Sins of our Fathers
Chapter Eleven
Downtown New York City was busy, even more so than usual.
The streets were packed with cars and people going this way and that, all in a hurry. Bright lights from signs and street lamps lit up the city, making it almost as bright as day even though the sun had long since disappeared. The noise of traffic, honking horns, and the distant sound of sirens filled the air.
It was a city that never slept.
Davian sat patiently on his motorbike, perched like a gargoyle made of leather and steel. He was parked on the side of the street, right where the shadows hugged the edge of the light. His helmet's HUD showed the contract details he was studying carefully. Each word glowed in a soft bluish tint, providing him with all the information he needed without drawing unnecessary attention, along with a message from the Broker.
Cypher,
The contract today is a protection job posted by one of my government contacts. A high-valued informant is currently being transported to the city's municipal court for his testimony in a behind-the-doors case involving a New York city councilor and a litany of infractions that would make Capitol Hill look like the Boy Scouts.
Ensure the informant reaches the municipal court.
Expect company.
Good luck.
Davian's fingers moved with practiced ease, closing the message and pulling up another file. The screen now displayed a map with the route the convoy would take. It was highlighted in red, each turn and stop laid out.
His eyes traced the path and scanned the zigzagging streets that the convoy would have to navigate. He knew these roads like the back of his hand, and he could pick out the most likely trouble spots with ease.
His attention settled on an intersection where 42nd Street met with 8th Avenue—a crossroad bustling with activity, bordered by towering buildings and narrow alleys.
It was the perfect choke point for an ambush: lots of places to hide, heavy traffic to blend into, and plenty of escape routes for the would-be attackers.
Secured in his gear, Davian activated his wrist-mounted grapnel launcher and aimed it at the edge of a rooftop.
The launcher sent a hook flying through the air, latching onto the building's ledge with a solid thunk. In an instant, the cable tensed, and Davian was propelled upwards, soaring above the streets below.
He landed deftly on the rooftop, rolling into a crouch to absorb the impact. Standing up, he made his way to the front of the building, where a stone gargoyle overlooked the intersection below. He settled atop the gargoyle, using it as cover while keeping a watchful eye on the streets. The high vantage point gave him a broad view, allowing him to see anything out of the ordinary.
He watched for any sign of movement that didn't fit the usual pattern, any vehicle that seemed out of place, or groups of people that appeared to be waiting for something—or someone.
Davian shifted his weight against the rough texture of the building's brick wall, finding a stable position. He made sure his back was firmly pressed against the solid surface while his feet stayed braced against the cold stone gargoyle he was perched on.
With practiced movements, he reached down and unholstered his hand cannons, the twin weapons feeling familiar and weighty in his grasp. He flicked a switch on each of them, and with a smooth motion, he brought the two guns together. They clicked and locked into place, transforming into a sleek, custom-made high-powered rifle.
The rifle was a masterpiece of technology and design. Its body was a dark, matte black with red lines that traced along the barrel and stock, giving it a dangerous and refined look. The weapon was outfitted with a high-tech scope, the lens tinted in that same crimson as the lines, allowing for precision targeting.
Davian shouldered the rifle, the stock fitting snugly against him. He peered through the scope, the HUD coming to life and showing him the streets below in greater detail.
Inside his helmet, a soft crackle heralded the sudden flurry of NYPD radio chatter that began to fill Davian's ears. Clear and precise, each voice detailed the ongoing operation with quiet urgency.
"Yankee One to all points, we're two minutes out from the courthouse. Keep the routes clear," the lead officer's voice sounded firm through the radio.
"Copy that, Yankee One. Blocking positions are set at all intersections. No unwanted eyes here," another officer responded, his voice indicating the seriousness of the task at hand.
"Baker Three and Four in position. We'll hold the traffic till you're through," reported another, the sound of traffic in the background indicating their street-level presence.
"Rooftop units, report. Anything unusual?" demanded the first voice, calling for an update from their higher vantage points.
"All clear from up top," came the crisp reply, no doubt from an officer with eyes on the skyline, much like Davian's own position.
Davian's helmet continued to pick up the chatter as he shouldered his rifle, the HUD highlighting the radio frequencies he was monitoring. From his perch, he could see the approach of the convoy as it came into view, the vehicles glinting under the streetlights.
It was a small column of black sedans, nondescript but for their tinted windows and the sheer number traveling together. In front and behind the sedans, police cruisers with flashing lights cleared the way.
As the convoy rounded the corner onto 42nd street, a loud crash shattered the evening calm, echoing through the streets with a force that turned heads.
"What the... What was that? Anyone got eyes on that?" an officer's voice broke through the radio, his tone spiked with alarm.
Suddenly, Baker Three's police cruiser, lights still flashing, was sent flying through the air like a child's toy. The cruiser smashed into parked cars, crumpling them like foil, before slamming into the brick facade of a nearby building with a tremendous crash. Dust and debris filled the air, and the sound of car alarms joined the chorus of chaos that had taken over the intersection.
The radio crackled again, urgent voices overlapping in a frenzy. "Dispatch, this is Baker Two; we've got a situation here! Baker Three's cruiser is down—I repeat, Baker Three is down!"
In a heartbeat, the quiet night burst into bedlam. People everywhere started yelling, adding their voices to the growing din. Car alarms blared, the loud, urgent beeping noises joining in from all directions. The sound of metal being torn apart rang out, loud and clear, as if a giant monster was ripping through the cars on the street.
The NYPD officers were taken by surprise, their faces showing shock and fear as they quickly tried to recover. They shouted orders, trying to be heard over the noise, as they moved hurriedly to protect the convoy. They pulled out their weapons, forming a circle around the black sedans, their eyes searching for the source of the danger.
And then he appeared.
A massive figure strode into view, armored in a hulking grey suit fashioned after the likeness of a rhinoceros. The suit was a formidable sight, with two metallic horns mounted on the helmet, designed for ramming and causing destruction. Behind light blue optic lenses, the figure's eyes scanned the street, his posture exuding both menace and power.
Davian watched from above, gripping his rifle tightly.
"Who the fuck is this guy?" he muttered to himself.
With brute force, the armored man reached down and hoisted a nearby vehicle. His grip on the car was solid, the muscles in his suit straining as he lifted it with ease. With a heave, he threw the vehicle like a toy, sending it hurtling towards the rearmost sedan of the convoy. The car smashed into the convoy's tail with a thunderous impact, effectively trapping the HVI within a metal cage.
Undeterred, the armored man gestured towards the trapped convoy with a tilt of his helmet. Almost on cue, the whistling sound of a rocket tore through the air, flying over his shoulder. It collided with the lead vehicle in a fiery explosion, engulfing it in flames and shrapnel, blocking any potential escape route.
Chaos erupted as mercenaries, heavily armed and equipped, poured onto the street from concealed positions, their weapons drawn and ready. A pitched firefight broke out as they engaged the NYPD officers who scrambled to protect the informant.
"Alpha team, we are under heavy fire! Secure the HVI and fall back to the secondary location!" an officer barked into his radio as he discharged his weapon at the mercenaries.
"Bravo, team, respond! We need immediate cover at the rear of the convoy!" another voice demanded, desperation threading through his command.
One more voice broke in, almost drowned by the cacophony of gunshots and screams, "Who the fuck are these guys!"
The street had become a war zone.
The bark of gunfire shouted orders, and the clash of metal echoed off the buildings while the smoke from the burning lead vehicle clouded the night sky.
From his high vantage point, Davian's eyes darted across the streets below. He meticulously scanned the positions and movements of the mercenaries as they relentlessly pushed toward the boxed-in convoy. They moved with determined precision, their apparent training evident in their coordinated attacks.
His focus narrowed as he panned over one of the mercenaries. The man had an RPG perched on his shoulder, aiming it directly at the convoy's heart.
The intent was almost too easy to process.
Without hesitation, Davian aimed with his rifle.
He breathed in, steadied his barrel, and pulled the trigger.
The shot went off with a precise, muted thud, hitting its mark with lethal efficiency. The bullet slammed into the mercenary's head with such force that it burst open, and a gory display of crimson and gray matter was ejected into the air, painting the ground and nearby walls.
In the mercenary's final spasms, his finger reflexively clenched, sending the RPG's deadly payload arcing into the fray. But the rocket didn't reach its intended target. Instead, it fell short and slammed into the back of the hulking armored man. The explosion lit up the night, a fiery burst that sent the armored figure stumbling forward from the impact.
"Tough bastard," Davian muttered under his breath, watching the armored giant reel from the unexpected blast. His attention, however, didn't linger on the disoriented figure for long. There was more work to be done.
Davian's gaze snapped to a pair of mercenaries advancing up the sidewalk. Their weapons were at the ready as they systematically moved toward an NYPD officer pinned behind an overturned patrol car. The officer was holding his own, firing off shots between breaths, but it was clear he was outmatched.
With swift precision, Davian realigned his sights, aiming at the approaching threats. The crosshairs of the scope danced over the first merc's torso, then quickly flicked to his head. Davian's finger pressed down on the trigger, the rifle's retort barely audible beneath the chaos.
The bullet tore through the air, connecting with the first merc's forehead. The impact was gruesome in its efficiency, the round cracking the man's skull open. The second merc, unaware of his ally's fate, took another step before Davian's second shot split the air. The merc's knee exploded in a spray of blood and bone, sending him crashing to the ground with a howl of pain. A follow-up shot ensured he wouldn't rise again, a clean hit to the chest, blood blossoming across his tactical vest like a macabre flower.
As Davian took down one merc after another from his perch, a thought tickled the back of his mind. The absurdity of the scene before him almost made him laugh—a single individual causing such upheaval.
"This is way too much chaos for one asshole who couldn't keep his mouth shut," he pondered lightly, his eyes scanning for the next target. "What does that informant know that's got everyone stirred up like a kicked anthill?"
Lining up another shot, Davian sighted a fourth merc. The man was attempting to flank the pinned officers, moving with a hunter's patience. Davian's trigger finger gave a light twitch, and he fired. The bullet soared and found its home in the merc's flank, spinning him to the ground.
Before he could reassess the battlefield, a dark shape drew Davian's attention. His sharp reflexes identified it as a car door, spinning end over end and aimed directly at his face.
In one fluid motion, Davian pushed off from the gargoyle, leaping into the open air just as the car door collided with his former perch. The solid stone figure shattered on impact, raining debris down to the streets below.
Mid-air and with a precision born from constant practice, Davian activated his grapnel. The hook shot out, finding purchase on a nearby low roof. The tension in the line bled off some of his momentum, allowing him to roll across the roof's surface in a controlled somersault and come to his feet in a ready stance.
"The big guy must have gotten wise to me," Davian muttered to himself, confirming that the armored man had indeed pinpointed his sniping spot.
The NYPD units were growing desperate as the mercenaries closed in on them from all directions.
"We need more units here — request immediate backup at the 42nd Street intersection!" one officer shouted into the radio, his voice tense and edged with the strain of battle.
Dispatch was quick but flustered in their response. "All units nearby, divert to 42nd and 8th! Assist in the escort detail and approach with caution. Multiple subjects are approaching the convoy going north on 8th Avenue."
"Dispatch, this is Delta Four. We're three minutes out. Get DPS on this fucking call," another unit radioed in, engines revving in the background.
In the midst of the radio chatter, Davian made his move. With a quick flick of a switch, he dismantled his rifle back into his trusted pair of hand cannons, all while sprinting across the gravel-strewn rooftop towards the ongoing firefight.
Reaching the roof's edge, Davian kicked off without hesitation. As he sailed through the air, he aimed his hand cannons down at the street and let off a tightly controlled burst of rounds. One after another, three mercenaries crumpled to the ground, taken out with lethal precision by the deadly salvo.
Below, the officers were momentarily stunned, a mix of confusion and awe in their voices.
"Who the fuck is that guy?!" exclaimed one officer over the radio, eyes wide as they spotted Davian gracefully leaping from rooftop to firefight.
"Don't know, don't care! Focus on the HVI!" another quickly responded, his attention steadfast on the protection detail amidst the chaos.
The armored man spotted Davian once again and, with a grunt of effort, hoisted another car overhead with frightening ease. With an angry roar, he sent the vehicle spinning through the air towards Davian.
Landing on the asphalt and rolling to dissipate the force, Davian narrowly sprang to his feet just in time. The car smashed into the spot where he had landed mere moments ago, metal crumpling and glass shattering with a crash that echoed down the avenue.
As Davian regained his footing, he squared off with the armored man, who was stomping toward him like a walking tank. Raising his hand cannons, Davian fired, streamlining a hailstorm of bullets at his opponent. The rounds pinged harmlessly off the thick armor, each impact leaving barely a mark on the metallic grey surface.
Undeterred by the lack of effect, Davian moved swiftly, avoiding the crush of a massive fist aimed in his direction. He slid just in time, gravel skittering beneath him as the armored man's punch hit nothing but air.
With agility belying his encumbered state, Davian countered. He drove his knee upward, connecting with the underside of the armored man's jaw. The motion was fluid, precise, and held enough force behind it to rattle the man's head back despite the protective helm.
Pushing his advantage, Davian let his momentum carry him forward, planting a boot squarely on the man's chest and kicking off, flipping back to create some distance between them.
The armored man reeled from the impact and took a moment to steady himself, his head shaking off the disorientation. His eyes narrowed behind the blue lenses as he studied Davian.
"Who the hell are you?" the armored man growled, his voice muffled but brimming with frustrated intrigue.
Davian didn't skip a beat, his response laced with calm defiance. "The fucking boogeyman," he declared, barely a wisp of breath escaping him as he tightened his grip on the guns once more.
Without another word, Davian unleashed another barrage of bullets; the cacophony of gunshots thundered through the street. Sparks flew where the shots met metal, the armored shell of the behemoth before him withstanding the onslaught, but Davian didn't stop.
But neither did his opponent.
The big guy was tough.
Tougher than most people Davian had come across, and those kicks to his chin should have knocked out a few teeth and sent him sprawling to the ground.
And yet he shrugged it off like nothing.
He needed someone with more punching power.
The armored man's rage was palpable as he straightened up, a guttural roar ripping from his throat. "I am Rhino!" he bellowed, the sound reverberating off the nearby buildings.
With surging energy, he launched himself forward, hurtling towards Davian with the ferocity of a freight train.
Davian had to act fast. He was outgunned, outnumbered, and outmatched in physical prowess, but the convoy and his paycheck were right behind him, so he needed to buy time. He raised his hand cannons and continued to fire, but the bullets merely sparked off the armored suit, each impact barely registering to the charging giant.
Rhino barreled towards him, closing the distance with thunderous steps. Davian could feel the ground shuddering beneath him with each stride of the armored menace.
Davian fired his grapnel once again. The cable shot out, fastening itself to an overhanging traffic light. Activating the retract mechanism, Davian was swiftly yanked from Rhino's path, leaving the armored man to charge headlong into the space where he had stood moments before.
But as Rhino advanced, primed to smash into the vulnerable convoy, something snatched him up. A stream of white fluid arced through the air with precision, latching onto one of Rhino's protruding horns.
The specially formulated webbing pulled tight, yanking Rhino's head to the side with unexpected force. Its owner swung down with momentum on his side and slammed the soles of his boots into Rhino's forehead.
The impact caused Rhino's charge to falter, his massive frame stumbling from the well-timed intervention.
That was the "punching power" he had been waiting for to arrive.
From above, a familiar voice called out, "Hey, Cypher."
Davian's head snapped upward, his eyes meeting a pair of iconic white lenses set in a red and blue mask. Spider-Man sat perched on the edge of a building, looking down at the scene with a mix of concern and curiosity.
"What kept you?" Davian asked, the corner of his mouth twitching up in a smirk despite the circumstances.
Spider-Man, chest heaving slightly from the exertion, shrugged as he eyed the recovering Rhino. "You know, typical New York traffic."
His gaze shifted from the armored man back to Davian. "Friend of yours?" he quipped, nodding in Rhino's direction.
"Hardly," Davian replied dryly, holstering one of his hand cannons.
Spider-Man crouched beside him, casting a wary eye toward the recovering Rhino. "You know, this is kind of outside your usual scope of work," he pointed out, a hint of amusement in his tone.
Davian snorted, not taking his gaze off the looming threat. "Says the guy who shows up to a gunfight in spandex," he shot back.
Spider-Man's chuckle was light, hardly audible against the backdrop of chaos. "Hey, it's aerodynamic and has built-in web shooters. What's not to love?"
"The owner," Davian retorted, his tone wry as he executed a swift reload of his hand cannons.
Spider-Man feigned a hand over his heart as though wounded by the comment. "That hurts, man," he remarked, managing to pull off a tone of mock hurt even through the mask.
Davian could only shake his head, refusing to be drawn into Peter's lighthearted banter. "Just keep him off me while I clear out these goons."
"Can do," Spider-Man replied with the confidence that always clung to him like his webbing to walls. "You take left, I'll swing right?"
"Just be quick," Davian conceded, a reluctant partnership forming amidst the unfolding melee.
Davian was about to leap into the fray once more when a strand of strong webbing shot out of nowhere, smacking down onto his hand cannons with a distinct thwack sound. The webs were thick and sticky, completely engulfing his weapons and rendering them useless.
He examined his hand cannons, now covered in white, gooey webbing that adhered stubbornly to the metal. As he did so, Spider-Man's voice came from above, lighthearted yet unwavering, "No killing."
"Are you fucking serious right now?" Davian exclaimed, frustration creeping into his voice as he tried to peel the webs off. "These guys aren't exactly firing blanks."
He looked up at Peter, who was already in motion, swinging from his webs with the grace of a circus performer. "Consider it a challenge," Peter called back, his voice trailing off as he flung himself towards Rhino, ready to face off against the armored colossus.
Davian glared at his web-jammed hand cannons before grudgingly holstering the useless firearms. He knew Peter wasn't going to budge on this; the web-slinger's principles were as unbreakable as the webs he shot.
"Damn you and your moral compass, Parker," Davian muttered, the words barely more than a whisper against the clamor of the battlefield. Despite the anger in his voice, there was a hint of grudging respect for the young Hero's unwavering stand on the sanctity of life.
Heaving a sigh, Davian focused on the task ahead—there was still a convoy to protect, and the mercenaries weren't going to take care of themselves.
He would have to get a little more creative.
A bullet slams into the car next to him.
A lot more creative.
Davian looked around, seeking anything that could be repurposed as a weapon now that his guns were out of commission. His gaze landed on a nearby sedan, its side dented and windows shattered from the ongoing chaos. Not wasting a moment, he dashed over to it.
With a swift kick powered by adrenaline and necessity, Davian's boot connected with the passenger door. The force behind his strike was enough to tear the door off its hinges. Gripping the door by the window frame, he heaved it up and launched it like a discus at the nearest mercenary.
The heavy metal swung through the air with surprising speed, slamming into the merc's body with a sickening crunch. "Oh shi—" was all the merc managed to let out before the door made contact, his words cutting off abruptly as he was sent careening backward. His body twisted awkwardly in the air, arms flailing, until he hit an already damaged fire hydrant with a forceful thud. Water erupted from the broken hydrant, gushing out like a fountain, and the merc's groan was drowned out by the sound of rushing water and the pandemonium of the scene.
Meanwhile, Davian didn't pause to admire his handiwork. He had three more mercenaries to deal with. He charged forward, his body moving with a mix of practiced martial arts and sheer instinct.
The first merc he reached was ready for a brawl, swinging his rifle with all the finesse of a street thug wielding a bat. "Eat this, you freak!" the merc hissed as he brought the weapon down in a wide arc, trying to take Davian's head off with the makeshift club.
But Davian was quicker. He ducked under the poorly aimed swing, his movements sharp and controlled. With a grip on the merc's arm that turned iron within seconds, he twisted and pulled.
The merc's eyes widened in surprise. "What the—"
With a hard jerk, Davian flipped him over and slammed him onto the ground with a grunt of exertion. The merc tried to scramble up, shaking his head to clear the stars from his vision, but Davian was already there. He raised his boot and brought it down, a swift stomp to the merc's head. "Nighty night," Davian muttered, feeling the merc go limp beneath his foot. The sickening crack confirmed there wouldn't be a round two.
As the second mercenary aimed, the echo of gunfire filled the air. Davian reacted with animalistic quickness, diving into a tight roll that brought him within arm's reach of his assailant. The sudden move broke the mercenary's focus, and his shots tore into the space Davian had just vacated.
In one fluid motion, Davian was back on his feet, barreling into the shooter. He used the disoriented mercenary as a shield, pressing close to the man's body as a hail of bullets from another direction thudded against the human barricade. Their target gone, the other mercenaries ceased fire, not wanting to risk hitting one of their own.
Seizing the moment of respite, Davian wrenched the gun from the shooter's grip. The mercenary's eyes widened in a mix of surprise and fear as he found himself staring down the barrel of his weapon. Davian didn't hesitate; he swung the rifle, the hard stock connecting with the mercenary's temple. The man's body went limp immediately, sinking to the ground in a heap without so much as a groan.
Davian stood over the downed mercenary, his heart racing but his breath steady. Assessing the situation quickly, he prepared to face the next challenge the night would throw at him.
The third mercenary lunged at Davian, a fierce snarl twisting his features as he swung wildly. His fist connected with a thud against Davian's side, a glancing blow that made Davian wince but did little to slow him down. He hardly acknowledged the pain, focusing on the fight and the mercenary's fleeting moment of pride.
Davian's response was immediate and decisive. His hand shot out like a cobra, gripping the mercenary's wrist with vice-like pressure as he twisted sharply to the side. The man's momentum worked against him, causing him to stumble and tumble to the ground with a grunt of surprise.
As the merc tried to regain his footing, Davian was upon him like a storm. He drove his knee into the man's ribs with all the force of a battering ram, eliciting a whoosh of breath and a pained wheeze from his opponent. Seizing the moment of weakness, Davian followed up with a precise, powerful punch to the temple that left the mercenary's head ringing and his legs wobbly. With the merc unsteady and disoriented, Davian landed one final blow—a crushing uppercut that snapped the man's head back and sent him crumpling to the ground, unconscious before he even hit the asphalt.
Davian had just squared his shoulders for the next round of combat when a shouted warning sliced through the noise of battle. "Look out!" came Spider-Man's amplified voice.
Snapping his head up, Davian spotted the silhouette of a streetlight—a metal lance thrown with terrifying force—hurtling towards him. Instincts honed from countless battles kicked in. He propelled himself forward, pushing off the balls of his feet and executing a dive that would have made any professional gymnast proud.
The streetlight whistled through the space where Davian had stood mere seconds before, impaling the ground like a javelin with a resounding clang that echoed off the nearby buildings.
Pushing himself up from the ground, Davian turned his attention back to the Rhino—who was currently blinded by layers of Spider-Man's webbing plastered over his face.
"You got a plan, or are we just decorating him for Halloween?" Davian called out, only half-joking as he watched Rhino thrash, the web sticking fast despite his wild attempts to dislodge it.
Spider-Man, flipping and darting around the enraged behemoth with acrobatic grace, called back, "You got any bright ideas? I'm all ears!"
"Pay attention," Davian shouted over the din as he eyed the rampaging Rhino. "He's just like any other big guy; you take out his knees, you take away his mobility. And without that, he's just a big, angry paperweight."
Spider-Man nodded, his white lenses focusing on Rhino's joint areas. "Good point. You go for the joints. I'll keep him distracted; you go in for the shot."
Davian didn't need prompting twice. He sprinted towards the fray, his hands busy at work, quickly peeling away the sticky webbing Spider-Man had applied to his hand cannons. The white strands stretched and snapped, freeing his weapons from the makeshift binds.
With his guns finally clear, Davian took a deep breath and charged forward, eyeing the joints in Rhino's massive legs. He knew they'd be protected, but if he could get close enough, he was confident he could find a weak spot in the armor—there always was one.
Spider-Man swung into action, firing more webs at Rhino's face to occupy him. Rhino, blinded and enraged, swung his arms wildly, trying to fend off the web-slinger's persistent attacks.
Seeing his opening, Davian ducked and weaved through the chaos, his eyes locked on the back of Rhino's knees. He fired off a round, the shot ringing out as he aimed for the small, less-armored sections where the suit flexed. The bullet found its mark, and even through the tough exterior, the impact caused the Rhino to stagger, a low growl of pain escaping his lips.
Emboldened, Davian pressed the advantage. He aimed at the armored man's shoulder joints, where the armor plates met. The next shot was precise, the impact jarring enough to see the Rhino's arm falter, his movements becoming sluggish as pain shot through his shoulder.
The Rhino's movements became sluggish, his responses delayed by the precise strikes to his armor's vulnerable points. Despite the onslaught, he remained a formidable force, each swing of his massive arms still threatening enough to crush bone and break concrete.
The seamless ease with which Davian and Spider-Man worked together was nothing short of impressive. They moved like they had done this dance of combat a thousand times before, anticipating each other's moves and complementing each other's style with an almost uncanny synchronicity.
Spider-Man, with his agility and quick reflexes, darted around Rhino, drawing his attention and evading his sluggish but powerful blows. As he did, he created openings for Davian to exploit.
Davian's military precision mixed with street-learned brutality matched well with Spider-Man's acrobatics and own fighting style honed against the crime of New York. He saw his opening after a particularly heavy swing from Rhino was dodged by Spider-Man and moved in.
Leaping into the fray, Davian delivered a crushing blow to Rhino's knee, the sound of his boot impacting the joint echoing through the street. The armor creaked, the force of the kick denting the metal and jarring the joints. Rhino bellowed in pain, his leg giving out momentarily.
Not missing a beat, Spider-Man capitalized on the opportunity, leaping onto Rhino's back and raining down a series of hard, fast punches to the back of his neck and torso. Each hit was a calculated blow to the armor's weak points, leaving visible dents and cracks in the once-impenetrable surface.
Davian followed up with a barrage of strikes to Rhino's other leg, his boots slamming into the side of the knee joint. A series of well-placed punches and kicks targeted the hydraulic systems that powered Rhino's limbs, effectively hindering his movement even further.
With a final leap, Spider-Man bounded off Rhino's back and shot a web toward the nearby light pole. Using it to swing forward, he delivered a double-kicked smash to Rhino's chest, the impact reverberating with a sound like a hammer hitting an anvil.
Stunned by the force, Rhino teetered, losing his footing. Davian moved in for the final strike. He rolled forward, avoiding a wild swing, and planted his feet squarely on the ground before unleashing an uppercut straight into Rhino's helmet. The blow was savage, the crack of breaking material announcing the shattering of the helmet.
The Rhino's armored headpiece splintered under the combined assault, revealing the dazed and battered face beneath. With a final groan, the giant toppled over like a fallen tree, hitting the ground with a thunderous crash that seemed to shake the very foundations of the city.
For a moment, there was silence. Davian stood over the fallen behemoth, his fists clenched and his chest heaving from exertion. Beside him, Spider-Man rested on a crouch, the white lenses of his mask reflecting over him.
Davian surveyed the aftermath of their brutal skirmish. The once-feared Rhino lay unconscious, a giant felled at last, while the remnants of the mercenary force had all but given up. Some had thrown down their weapons and raised their hands in surrender, while others had taken the opportunity to disappear into the night, scattered by the chaos.
Spider-Man approached, catching his breath as he looked at the defeated Rhino. "Nice punch," he commented.
"Not here," Davian replied crisply, conscious of the approaching NYPD officers who might be eager to slap cuffs on anyone involved, vigilante or not. His grapnel launcher made a resounding click as it affixed itself to a nearby building. With a pull of the trigger, he was off, ascending to the rooftops before the police could entertain any bright ideas about questioning him.
"Hey, wait up!" Spider-Man called after him, his web-shooters propelling him upward in pursuit.
Once on the rooftop, Davian kept moving, but Spider-Man was quick to catch up, landing with a soft thud next to him. "So, you always work solo, or was tonight special?" Peter asked, jogging to keep pace with Davian's quick strides across the roof.
Davian didn't slow down but shot a sideways glance at the younger Hero. "Special's one word for it," he said. His tone carried a hint of sarcasm. He wasn't one for chit-chat, especially after a fight.
"Haven't seen you since the... You know," Spider-Man said, a bit hesitant to bring up their last unexpected encounter.
"Since I kept a two-bit thug from blowing your head off?" Davian replied coolly, not breaking stride as he leaped over a roof vent. "You know I don't come out here hoping to run into you, right?"
Spider-Man faltered for just a second, his head tilting in a way that suggested he was frowning behind the mask. "Why do you say that?" he probed, genuinely curious.
"You're the good guy. I'm a merc." Davian's expression hardened, the shadows of the city's lights dancing across his helmet. "One day, I might get a contract with your name on it," he said flatly, his eyes fixed on the path ahead.
The web-slinger digested this quietly for a moment, and then something akin to determination settled in his stance. "That's why I'm asking — why do this? There are other ways to make a living without... you know, killing people."
Davian scoffed, a short, cutting sound. "And do what? Work a nine-to-five? I do what I'm good at, and this," he gestured around them with a sweep of his hand, "is what I excel in."
Spider-Man swung alongside him, keeping pace. "But there's got to be something more. Something that drives you. I mean, we're not all that different."
"You and I are nothing alike, and it's best we keep it that way. For both our sakes." Davian's voice was firm, brooking no argument as he abruptly ended their rooftop run.
He located his motorbike and dropped into the alley where he had stowed it earlier, the shadows enveloping him like a cloak.
Spider-Man descended from the rooftops, landing with a poised agility characteristic of the iconic Hero. "You really believe that, don't you?" Spider-Man asked, his voice a mixture of curiosity and challenge that hung in the air between them.
Davian gave him a look, one that was just a fraction cooler than the night air around them. "I don't believe. I know," he said with such finality that it was clear he considered the matter closed as he moved to retrieve his motorcycle from its hiding place.
Spider-Man observed Davian quietly for a moment, the lenses of his mask seemingly narrowing as if pondering the mercenary's mindset.
"Then tell me," Spider-Man finally ventured, his hand sweeping out to indicate their surroundings, the vast expanse of the shadow-drenched city acting as their backdrop, "what is it that drives you to do all this?"
Davian paused, his hands hovering over his bike.
He turned to Spider-Man, his ice-blue eyes meeting the white lenses of the mask. "What drives you to put on the tights and play hero?" he challenged, turning the question back on the younger man.
Spider-Man hesitated, the brief silence heavy with unspoken thoughts. "Helping people," he finally said, his voice carrying a weight that suggested it was a deeply ingrained truth.
"When I do my job, sometimes it involves helping people, sometimes it doesn't," Davian responded coldly, his back to Spider-Man as he mounted his bike. There was a flicker of something else in his eyes, a depth he wasn't willing to reveal. "Best not to think about it too much."
"I think you'd be good at it," Spider-Man said after a pause, breaking the silence that had settled between them.
Davian glanced over his shoulder, a brow raised in faint amusement. "Good at what?" he asked, though he had a feeling he knew what the web-slinger was getting at.
"Playing the hero," Spider-Man replied as if he saw something in Davian that even the mercenary himself hadn't recognized.
Turning to face Spider-Man fully now, Davian let out a dry chuckle before replying, "Being a hero doesn't pay well," as if the notion were a joke to him.
"So you're in it for the money?" Spider-Man probed, trying to dig deeper and understand the man behind the mercenary façade.
"I'm in it for guarantees," Davian corrected. His response was crisp, cutting through the night air with the sharpness of a knife.
Spider-Man seemed to weigh his words, mulling over what to say next. He took a step closer, the concern evident even through his mask. "What kind of guarantees?" he inquired, his curiosity piqued.
Davian's expression hardened slightly, his gaze steely as he met Spider-Man's eyes. "The kind only money can afford," he replied, his tone final, signaling the end of the conversation.
Spider-Man nodded silently, accepting the answer for what it was — Cypher's truth. He watched as Cypher straddled his motorbike, the engine rumbling to life beneath him. The sound was a clear dismissal, though neither said goodbye.
They'd see each other again.
The only question was the circumstances behind it.
Merc's and Hero's don't play well together.
I==I
The Broker was a man who took no chances,
And when it came to Davian Alrek, his caution doubled.
He remembered well the day Taskmaster approached him with a potential candidate for the mercenary circuit - a young talent primed for the kind of work that required discretion and skill.
Taskmaster had trained Davian and molded him into a weapon. The man known as 'Cypher' was his project, and now he sought to set him loose upon the world with guidance from The Broker.
And he always kept tabs.
"How'd he do?" Taskmaster's voice crackled through a secure comm channel, breaking the silence in The Broker's dimly lit office.
The Broker sat back in his chair, tapping a pen against his lips as he pondered his response. "The boy's good. Took down Rhino without a scratch. I didn't think he had it in him, even with the... unexpected assistance."
"A blue and red nuisance," Taskmaster's tone was as dry as desert sand, his disdain for the web-slinger thinly veiled. "And the police?"
"Unaware of his involvement. He avoided their notice—left them scratching their heads as usual," The Broker said with a hint of pride. "He's good for business, no unnecessary heat."
There was a pause before Taskmaster spoke again. "And Rhino?"
"Down for the count. He'll be waking up with more than just a headache. Your protégé ensured that." The Broker couldn't help but smile. Taskmaster's trainee was exceeding their expectations.
"I want you to expand his...employment opportunities," Taskmaster demanded through the line, his voice firm and holding an edge of expectation. "Up the ante."
Silence lingered for a moment as The Broker considered the request, his fingers tapping methodically on the dark wood of his desk. "I'll push him a little harder. See how he handles increased pressure."
"Do more than push," Taskmaster urged. "Throw him into the deep end. I trained him to swim, not to paddle in the shallows."
A faint chuckle escaped The Broker, the sound echoing slightly in the room. "Be careful what you wish for. Davian's not known for doing things by halves. He might surprise you."
"It's no surprise, not anymore," Taskmaster retorted, a tinge of something akin to pride lacing his words. "He's a shark, and it's time he started hunting bigger fish."
"I got to ask," The Broker began, his tone cool and collected as he leaned back in his chair, the dim light of his office casting long shadows across his face. "I've seen you put forward a lot of new fish, Masters. What makes this one different from the rest?"
There was a beat of silence before Taskmaster's voice returned, gritty as the gravel beneath one's boot. "You know better than to ask questions, Stross."
The Broker smirked ever so slightly, knowing that the admonishment was more reflexive than serious. "I'm just curious, is all," he remarked, his voice taking on the timbre of a man accustomed to negotiating. "You know how my business operates."
Taskmaster was silent for a moment, perhaps weighing the value of sharing information against his secretive nature. Finally, he conceded, "If you must know, the boy's father is very interested in seeing him grow into something... Worthwhile."
"Swell," The Broker mused, his fingers tracing the edge of a dossier on his desk. "Sounds ominous."
"It's business," Taskmaster retorted shortly. "Nothing you need concern yourself with, so long as the jobs get done and payments come through."
The Broker raised an eyebrow, his interest piqued despite his better judgment. "Family can be... Complicated," he ventured carefully, aware that he was treading a delicate line.
Taskmaster's voice had a bite to it as if warning away further prying. "The less you know, the better. Focus on the contracts. Cypher is none of your concern beyond his work."
"I understand," The Broker replied evenly, knowing when to let a subject drop. Yet, a seed of curiosity had been planted, and with it, a renewed interest in the enigma that was Davian 'Cypher' Alrek. The Broker's eyes narrowed thoughtfully. "He's proven himself capable so far."
"And he will continue to do so," Taskmaster said confidently. "Make sure the opportunities you provide are... appropriate."
"At the rate he's progressing, he won't have any shortage of those," The Broker acknowledged, considering the growing list of clients requesting Cypher by name.
Their conversation came to its natural end, as both men knew where their roles stood. Taskmaster might be molding the raw talent, but The Broker was the one who would showcase it to the world. And however enigmatic Cypher's upbringing or ties might be, in the end, it all came down to performance.
And performance was something Cypher had in spades.