-Hells Kitchen-
(Three days after meeting with Gwen)
Peter sat on the edge of the very same roof where a certain red devil gave him a beating a few months back. His legs hung lazily over the edge of the roof as he nonchalantly bobbed his head to the beat of the sound music blasting on full volume within his head, the song Salt-N-Pepa-Shoop was streaming into his mind-scape directly from YouTube in real-time.
Technopathy - the name he gave to it had its perks as he was discovering more and more about his recently manifested ability.
He held a hot cup of coffee- black with no sugar - in his right arm as he took light sips of the warm drink. Oddly enough, coffee was the only thing he could taste when the hunger set in, it was a temporary solution to a bigger problem but it worked wonders for his urges. Thanks to that he's been drinking a lot of coffee lately, a surprising fun fact popped into his head when he thought about what the expensive coffee would be out of boredom, apparently it was called Kopi luwak and it's made from coffee beans plucked from civet feces. They feed a long-tailed raccoon-like monkey coffee bean and collected what was left it from its shit to process into coffee then sell it for as much as Eighty dollars a cup.
The rich do have exquisite tastes if monkey shit-coffee was the most expensive shit around, pun intended.
Peter chuckled at his joke.
He was waiting for a line of cars to pass by with his target in the center. He kept mental track of their route through traffic cams and the navigation chips in their vehicles from the moment they began moving, their phones helped with that too.
Like clockwork, Wilson Fisk was coming to the same gallery in Hell's Kitchen, and just like the last time, Peter was waiting for him to come.
Peter dressed for the auction - all black, he had on a hooded coat with the collars zipped high enough to mask his lower face, hidden underneath were his shadow bindings; his new name for the bandages granted to him by his ability. They hugged his entire form like an invisible carapace, an extra layer of protection beneath his clothing.
Garfield sat soundly near him, chewing casually on what was left of his half-eaten cheeseburger.
He took another light sip from his cup while his eyes observed the streets below. The night was quiet and windy, a cold wind that came before a storm. The streets were empty with the only activity being the occasional dog strolling by, and the momentary flickering of a busted lamppost by the sidewalk. Cars just drove by, they made no stops here unless they had to for obvious reasons, said reasons were sprawled about in broken heaps near the back ally just around the corner.
All fourteen of them, some in the trash, some hanging on balconies, some in the walls, some just knocked out on the ally, way, he didn't really care and from the looks of it, the denizens of Hell's kitchen may have felt the same where cause no one called the cops, those guys were still there, a quick mental check pinned all their phones in the same location. He schemed through their devices easily enough, Facebook, Twitter, and Gmail, their online accounts were easy to access through their devices, and technology was an open book to him, with his access he sent explicit evidence of what could count as a possible criminal activity to the cops. He wasn't really trying, this was simply a flexing of his metaphorical muscles, a trivial action to pass the time to see what he could do, how easy he could do it, how far he could take it so he could get a better grasp of his Technopathy.
Technopathy gave him a limited form of Parallel thinking, it enhanced and split his mind into four distinct parts, his concentration distributed across the execution of multiple tasks, processing both conscious and unconscious actions within his mind simultaneously.
The first part of the split within his mind handled his conscious actions and thoughts that were similar to what a normal person would be, only optimized for maximum efficiency. Simply put his mind no longer processes information gained from his physical senses as normal people did, sounds weren't just random noise to him, faces could be identified with a thought, and tastes and scents could be broken down into their chemical makeup or traced back to their source based off of memory alone, everything was a steady flow of fluid data to him in a way, nothing could be forgotten anymore.
The second part was more unconscious, it was like a computer chip embedded in the back of his mind to handle the workings of his ability that functioned similar to a secondary personality, only all computer with no human element, his personal AI of sorts that helped him sort out date handling multiple tasks simultaneously like tabs in a browser.
The third part handled all the processing of all that data, it was instantaneous, a section devoted to the sole purpose of understanding and comprehending all that compiled information into something tangible and concrete for him.
The last part facilitated his connection with technology, handling radio waves and signals to regulate the flow of what came in and out and how much of it was relevant to him by systematically filtering out what he needed and separating it from what he didn't.
It was frighteningly effective, it took him moments to access the phones of the poor sods in the ally and almost 10 minutes to learn everything there was to know about them from their online activity. He took whatever he could find from them, pictures, videos, phone history, chat history, and so on, the cops could do what they wanted with that but the cash they had in their accounts though they could kiss that goodbye.
It wasn't like they were using that money for anything good anyway.
Hell's Kitchen wasn't known for its outstanding citizens.
The last time he was here things didn't go the way he planned, not that there was any plan to begin, at least there was no exit, just the going in and the revenge act itself.
Back then he was weak, a vengeful teen with a loaded gun on a self-righteous suicidal mission to punish the bad people who took everything from him, driven to act out of desperation fueled by trauma, social isolation, and maybe temporary insanity.
He had nothing to lose, nothing to gain, he just wanted to go out doing something that mattered to him because the world left him with nothing but an empty house accompanied by a row of tombstones to go with his life and a dying aunt waiting for death's visit.
Now though, things were different. He was different, his reasons for being here were different, his mind was clear, and his goals were clear.
Fisk would get what was coming to him, just not in the way he was expecting.
Benjamin Poindexter however would die tonight.
That was a fact.
'Five minutes till they arrive now.' He drank his coffee and tossed his cup over the edge before standing up motioning over to Garfield to get on his shoulder.
The cat complied happily.
'Time to go to work'.
Peter watched the line of cars drive into the streets. He mentally accessed security cams within the area to turn them off then accessed everything that gave of a signal to momentarily block them off.
He watched them drive up across him until the one in the center lined up just right with his line of sight.
With a thought, he gained access to the local power grid and switched off the power to this section of Hell's Kitchen.
Then he allowed gravity to take hold of him, he let himself fall forward with his feet placed firmly on the side of the building before buckling his knees lightly and propelling himself forward.
....
"Don't think I forgot about you mister King Pin" Peter walked with purposeful strides towards the man who ruled the shadows of New York City, The King Pin, Wilson Fisk. The man was pinned into his car with half a metal pole buried into his shoulder.
Peter took a moment to study to torn arm in morbid fascination and disgust before tossing it aside like yesterday's garbage.
A blood flesh tendril shot up swiftly to snatch the arm.
Behind him on the road among the wreckage of cars and bodies that littered the streets was the beaten form of his uncle's killer. He looked more like a corpse than a person with his arm missing and his body all twisted. The crimson tendril with the arm withdrew into Garfield's form as the cat pounced on the dying man.
The sound of Poindexter's gargle cries could be heard accompanied by the squelching sound of flesh being torn apart with bones cracking.
Peter didn't bother looking back to know what was happening.
Garfield was feeding and his feeding process was gruesome as he would reduce flesh and bones to liquid biomass to add to himself. No one would know any way, every camera, every recording device in this place off or turned away. By the time the cops got here, if the got here, he'd be done.
It was easy for Peter.
Ripping into them.
Hurting them.
Beating them up.
It was almost too easy, the ease he felt the night of Watanabe's rescue held true here. Fully trained or not, heavily armed or not, normal humans weren't a problem anymore. They were easy for Peter to handle with his abilities and growing skills.
He watched Fisk glare at him as got close. The big man had stopped struggling against the pole that held him in place, choosing to wait for Peter rather than struggle in vain. His took long shallow breaths and observed Peter in silence giving nothing away aside from the twitching of his right arm.
Peter had to hand to the guy, he had a miraculously high pain tolerance to shrug off that much pain, not to mention the mental fortitude to calmly assess his situation after witnessing all his man get torn apart around him with the one responsible for all that carnage standing right before them. There was no fear in Fisk's eyes, he regarded Peter as he would any other killer.
A cold calculating demeanor looking for a sliver of opportunity in the face of devastation.
But then again no man builds a criminal empire in the shadow of New York and monopolizes said shadow while basking in the limelight of the highs of society without having a few screw loss in their head.
No, not a few screws loose, maybe a few screws tightened with rigorous discipline in the right place.
Peter stood over Fisk, his lips edged back into a small smirk, he ran his left hand through his hair, his eyes never leaving the man who sat pinned against his car.
Peter and Fisk spent a few seconds in solemn silence, observing each other, Fisk searching for answers to his current predicament while Peter was considering the finality of his situation, the fulfillment of his revenge. Everything he did over the last month led him here.
He didn't feel anything, it wasn't exactly what he was expecting when he started all this out.
If he was honest with himself he wasn't expecting anything at all to come from this anyway. He didn't want the bad guys to get away with it everything scot-free, he wanted to punish them for what they did to him, for what they did to his family.
Now it was done.
"It's awfully nice to meet you Mr. Wilson Fisk" Peter crouched down to meet Fisk's eyes.
"I wish I could say the same Mr. Peter Parker" Fisk replied in an even tone, the edge in his voice free of any indication that he was in any pain or discomfort. His tone was oddly respectful, he knew Peter was a teen but addressed him like an equal. A form of reverence that can only be given, earned never taken.
Peter's eyes widen slightly, his head tilting to the left in interest.
'Well shit…'
"Uh…wow, okay, that's unexpected, you know who I am and I don't ever remember meeting you," Peter asked curiously.
"We've never met, but I never forget a face, especially the face of those who have been affected by my actions. No matter how small or insignificant, I make it my business to know who they are and to remember them. To remind myself of the price of power. I like to think that people do matter, especially the little people, those faces in the crowds. Even a nobody from queens like yourself Peter. I myself was once a random nobody from Hell's Kitchen" Fisk kept his even tone, his left hand moved up to grab the iron pole that held him in place, moving slightly to find a more comfortable position.
"Yet here I am and here you are, Mr. Parker." Fisk glanced back at Peter with a grunt.
"Really? You? A nobody, I can't picture that, you, a business tycoon like you, the reclusive multi-millionaire who runs the dark side of New York, Nope." Peter joked lightly at the thought of the most notorious person being a nobody.
Fisk watched Peter's every action with the eyes of a predator cornered by a hunter. He observed every twitch of his facial features, every motion with his arms, the tilting of Peter's head. Fisk knew this was it for him, but he wasn't going to let himself end without trying.
"I could tell you that I'm sorry for what I did, but I won't, I don't ever apologize for my actions, wrong as they may be… I am who am because of my actions" Fisk shifted his weight in discomfort, his voice creaking slightly despite his efforts to portray otherwise.
"However I am truly sorry for your…ggrm…For your loss, they were good people… for that, truly, you have my deepest condolence, but I will not apologize for the part I played in it, I did what was necessary for me, I did only what I had to do…and tonight, you… you're doing what you have to do." Peter felt a spark of respect grow inside him for the man. Fisk stood for his beliefs. He knew what he, he was aware of what his actions meant and he accepted it, he was comfortable with that. Peter might hate the man but that was something to admire about Fisk and the way he carried himself.
"Is that right, I'm only doing what I have to, is that what you… think…" Peter paused for a moment, a mental ping rang in his head triggered by his Technopathy informing him that police were en route to his location.
'Three minutes until arrival, a 911 call was made not far from his location, an anonymous call by cellphone reporting gunfire and sounds of a car crash, the response was from the nearest response unit' He's made a mental note of that.
"Well...you will be happy to know you won't be dying tonight"
Peter brought his palm to his mouth and bit into it enough for him to bleed. He moved his palm up to Fisk as his blood floated about in a small pool in the air, condensing into the mass before then solidifying into a red glowing crystal.
"I'm not gonna kill you, Mr. Fisk, I'm going punish you, the man that pulled the trigger is dead, gone-revenge done, but you, you're too important, see I need you, will not you specifically, just your position, your resources, your money, your power," Peter told Fisk, his tone reflected a casual difference accustomed to taking life not suited for a boy his age.
Fisk cautiously eyed the blood, shifting slightly away from the crystallizing red liquid. A hint of fear broke through his calm mask.
"Sure, I could take it from you, but I can't run things the way you can. You have the skills and experience needed to run things smoothly and the reputation to back it up. People in your circle know you are even if they don't, they know of you. That's something I don't have... So like I said, I am going to punish you, survive long enough and I might just let you live." Peter harshly tore the pole out of Fisk's shoulder.
"AAARggg!" Fisk grunted in pain, taking deep harbored breaths but made no move to fight Peter. He wasn't one to fight a losing battle with the knowledge of his impending survival already insured by his killer.
{Original Sin: Branch of Sin Shard Created}
Peter smiled at Fisk, noting his lack of retaliation as his respect for the man grew even more before harshly plunging the glowing crystal shard into his chest.
A painful scream tore its way out of Fisk's throat.
-Chapter End-
Wilson Fisk
Curse of Virtue - Justice
Branch: Retribution (Pain is Justice)
Code Name: Mr. Red
Branch Power: Blood Armor (Defence Type)
Defense - He can crystallize his blood, making it as hard as diamonds to form an armored carapace over his skin.
Attack - He can manipulate that armor to make hard diamond constructs like spikes and boost himself physically using the blood armor.
Special Ability granted by his sin: Retribution (Pain is Justice)
-Experiencing any form of pain makes him stronger.
Trait: Penance
- He experiences all of Peter Parker's deaths simultaneously whenever he has malicious thoughts or considers betrayal regarding Peter or those close to Peter.
-Wilson Fisk can also activate this trait at will but never deactivate it unless Peter Wills it
- Peter as the original sin can activate and deactivate it at will.
-When this trait is active Wilson Fisk gets a major physical boost due to his special ability 'Retribution'
A/N: Marry Christmas and Happy New Year my fellow readers