ridiculous, but they also looked very official. I was in my armor, with my SECURITY ARMOR armband, just as Aleksei and Herman had their SECURITY RHINO and SECURITY SHOCKER bands in clear view. And after one final check of all the preparations and everything, it was finally showtime at 9:00 PM, EST.
The party was in full swing, and a lot of the Who's Who of Marvel's Rich Asshole Club were there. I saw Tiberius Stone chatting with Sunset Bain by the bar, while Dario Agger and Sebastian Shaw were sitting off to the side, probably plotting something nefarious. It was a lotof that type as well.
"Oh hey, that's Ezekiel Sims over there. Weird to see him here. He doesn't tend to make public appearances." Herman pointed over towards an older man currently talking with the host of the Gala. Both of us were incredibly creeped out when the man turned to look at us, despite being on the other side of the room as a whole. Aside from that incident, everything was running smoothly, with the various partygoers providing a constant hum backed by the tasteful live classical music performance. And it wasn't like we were left to our own devices. A lot of the people there showed a lot of interest in the costumed security. Aleksei was having the time of his life, despite his earlier nerves, and was showing off his new gear with an impressive display of flexing that would put most professional bodybuilders to shame.
Herman, meanwhile, was deep in conversation with a man I recognized as Kenjiro Fujikawa, the head of Fujikawa Industries and also father of Tony Stark's current girlfriend… though I only knew that last bit from glances at the tabloids on display at the local Supermarket Checkout. Most people gave me a bit of a wide berth though in terms of conversation. I supposed that the new face in the imposing Crimson Dynamo armor was a bit more intimidating than the much more nonthreatening 'goons'. Well, at least until a man approached me. He was a fairly young looking Asian man, with a much less expensive suit than a lot of the people around us. "You're Miss Anderson, right? The head of Maverick?"
He extended a hand, a friendly smile on his face. I accepted the shake. "Yep. That's me. Don't really have a snappy codename like my employees. Heh."
"Martin Li. You stopped one of my shelters from being wrecked a few weeks back." Oh.
I was very glad that my helmet covered everything, with no visible eye slit or anything. I had not been expecting to be in close proximity to Mister Negative for a fair bit. Still, I wasn't going to cause a scene. That secret wasn't even close to getting out yet. "Just doing my job Mister Li. Though I did go back and help out without my armor yesterday."
"That's great to hear. We can always use more people, especially this time of year." Li nodded. "I've actually been talking with Wilson about opening up some more locations around New York. After the last big Abomination attack, more than a few people got put out on the street when he knocked down those apartment buildings…"
"It's a tragedy. I'm all for Supervillain Reform… but some people just can't be reasoned with. There's a big difference between someone like Herman, who needs to make ends meet, and just needs the cash… and a maniac like Emil Blonsky who smashes stuff for the hel of it." At this point, more people were coming over to listen, nodding along as I spoke. It honestly felt good to soapbox a bit. And there was no better way to do it than use Spider-Man's rogues as an example. "You've got people who just want cash, but don't go out of their way to hurt anyone, like Shocker or Rhino, and yet they still get lumped in with psychos like Green Goblin or Scorpion."
I'd given the spiel before, to various people, but I hadn't had an audience like this before. Hel, even Richard Fisk had made his way over, glass of champagne in hand. And so, unfortunately, had Sebastian Shaw… who looked verystrange in a normal suit as compared to his common period dress. It seemed that Agger had left already, which was a very good thing. The less time I had to spend around him, the better. Still, I went on for a while, and it was all a good time. No attacks from rival goons, no Punisher breaking in with guns blazing, no nothing. At least… until the motion sensors at the top of the building went off… and I saw a blur of red smash into the giant skylight above the mostly empty dancefloor.
The glass cracked, shattered, and then exploded out in a mist of absurdly sharp fragments. I heard at least three screams of pain, even as I activated my suit's electro gauntlets… watching as an indistinct red figure drop down and oozehis way up, as a frankly demonic cackle filled the room, especially apparent as the band had stopped playing.
"Well! Whadda we got here? I see a bunch of big fat square piggies, just ripe for the slaughter!" The screeching, oily voice was one I'd heard only once before… on a week that had soaked the streets of New York in so much blood.
Oh gods. Not him.
At the center of the dancefloor stood a tall, humanoid shape, made of constantly shifting and stretching goo, which looked almost like blood splattered against thick black oil, spread out across the entire surface.
"Y'all got terrible taste in muzak, so why don't we lighten the mood with a little CARNAGE? KYAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA