Author's note: A review made me realize that I never stated what verse this takes place. To be honest, I haven't settled on one. I believe that with the movie coming out and whatnot that certain elements may be added to the sequel to better accommodate new readers. So, in essence, this story is a universe bi-sexual, you'll see elements from both verses in the story.
I'll also let you know the story flips between Dave's narration and Chris' narration. You'll see that both narration style are vastly different.
You know, it's not everyday some asshole in a costume murders your dad. Maybe that's why I'm so pissed off. I mean, how do you even come to explain that to a therapist. More over, how in the fuck are the kids in group therapy supposed to fathom that? Of course when a family members dies everyone is so quick to say things like 'my condolences' and 'I'm sorry'. What the fuck do they have to be sorry about? They didn't kill my dad. What they should say is "Hey, sucks dirty ass that your dad died." That's a more honest response.
Once I turned eighteen I pulled myself out of therapy. I don't need some half baked shrink to tell me I have issues. No shit, tell me something I don't know. Some people aren't made to be in therapy, I'm one of those people. Besides, I find putting on my new costume and causing a little chaos to be much more productive than sitting in a room full of whiny ass teenage pussies.
Not to mention that with all the little super cunts popping up I had to take it upon myself to level the playing field. Sure, there's a cornu-friggin-copia of bad guys out there, but there aren't enough "super-villains". Plus, finding a promising super-villain to be isn't as easy as you think it is. I can't just pull some mafioso aside and hand him spandex, it's deeper than that. I had to scour the streets for some of the most sick and twisted fucks I could find, and guess what? I found them.
Though, shortly after setting a few mad dogs free to terrorize the citizens of New York new villains popped up and saved me the trouble of making new ones. Most of them were just petty criminals and thieves donning Halloween masks and capes. However, there were a few that were the real deal and those were the guys I was looking to team up with.
Of course, even with people like Glasgow Grinner and The Eradicator at my side sometimes things didn't always go according to plan. Granted, if you read any comic book things never seem to go according to plan, do they? Our first Major flop took place a week or so ago. We'd decided to rough up some hoity toity art exhibit up in the Village. You know, punch some art fags, steal their shit, and hold it for ransom. As it turns out, someone else was looking to crash the party too.
The exhibit was pretty friggin huge, and while this allowed us to operate with more room and pile in more guys, it also allowed Glasgow to get caught alone with the separate intruder. Now, if you saw The Glasgow Grinner, you wouldn't think he'd be the one to get taken down. He's a big guy, with that UK brogue and muscles on top of his muscles. He isn't the type to just let his guard down. However, if you're soon to be attacker is a girl with a nice rack in latex daisy dukes you'd probably lower your guard too. God help him, he's just a guy.
So, the way Glasgow tells it, the chick appears from nowhere and wastes no time trying to make quick work of his pants. Needless to say he isn't about to protest, so, there they are with his johnson in her hands. What does she do? Does she snap it in half? Does she give him a blowie? Oh no kids, she does something you probably wouldn't think of doing, she pierces his penis.
Oh yes, you heard me right, she pierces his penis.
Not once, by the way, but twice. I'm not sure if you know this, but if a dick is pierced the wrong way it's essentially broken. . .Forever. And, as you can imagine, she was anything but gentle with the poor sap. So now I've got a limp dick colleague and a bunch of goons who are afraid their little buddies are going to suffer the same fate. Not like I can blame them though, the thought of having it happen to me makes my dick want to shrink back into my body.
You know what? That isn't the most odd part about the story either. The odd part is what she left on the rings. After Glasgow Grinner got up enough courage to reach into his pants and pull it the bars that were shoved in his septum he find that there's something scratched into the metal. What's it say? From what we can gather the bars say "Double Entendre".
As it turns out, the bitch has a MySpace. She looks like about as much of a whore as Glasgow described her and doesn't do a good job at hiding it. She displays herself as a hero, doing small jobs such as retrieving stolen money or items and the like, along with a few other things. However, the police apparently find her suspicious and have tried pinning her to various crimes. Then again, what masked vigilante doesn't seem suspicious?
We tried to track her IP address, but she's managed to wire her address so that it switches from various areas in the city at intervals of fifteen minutes. Which means she's either tech savvy or rich. Not to mention with her skin tone we can't tell if she's Hispanic, Indian, black, or just really likes to tan. So, we did the next best thing, we messaged her on MySpace.
The letter went as follows:
"Double Entendre,
Just who the FUCK do you think you are? Do you think you're some big bad bitch just because you took down one of my men? Well guess what whore, I'm going to find you and fuck you up. You're going to get TEN FUCKING TIMES what Glasgow got and more. And if you think you can pull of the shit you did during our last heist again, remember you only get lucky once.
I'll find you,
Big-Shot"
I sent this from my iPhone as the boys and I rode around in the SUV. To be honest, the Mist Mobile was ten times more bad-ass than what we're riding in now. But, I can't afford to be all flashy and shit when I'm out doing crime. Cruising around in a a red car that spews out mist while blasting loud music just scream "catch me". So now I've settled for more low key cars. At my side was a goon donning a simple ski mask and behind me was the Eradicator who was cradling his gun as if it were a small child. The man was way too fond of his fire arms.
"All right boys." I breath as I lift up my gun. The SUV rolls around the corner and I catch a glimpse of party balloons. In the distance I can see the small twelve year old and my lips curl into a smile. I don't know who Kick-Ass is, but I do know that if I put a bullet in the girl's head than I can lure him out. Plus, she's a bigger threat. I don't want some pint sized bitch knifing my men as I'm trying to take down that green fag.
I aimed for the girl, but I didn't anticipate that she'd move. I almost felt bad when my bullet nailed the girl next to her. Almost, but not quite. After my first shot The Eradicator let loose, not having any real target so much as causing collateral. This was fine with me, the more damage the better. Eventually everyone was on the floor, either dead or in an attempt to take cover. From the distance I couldn't be sure if I'd shot the little bitch or not, but even if I hadn't, I think I got my message out quite nicely. As the lackey sped off, my phone beeped out a message alert.
"Oh baby, you better be hot."
Double Entendre.
That's all for now. I finally got my laptop back (chapter one was written entirely on an iPod touch) so I'll probably update every two days or whenever inspiration should strike me. Thanks to everyone who reviewed/followed the story and anyone who will review/follow the story.