Chapter 16: Mob Wars
Casey burst into the Lair. "Guys!" he shouted. "Guys!"
Captain Stacy's NYPD task force leaped to their feet, drawing their weapons in case this was an attack. But once they saw it was Casey, they holstered their guns.
Splinter came running from his room, and Mikey appeared in the doorway of the kitchen with a slice of pizza. "Casey!" he said, throwing up a peace sign. "What's good, yo! We were just about to dig into some pizza. Want some? It's jalapeno and chocolate. Or as they say in Spanish, jalapeenyo and chacolatte." He waved a piece under Casey's nose.
Casey smacked it out of Mikey's hands. "Turn on the news," he said. One of the policemen switched on the TV set.
"This is Carlos Chang O'Brien Gambe here," said the newscaster. "Stunning developments today in New York City, as an armada of aliens attacked the city earlier today. The city had been overrun due to the high surge in crime, and this intergalactic invasion was the icing on the cake. All of New York City was taken in less than three hours. The amazing Avengers failed to assemble, and the few heroes that remained in the city are nowhere to be found."
An image of the Kingpin appeared on the screen as Gambe continued, "Local businessman Wilson Fisk, chairman of the board of Fisk Industries and recent mayoral candidate, had this to say about the matter."
The scene then cut to a video of Kingpin at a press conference. "For too long the people of New York City have languished under corrupt politicians," he said. "And where were these politicians when the aliens invaded? Where was Washington? No help has come, and no help will. Politicians are only concerned with putting themselves first. No more. If I win the election, I promise to run things not as a politician, but as a New Yorker. Citizens will once again be in control of their city."
Casey and April looked around at Mikey, who was staring in open-mouthed shock at the TV. "Dudes!" he said. "It's Kingpin!"
"Kingpin?" Casey asked in confusion. "Who's that?"
"He's a big dude with lots of muscles who dresses in nice suits," Mikey said. "He's like Shredder's new business partner or something. He's the one that upgraded the FootBots! One mean ambre."
April groaned. "Mikey, your Spanish needs work." She turned back to the TV. "Let's hope this Kingpin doesn't get elected then."
"Don't be so sure of that, April," Splinter said from the back of the room. "He speaks with a silver tongue, and turns the people to his cause."
"Uh, hello?" Casey asked. "Are we just gonna ignore the fact that a giant alien invasion just happened and wiped out our entire city?"
"We must lay low," Splinter said. "All of you are free to use the Lair for the time being. It would be foolish to return to the surface now. Do nothing to draw attention to us."
"Sensei, what about Leo and Donnie?" Mikey asked.
Splinter looked at his son with affection in his eyes. "You are troubled for their cause, Michelangelo. But fear not. Your brothers are well-trained in the art of ninjitsu. They will return to us soon." He looked up, staring off in the distance thoughtfully. "Soon."
The invasion had proceeded as planned. Loki's army had completely annihilated New York—or at least, what remained of it after Kingpin's insurgency. Hydra had overthrown the U.S.'s highest levels of government, and after taking control of America's nuclear reserves the rest of the country had quickly surrendered. Currently Loki's army had set up camp in the Great Plains, while the masterminds of the invasion had traveled to the isolated European country of Latveria to discuss their next moves.
Shredder had declined the invitation. His honor had been destroyed, and it was absolutely impossible for the head of the Foot Clan to appear in public without his kuro kabuto. Rahzar had been appointed to travel to Latveria with a small delegation of Footbots in his absence. Shredder knew that they would be discussing the spoils of war. That did not interest him. The Foot Clan was not interested in looting. Shredder had only ever wanted to see two things come of all this: the world in chaos, and the death of Hamato Yoshi and those infernal turtle scum he called his sons.
The world was in chaos. He had yet to see the deaths of Yoshi and his vile offspring. But he would relish in the victory when it came.
Fishface entered the throne room then, on a pair of new robotic legs designed specifically for him by Doctor Octopus after Magneto had completely destroyed the last pair. These legs were larger, and looked similar to the legs of velociraptor dinosaurs. They were double-jointed and ended in a four-clawed foot. These legs' mechanics had been heightened to give Fishface an extra foot in height, so he was now several inches taller than Rahzar. He was loving it.
Fishface strode to the base of the throne and knelt in respect. "Master Shredder," he said. "A visitor to see you."
Shredder murmured instructions into Tigerclaw's ear. "Send him in," Tigerclaw said.
Almost immediately the doors of the room opened and in strode a man with a neatly trimmed black beard dressed in a strange garb. He wore no shirt, but a leather vest that had the skin of a lion head sewed to it, and the mane was draped over his shoulders and back. His belt had been fashioned from zebra skin and had several small rhinoceros horns affixed to it, and his pants looked as though they had been made from leopard skin. He carried a spear in one hand and under his other arm carried a white bundle of fur.
He came up to where Shredder sat and knelt respectfully. "Oroku Saki," he said. "I am honored to be in your presence."
Tigerclaw stiffened visibly as soon as the man had come into the room, and Shredder noticed.
"I am Kraven the Hunter, and I bring you a gift." The man rolled out the bundle of fur onto the floor, and Shredder realized it was the skin of a white Bengal tiger. He motioned Tigerclaw to his side and spoke several words.
"The great Shredder would like to know why you are here," Tigerclaw growled. Shredder could see that the cat mutant was being hostile towards Kraven, and it wasn't because of the tiger skin the hunter had brought. Before Tigerclaw had joined the Foot Clan, he had been Japan's greatest assassin. This had left him with many enemies, the Foot Clan included. Shredder had hired Kraven to hunt down and kill Tigerclaw, and though Kraven had failed, he had managed to deprive Tigerclaw of his tail, which he kept on his trophy wall. It was an understatement to say that Tigerclaw and Kraven had some beef.
"I was sent to you by Doctor Octavius," Kraven said. "He informed me that you have a turtle problem on your hands."
"Of what concern is it to you?" Tigerclaw yelled.
"I am the greatest hunter in the world!" Kraven boasted. "No prey is beyond my reach. I have come to offer my services to the great Oroku Saki . . . for a small price." He named a figure.
Tigerclaw snarled. "How dare you come here and impose such an enormous salary on us! We will not tolerate this disrespect!"
"I accept."
Tigerclaw turned and looked in shock at Shredder, not only because he had spoken for the first time in weeks, but also because he had accepted Kraven's outrageous proposition. "Master Shredder, with all due respect, this man is nothing but a coward without honor."
"The true cowards are Hamato Yoshi and his sons, Tigerclaw," Shredder said. "I will never be at rest until they lie dead at my feet. Or have you forgotten the true nature of our clan's purpose?"
Tigerclaw backed away from Shredder, an expression of outrage contorting his features. "All I know is that you, Oroku Saki, shame yourself and defile the Foot Clan in your actions. I will not be party to this disgrace." Turning, he stormed out of the room.
Fishface, eager to take up the newly vacated position of Shredder's right-handed man, quickly strode up to the side of Shredder's throne. Shredder turned his attention to Kraven. "You will have your money when you bring me Hamato Yoshi and his four sons. If you prove your loyalty, you will have a place in the Foot Clan forever. Fail, and you shall know pain beyond your darkest imaginations."
Kraven smiled evilly, his green eyes glittering. "I shall have their carcasses back in this room in two weeks." Bowing once more, he grabbed his spear and left.
Shredder's seat rotated, allowing him to face a wide viewscreen. It flicked on and displayed an image of Doctor Doom in the throne room of his Latverian castle. Doom turned his masked face and said, "Lord Shredder. Pity we couldn't have you join us for the talks."
"Was there anything substantial discussed?" Shredder asked.
"Our plan for the invasion was to take out the major world superpowers, and anyone who would be strong enough to oppose us. We've already conquered the United States. Our next target is Wakanda. Ever heard of it?"
"No."
"I thought not. Wakanda is a small nation in North East Africa. For centuries they have remained in isolation and are now considered the most technologically advanced nation of the planet. They are the world's largest source of vibranium, an extremely strong metal that absorbs kinetic energy. Conquering Wakanda would rid us of the last nation who could stand against us, and their resources will be most valuable for our army. The army will take out the Saudi Arabian oil reserves on their way over, and we will reunite the rest of the world under our control. But we will need more men."
"Stockman and Octavius are speeding up FootBot productions as we speak," Shredder said. "Loki's army will have Foot Clan support."
"And my Doombots are being manufactured in triplicate as well," said Doom. "Hydra's forces are occupied in America. And Magneto is nowhere to be found."
"Do not speak his name in my presence," Shredder growled. "He is wise to stay in hiding. Once my spies find him, we will kill him where he stands."
"Oh, one last thing," said Doom. "Our old friend Kingpin has contacted me. He needs our help with a trifling matter."
"What is it, Doom?"
"As you know, Kingpin's payment for our services was a promise to leave New York City to him, to make into a base for his criminal empire. Apparently he needs some help exterminating a mob group trying to move in on his turf. Are you familiar with the Vizioso mob?"
"Yes. An Italian mafia family operated by crime boss Don Vizioso."
"That's the one. He's requested both of us accompany him in an effort to take out this mobster fellow. I naturally assumed you wouldn't be joining us, but I will be flying in from Latveria tomorrow to see things carried out."
"Until the kuro kabuto is once again in my possession, I will not set foot outside this palace," Shredder said.
"Duly noted," Doom said. The viewscreen clicked off.
The Tenderloin had made New York City one of the nation's premier environments for vice ever since the days of Prohibition. Now, though, the high-end brothels were not so high-end anymore. The only ritzy establishment that remained from the glory days was the Dell'Abate Ristorante, where heaping plates of spaghetti and hot bread were served while underworld deals of every sort were made. It still attracted the big-name politicians and stars of stage and screen, but it was working harder all the time to do it. Dell'Abate was the place to which gangsters retreated after an emotional funeral to inhale the heady aromas of garlic, marinara, and cigars, and to toast their fallen compadres with brimming glasses of Chianti. Politicians mixed with constituents. Judges mixed with lawyers.
The owner of the place was Don Vizioso, a dark-haired member of the Vizioso crime family who was big and ugly enough to scare anybody at first glance. He weighed about three hundred pounds, with a powerful chest and hands as big as a grizzly's. His hairline was already beginning to recede. His eyebrows were thin and narrow, and the leper spots on his forehead were a faded brown and raw-looking. His eyes were a dull greenish gray, and his broad smile charmed no one.
From the moment he'd arrived in New York City in 1972, Vizioso had found himself in a world of limitless opportunity. Within a few years Vizioso controlled an illegal weapons-smuggling business with annual revenue rivaling that of some of the nation's largest corporations. Along the way he corrupted the NYPD and local courts while becoming one of the underworld's first international celebrities.
So it was no surprise to Vizioso that he had made some enemies. That was the natural order of things. What was a surprise was that Wilson Fisk, the Kingpin of the Eastern Seaboard, had let him go unchallenged for so long. But now the two criminal mob heads had decided to meet and come to a business agreement.
Vizioso slurped down a mouthful of spaghetti in his private room in his restaurant. The room was built like a giant hall. The walls and floor had been carpeted in maroon red, and matching tables and chairs ringed the room. Vizioso had learned long ago that it was better to furnish your rooms in maroon red; it made it easier to clean up the blood splatters from shoot-outs. Paintings hung sparsely on the walls, mixed among decorative light fixtures. Vizioso's table was at the head of the room, always covered in food and with a few candles for mood lighting. Soft Italian string music was always playing.
Vizioso was on the phone with a politician from Los Angeles when the swinging saloon doors at the end of the room opened suddenly and an armored figure in a dark green hooded cloak entered without warning. Behind the stranger came none other than Wilson Fisk, the Kingpin himself, wearing as always the sheerest of white linen suits, and a fat, glittering diamond that would put to shame many of New York City's wealthiest society women sparkling from the head of his cane.
Vizioso's men reached for their Thompson sub-machine guns, but the stranger extended a hand and blasted each one of them with a bolt of green energy from his hand. The men hit the wall and slid down it to the ground, as Kingpin and the stranger walked confidently up to Vizioso's table.
"Listen, I have to call you back," Vizioso told the politician on the other end of the line. "I got some business here." He hung up the portable corded radio phone and handed it over to his right-hand man, a tall Italian gangster who went by the Hammer. The Hammer was Vizioso's best enforcer, and he served shifts as the restaurant's bouncer due to his square-jawed and stocky build. He was never seen without a pair of aviator sunglasses, a golden hammer on a chain around his neck, and a gold nail hanging from his lips like a cigarette.
Vizioso turned his attention to the man in front of him. More of his gangsters, dressed in fine grey suits and hooded masks over their heads, poured into the room with tommy guns drawn. Vizioso held up a hand. The stranger would be able to kill them all if he wanted to, and there was no sense in losing good men for nothing. Best hear what they had to say.
"Long time no see, Fisk." Vizioso took a bite of spaghetti and meatballs, slurping the noodles into his mouth noisily. "You didn't tell me you'd be bringing guests."
"Don, this is Doctor Victor von Doom," said Kingpin. "Victor, this is Don Vizioso, the head of the Italian mafia in New York City."
Doctor Doom, huh? Vizioso couldn't say he knew of the man too well, only that he ran a dictatorship out of a European country or something like that. Could be a valuable ally. "Can I get you two boys something to drink?" he asked, drizzling some marinara sauce over his plateful of spaghetti and meatballs.
"No," said Doom.
"Yes, a scotch please," said Kingpin.
Vizioso nodded at the Hammer, who stepped away to fetch the drink. "So, Doctor, I hear you're running your own little racket over there in Europe, is that right?"
"Yes, it is," said Doom. "Though calling it a 'racket' is nothing short of a gross understatement."
"So you wanna be a dictator and a stooge for Kingpin's mob? Interesting combination, huh?" Vizioso chuckled, and as if on cue, the rest of his men in the room laughed with him. Even Kingpin cracked a smile.
Doom said nothing, still not breaking his intense stare at Vizioso. It was creeping the mobster out. Those eyes . . . "Do we have a problem, Don Vizioso?" asked Doom softly.
Vizioso belched loudly, and made no effort to conceal it. "We might have, yeah," he said, reaching for a glass of fine Italian wine. "To start with, you killed six of my men just coming in here."
"Listen to me, you gun-running scumbag," said Doom. "Kingpin will be running the gun trade from now on. You seem unaware that the balance of power in this city has shifted—to us. The Masters of Evil."
Vizioso spat out a meatball in shock. So this was why Kingpin had arranged the meeting. To put the squeeze on him. "What are you trying to say, Doom?" he shouted.
"You're the most prosperous street dealer in New York City," Kingpin said. "I'm offering you a deal. You go about your business as usual, but kick up forty percent to me. In return, you will have total protection from the government and those turtle freaks."
"You know about them muties too?" asked Vizioso.
"Do I." Kingpin pounded his cane into his open palm.
"Okay, crazy man, this is all very generous," said Vizioso, waving a hand dismissively. He took another bite of spaghetti. "But why should I listen to you?"
"Because you have no choice," Doom said. "The Shredder already controls the Russian mob through Ivan Steranko, the Asian gangs via Hun, and the South American gangs through Xever. He's expanded his network over the Eastern seaboard through Kingpin. Last I checked, you worked for Shredder too. He wants the Italian mob back in Italy. The Kingpin is running things in New York City now."
"You either leave, or you take me up on my offer," Kingpin said, leaning forward on his staff. "But make no mistake, Don. I'm not asking you to kick in with me. I'm telling you."
"And I'm telling you, Fisk, that I ain't going nowhere," Vizioso shouted. "The Italians have controlled New York since the Prohibition days. We're here to stay. You guys are the ones crowding in on our turf." He turned to Doom. "As for you, Doc, I wanna buy you out." He took a bite out of a loaf of bread and swallowed. "That suit can do some pretty neat stuff. I'll offer you fifty million." He smiled and extended his enormous right hand to seal the deal.
Doom stood and walked out without saying a word. The smile fell from Vizioso's face. "Hey!" he called after him. "What happened? You don't like my offer?"
"After that alien invasion, there's a great deal of unrest, you know," Kingpin continued. "Small restaurant like yours can be here today and gone the next. Unless you have strong protection."
All of Vizioso's frustration and rage funneled down to the mob boss standing in front of him. "Now you listen here—"
"No, you listen," Kingpin snapped. "You want to stay in business, you'll join my association. You know the dues. Now, if you care to reconsider, I can go into some of the details—"
"Get out of here," Vizioso yelled, "and don't come back unless you want a hole in your head big enough to roast a pig in."
"Just as you say," Kingpin said, standing up, "but you may be sorry!" He followed Doom out.
Vizioso waited till he left, then motioned for the Hammer to pass him the phone. Picking it up, he dialed the Fulci Twins, Vic and Vincenzo, two of his hired guns.
"Vic? Vinnie? It's the Don. I'm putting the word out. Five hundred grand for Victor von Doom dead. A million alive, so I can teach him some manners. And double-time it on those gun runs. We're going to war."
The next day, Vizioso was eating lunch at his restaurant when from outside and down the block came that familiar sound: the rolling thunder of a tommy machine gun. When diners at Vizioso's restaurant heard it, they dropped their utensils and dove for the floor. Waitresses and busboys scrambled for the kitchen. Vizioso pressed a button on the armrest of his chair, which was really a giant hoverchair built to accommodate his bulk. The chair flipped a hundred and eighty degrees, now sheltering Vizioso in a small alcove in the wall. The chair back was built like a turtle shell, and completely bulletproof.
As patrons inside the Dell'Abate Ristorante ducked for cover, six cars filled with Kingpin's men rumbled in a line down the street. Machine guns blasted from the open windows of the cars: glass flew, metal clanged, the screams of men, women and children filled the air. When the last car in the caravan reached the restaurant, a man in a blue pinstripe suit with an oversized head stepped from the car to the street. He knelt down, rested his tommy gun on one knee, and sprayed the entrance of the restaurant like a gardener watering his flowers. Without pausing to admire his work, he got up and jumped back in his car, which followed the others back towards Fisk Tower.
Vizioso had everything moved from the restaurant to his secret base, an old run-down hotel on the lower east side. He also paid the Fulci Twins handsomely to deliver a couple of "gifts" to Shredder and Kingpin. The next day, two bombs exploded—the first at the abandoned church that served as the Foot Clan's lair, and the second at Fisk Tower.
The first came at about 11:30 p.m. Rahzar, who was running the security that night, reported seeing a man in a gray suit jump out of a slow-moving car, bound across the street to the front steps of the church, then run back to the car, which was still rolling slowly past the Foot Clan's base. A black-powder bomb exploded moments later, obliterating the front steps, shattering every window in the twelve-room church, and knocking Shredder off of his throne. Shredder and Doom were inside, unhurt but extremely angry.
A few minutes later, Kingpin, just returned from a meeting with Shredder, sat inside his car as his chauffeur steered it into the garage at Fisk Tower. A dark sedan tailed him. It sped quickly, then someone in the car tossed a bomb in the direction of his car. It exploded in midair, knocking out all of the windows on the first story and destroying part of the parking structure. Kingpin, still in his car, was also unhurt.
The three supervillains held a conference video call to see what needed to be done about the problem. "Vizioso has a stronghold at the Hignight Hotel in the Bowery," Kingpin said. "No one gets in or out. That's where he'll be."
"Then that's where we will strike," said Doom. "Cut the head off the snake. Vizioso dies—tonight."
At exactly midnight, Kingpin, Fishface and Doctor Doom set out from Fisk Tower, armed with three cars of Kingpin's men and three vans filled with Footbots. They drove silently down the streets of New York City, and those who saw them took cover. The citizens of New York knew that there was no police force left in the city organized enough to save them. They were at the mercy of these gangsters, caught in the crossfire of a turf war. No help would come.
The rooftops surrounding the Hignight Hotel were patrolled by Vizioso's snipers day and night. Rahzar led a team of elite Footbots to take out the snipers one by one, eliminating Vizioso's overwatch advantage. Once the snipers were gone, the vans pulled into alleyways and across streets, surrounding the hotel.
The Footbots proceeded on foot through the alleyways, eliminating Vizioso's men silently and stealthily. Meanwhile, Doom stepped from his van and began crossing the street, heading towards the front door of the hotel. He had not quite reached the sidewalk when machine-gun laser fire ripped from the second-story window of the hotel. Laser blasts pinged everywhere, bouncing harmlessly off of Doom's metal armor.
Doom spread his arms and, using his knowledge of the mystic arts, concocted a furious lightning storm out of thin air in seconds. Bolts of electricity ripped through the windows of the hotel, frying Vizioso's men where they stood. The screams of dying men pierced the air.
As smoke from the machine guns drifted over the street and the smell of electricity lingered, Kingpin left his white sedan and walked across the street, flanked by six bodyguards. They entered the hotel, checking every door and room like a trained team of special operations soldiers.
Vic and Vincenzo Fulci were hunkered down in a room on the top floor with Don Vizioso, who was nervously chewing on a cold shank of ham. Vincenzo peered through the window blinds and saw Doom standing in the street below. "They found us!" he said. "I can't believe they found us!"
"Don't worry," Vizioso said, picking up his phone. "We got a surprise for these chumps."
As Doom surveyed the damage his lightning storm had caused, the street before him suddenly slid open, and a hiss of steam was released. An oversized red steel mech rose up from the street, with a gripping claw for a right hand and a large sledgehammer for the left. Missile launchers were attached to its shoulders, and the Hammer sat in the driver's seat behind a roller bar cage.
"Ay, yo," he said. "Hope youse got a good spice rub, Doc. Cuz you're gonna be street meat."
"Insect!" Doom shouted, firing a massive bolt of mystic green energy from his hands. The blasts struck the Hammer directly in the center of his mech, sending him tumbling head over heels into a parked car. He slowly clambered to his feet, chuckled, and bit down on the gold nail in his mouth before leaping back towards Doom.
As he landed, he swung the mech's left arm, bringing the hammer around in a massive blow that connected with Doom's chest. The blow sent Doom flying, and he bounced off a parked car and landed on the ground next to a bus. Before he could get up, the Hammer was on top of him, kicking him into the bus with enough force to send a football to the moon.
"Ay, yo, youse ain't so tough after all," the Hammer laughed, grabbing Doom with his claw and lifting him over his head before throwing him down into the road, cracking the asphalt. "My mech's got too much power for ya," he added, stomping down viciously on Doom's chest with an enormous metal foot. He then bent and grabbed Doom again, raising him up in front of him. "You, me or nobody is gonna push the Don outta this city."
The Hammer whipped Doom around at lightning speed, throwing him into the bus so hard it folded in on itself in half. "Say good night, Doc," he said, backing up a few steps before unleashing a barrage of missiles from his mech. The bus exploded in a massive fireball, and Doom was flung into the air, crashing down on the street once more.
Doom raised his head, giving the Hammer a look of pure malice. He stood up, armor smoking but apparently unharmed. The Hammer's cocky smile fell from his face as Doom asked, "Are you finished now? Good. My turn."
Doom raised a hand, and a flicker of green mist appeared on the ground around the Hammer's mech, making its way up the mech's legs and into the rest of the armored suit. The Hammer had only a few seconds to comprehend what was happening before the mech fell to pieces around him, losing all structural integrity. Now standing in the street alone with Doom facing him down, a scared expression made its way onto his face. Doom raised both hands, using his telekinetic powers to apply pressure to the Hammer's head.
"Ay . . . yo . . ." the Hammer groaned, dropping to his knees and throwing his hands to his head. There was a searing, splitting pain, as if his head would burst open at any second. And then it did. Doom's telekinetic pressure caused the Hammer's head to explode outwards in a spray of blood and chunks of flesh, like a watermelon that had been squeezed to pieces with rubber bands. The Hammer's headless body fell backwards into the street as a blood-soaked pair of sunglasses and golden nail clattered into the street.
Doom turned and walked slowly away, towards the hotel. "Having power is one thing," he said aloud, "but knowing how to use it is something else."
Rahzar and the Footbots entered the hotel through a service access door on the roof. Rahzar took a deep sniff of the air, smelling a trace of day-old dried spaghetti sauce mixed with heavy Italian cologne. It was Don Vizioso's scent.
"I can smell him," Rahzar growled. He turned to the Footbots. "Spread through the hotel. Kill any of the Don's men you find."
The Footbots ran down the hallway past Rahzar, stealthily slipping into rooms and engaging Don Vizioso's gangsters in close combat. Rahzar, meanwhile, followed the scent to a room on the fourth floor of the hotel, in one of the back corners. He kicked down the door to see Vincenzo Fulci holding a large sniper rifle aimed at his face. Vincenzo fired, launching a small rocket that struck Rahzar in a cloud of red gas. Rahzar gasped, reeling before collapsing backwards on the floor outside the room.
Laughing hysterically, the Fulci Twins put away their guns and withdrew a pair of Italian knives from their suit jackets. As they advanced on Rahzar, Don Vizioso moved up in his hoverchair to watch the fun. "You really are insane, aren't you?" he asked the unconsciour Rahzar. "Anti-mutant weapons. They target freaks and leave normal people like us unharmed." He took another bite of ham. "I'm gonna enjoy watching you die."
The Fulci Twins began kicking Rahzar's prone body, stomping viciously on the mutant's unconscious form. They likely would have done some serious damage had a laser not suddenly flown between the two of them from down the hall, catching their attention. It was Kingpin himself, aiming his cane at them like a rifle. The end was smoking, and there were bulletholes in the wall behind the Fulci Twins. "Your knives, please," Kingpin asked, lowering his cane. "Let's not make a mess of this in front of your boss."
The Fulci Twins responded by yelling and charging Kingpin with knives drawn. Vincenzo slashed at the crime boss with his knife, who expertly blocked the blows with his cane as though he were fencing. Knocking the knife out of the mobster's hand, he reached in and grabbed Vincenzo, pulling the man to his chest in a vice-grip bear hug. Vincezo screamed in pain as his spine snapped and Kingpin tossed him aside, where he lay whimpering on the floor.
Kingpin turned to Vic, throwing two quick punches that the Italian mobster dodged. Kingpin then dropped low and swung his leg in a sweeping kick that knocked Vic off his feet. Vic would have hit the ground had Kingpin not grabbed him by the seat of his pants before he landed, then thrown him up through the ceiling with such force that he made it to the floor above.
Kingpin brushed the dust off his suit as he turned to face an open-mouthed Don Vizioso, who tried to make a hasty retreat in his hoverchair. "Don Vizioso," Kingpin said, moving into the room after the mob leader. "You should have left when you had the chance."
"You know, Fisk, I been thinking," Vizioso stammered nervously. "I accept your generous offer. Forty percent sounds good to me."
Kingpin shook his head almost sadly. "Sorry, Don. That was a one-time offer. Now you're competition. And I've got to clean you up."
Vizioso paled, and sweat dripped down the back of his neck. "No. Please, Fisk. I'll give you anything you want. Money. Guns. I'll go back to Italy and never show my face again. Please don't do this."
Kingpin reached in, his massive hands closing around Don Vizioso's fat neck and squeezing hard. The Italian mobster was dragged out of his hoverchair and onto the ground, where he kneeled helpless as Kingpin choked him. His eyes bugged out of his head, and strangulated sounds came from his throat as he clawed helplessly at Kingpin's hands. Soon the resistance weakened, and Vizioso's hands dropped.
Kingpin let go, and Don Vizioso's lifeless body toppled over onto the floor. Satisfied with his work, Kingpin turned to leave, grabbing the leg of ham Vizioso had been munching and taking a bite. "Goodbye, old friend."
The rest of Don Vizioso's gang were rounded up and captured, offered a place in Kingpin's militia. Some accepted his offer, and the Footbots quickly executed the ones who didn't. The Footbots then set fire to the hotel, got back in the vans and drove to Don Vizioso's restaurant and torched the place. Kingpin wanted all trace of Vizioso gone from the city.
My city, he thought to himself. Driving along the waterfront of the Hudson River, he looked out over the smoking landscape of New York City.
Sure, it would take some rebuilding, but Fisk Industries had enough resources to see to that. He would win the election as mayor and then gain the trust and respect of the city by using his massive resources to rebuild New York City in his own image. Fiskopolis. Yes, that name fit nicely.
There were no more heroes in New York City. People were fleeing every day. His last main source of competition had just been wiped off the face of the earth. If the Italian mafia tried any retaliation, they stood no chance of beating his forces and the Foot Clan. New York City was his now.
Smiling to himself, Kingpin rode back in his car towards Fisk Tower.