I know, I know, I'm attempting this again but since I've been bringing back old stories of mine from the past, I fiugured this one should be among them. Plus, I've done many stories with an OC that has superpowers or is superhuman at least. Rarely do I do a story with a regular human who's just got some skills to get by in life. And that's where this story comes.
It takes place a year before the events of Marvel's Spider-Man, and will go through that game's events as well as the DLC The City That Never Sleeps. The sequel will go through the events of Marvel's Spider-Man 2. And the pairing for both stories will be OC/Black Cat, because why not pair a regular OC who's skilled with an equally regular woman that's also got some skills of her own? At times, you need to take a break from doing OCs that are superhuman or have superpowers.
As for the OC's appearance and whatnot, he will wear the Arkham Knight armour from Batman: Arkham Knight, though it's all black and without the Arkham symbols of course.
Disclaimer: I do not own Spider-Man. I only own the OC George Edwards/The Bladewolf.
On the sidewalk of a street, somewhere in a run-down neighbourhood in Brooklyn, New York, a 2017 black Ford Transit Van was parked. The inside was the same in terms of the front, which was the two seats, wheel, and stick as well as the accelerator and the brake. In the back, it had been remodelled for a person to sleep in, as evidenced by the signs of clothing and a bed of which a man was currently sleeping on.
The man was in his early twenties, about twenty two, was around six feet tall, had short black hair with the sides of his head shaved, forming a mohawk out of the hair at the top of his head, tapering off into a point at the nape of his neck. He was shirtless, dressed only in black faded jeans and black military boots.
However, while he seemed to be peacefully sleeping... his sleep was anything but peaceful.
BANG! BANG!
"George! Grab your sister and mother! Get out of here!
"Dad look out!"
BANG! BANG!
With a yell, the man shot up with wild, dark brown eyes, looking around while his shoulders heaved from aggression but he slowly started to relax when he saw he was in his van and not... there. He inhaled and exhaled several times before sighing and burying his face in his hands, clenching his fingers into his scalp. Once again, his sleep is plagued by nightmares. Nightmares of the worst day of his entire life seven years ago.
Shaking his head, the man, George, grabbed a gray tanktop and put it on before opening one of the back doors of his van so he can step out. He took a look up and down the street, seeing it was deserted, save for a trio of scantily-dressed girls wearing short shorts and short crop tops, or skirts that were too short and showed off their legs. Prostitutes most likely. They noticed him and sent him flirty smiles and waves, taking various poses that showed off their bodies and curves. George ignored them and glanced to the sky, seeing that the sun was covered by thick, gray clouds, so he figured it must be sometime in the afternoon.
As George reached in for his coat, he heard a pair of car engines and glanced up the street where the three prostitutes were to see a pair of cars coming down. Fancy-looking types that only only one type of people would drive; gangsters.
In the car in front, an bald African-American man grinned and snapped his fingers while pointing to one of the three ladies. "Hold up. Let me talk to that bitch right there."
The cars pulled up, gaining the attention of the ladies. One of them, a dark-haired, African-American woman, looked terrified and quickly began to move at the behest of her friends as the gangsters got out of their cars, the gang leader with his dark, predatory eyes on the ebony-skinned woman.
"Where you running?" He demanded, stretching his arms out as he and he posse approached.
"I already took care of you!" The woman said, which only caused the gang leader to laugh.
Up the street, George watched with a frown while putting on his coat, watching as the gang closed in on the three ladies. "Come on now, you don't run from me." The gang leader said with smugness as he approached with his pace becoming quicker. As soon as he was close, he grabbed the woman and growled while shoving her head-first into the wall. "You don't run from me, bitch!"
George's expression was blank as he watched, seeing the gang leader grip the woman's hair and start pulling her in the direction of the highway bridge where there was garbage and a dark-coloured fence. The woman was crying and begging, screaming 'No!' Soon enough, they were out of sight behind the fence and the woman's blood-curling screams could still be heard.
However, George did not act, he did not approach to intervene. It was not his problem. All he wanted was to mind his business before he resumed his trip to Manhattan. Shaking his head, he turned and went towards the local liquor store, but he could still hear the woman's screams, ringing through his head.
"DAD!"
"DADDY!
"NATHAN!"
BANG!
George shook his head, clearing the memory from his mind with an irritated sigh as he went to enter the store. However, he paused when he saw a boy crossing the street, discreetly trying to avoid the gangsters but it was easier said than done and futile because one of the gangsters spotted the boy. As the gangsters swarmed towards the boy, who cried for help as they grabbed him, George shook his head and went into the liquor store.
Outside, the gang surrounds the boy and starts to mug him when their leader returns to the scene after raping the prostitute in the back alley. "The fuck is this?!" He shouted, announcing his presence. The gang backed up as he got close to the kid and crouched down with a predatory glare, his tone chilling and sinister. "You crossin' my street? You gotta pay the toll. You see, there's two ways to get off this street: you work for me, or the other way."
Despite the situation, despite how scared he was, the boy managed to muster a glare and say in a defiant tone. "I ain't gonna run drugs for you."
This just made the gangster laugh. "I love this kid." He said to one of his friends before looking at the boy, smile dropping into a dark glare. "I was kinda hopin' you'd say that." He gets up and turns around before snapping his fingers, signalling his thugs to rough up the boy.
"No! No! No!" The boy shouted, crying while the thugs showed no mercy, not even to a small child who wasn't even a teenager.
In the liquor store, George paused from looking for something to drink as he heard the boy's cries but shook his head and returned to what he was doing... but the boy's cries only stirred the memories.
BANG!
BANG!
BANG!
"NOOOOO!"
George shakes his head and grabs a bottle of Yoo-hoo while the handicapped clerk, Big Mike, rolls to the back of the cashier counter as George approaches. "We got a special on Bourbon." George just places the bottle on the counter, getting a raised eyebrow. "I meant Vodka."
"No thanks." George said gruffly. The sounds of the mugging outside got his attention once more and he turned to look and watch, grabbing his Yoo-Hoo and drinks it at the door while watching.
Big Mike sees what he's looking at and scoffs sadly. "Fuckin' animals." He spat before glancing at George. "Makes you want to do something, doesn't it?" He opens his flask of whiskey and takes a drink out of it. "Couple of years back, that was me standing right where you are now, looking out that door. The difference was, a little girl back then."
"Big brother! Look at me!
"Careful there, Jessie. Last thing I want is dad to ring my head if you hurt yourself on that ride!"
George looked down, his grip around the Yoo-Hoo bottle tightening before he asked tightly. "What did you do?"
Big Mike was silent for a couple of seconds before he spoke. "I walked out there." He sighs and shakes his head, looking at his legs. "Three tours at the Sandbox, not so much as a scratch. I come home to this shit."
"Always a war on somewhere." George said softly, continuing to watch the mugging before he drinks his Yoo-Hoo.
Big Mike shakes his head and rolls back to the counter. "'Why fuckin' bother?' That's my motto. If the Almighty struck those savages down today, there will just be five more to replace them by tomorrow." He reaches under the counter and places a small cup down to pour his whiskey into. "Nothing makes a difference. The whole world is burning down, my friend. At least I got me a front row seat for it. Buck fifty for the Yoo-hoo."
George stares at the scene outside for a moment longer before he turns swiftly and approaches the counter, dropping a $20 bill. "Bottle of Jack."
The clerk looks at him.
Outside, the thugs had pressed the boy up against the wall, his face a little roughed and bleeding while one of the thugs pulls out a switchblade and holds it to his throat. "Say you're sorry or I'll cut your fucking throat, kid!" The thug demanded.
"C'mon kid, say yes!" The leader demanded.
George walked out of the store with purpose, his bottle of Jack Daniels in a small paper bag.
"All you gotta do is say yes!" The leader continued. "You've got a choice; either my way or this way!"
George gets closer and closer with a cold glare on his face, the bag falling away to reveal he was gripping the top of the Jack Daniels. He briefly tossed it into the air and caught it effortlessly in his hand, before rearing back as if to throw it.
"Come on now, kid! You say yes. All you gotta do is say yes!" The leader said. "We've got a motherfucking problem up in here!"
Suddenly, one of the thugs was bludgeoned from behind by the Jack Daniels bottle thanks to George, who had strode right up and swung it at the thug's head. His attack caught the rest off guard but George was already on the attack as he swung the bottle into the face of a second thug, causing blood to spit from his mouth gruesomely, then George brought the bottle down into the top of a third thug's head, but George finished him off with a stomp to the head that caused blood to spit from the thug's mouth. Snapping his attention onto a fourth thug, George jabbed him in the face with the bottle of Jack Daniels, then heard the sound of a switchblade from the fifth thug.
The thug jabbed forward, intending to stab George, who sidestepped, grabbed the thug's arm and bent it backwards with the sound of bone-snapping followed by the thug's agonized screams at feeling his bone pop right off and probably break due to how strong George's grip was. Controlling the thug's knife arm, he jabbed the knife into a sixth thug's neck, causing blood to gush out like a leaking bucket or a fountain. Releasing the knife, the thug fell back with the knife in his throat while George swung the bottle into the fifth thug's face, killing him,
Hearing the sound of a gun cocking. George snapped his gaze to a seventh thug who pulled out a handgun, raising to point it at George who quickly grabbed the arm, then brought it down on his shoulder which dislocated the thug's arm and then George pulled on the thug's finger on the trigger to make him shoot an eight thug in the head. Turning to the seventh thug, George brought the bottle of Jack down on the thug's dislocated arm, forced it back until the bone literally popped through the skin and the gun was pointed at the thug. Then George pulled the trigger, putting a hole in his head and he watched the body drop to join the other six dead thugs.
And now there was just one left.
George slowly turned, the bloodied bottle of Jack in his grip, as he faced the gang leader who looked at his dead gang before levelling George with a pissed off glare that met George's cold and ruthless glare. The gang leader lifted his shirt, revealing he had a pistol tucked into his trousers and slowly pulled it out before he raised it while pulling the hammer back, intending to quickly shoot. However, he did not get the chance as the boy his gang had been mugging, who had quickly went off to hide when George attacked, lunged and bit into the thug's leg hard, causing him to scream in pain and also fire at the same time but his shot missed George who threw the bottle of Jack Daniels directly into the thug's face, knocking him down.
Striding forward as the thug got to his feet, shakily aiming the gun, George grabbed the arm and bent it, making the bone tear through the skin and pop out, causing pain and agony for the thug who screamed in pain. However, George didn't stop there as he stomped on the thug's right ankle which broke and the bone tore through the skin, then he did the same thing to the thug's left ankle, rendering him completely defenceless as George stood over him, uncaring of the screams or curses the thug let out.
George sighed and picked up the bottle of Jack Daniels, looking at it before he looked at the thug who looked at him with pain and anger in his eyes. "Fuck you! Fuck you! Fuck...!"
"You like picking on the weak and defenceless?" George asked coldly with raised eyebrows. "You like being a predator whose prey can't fight back to defend themselves? Well, you should know something. There's always another predator around to put the out of control ones in their place."
"W-What?" The thug frowned.
George said nothing. Instead, he opened the lid of the Jack Daniels and poured the contents all over the thug who screamed as the alcohol splashed onto his wounds. Once the bottle was empty, George tossed it aside, reached into his coat pocket and took out a lighter that he flicked open. The thug's eyes widened in terror and horror as George stared at him with cold, dead eyes... then he turned and began walking away to the thug's confusion.
However, George had a purpose for this. He saw the prostitute the thug had raped standing there, watching the whole thing. She stepped back as he approached her, but he handed the lighter to her without even slowly his pace down as he continued towards his van.
About a minute later, the sounds of the thug's screams, followed by fire starting, were heard.
Reaching his van, George took off his coat and tossed it into the back, then glanced down at his bloodied tanktop and sighed before shaking his head and walked over to the driver's side. "Hey mister!" A voice called, making him stop and turn to see the boy standing there. "T-Thank you."
George stared at the kid for a moment before he opened the door and reached into a compartment on the passenger side, grabbed a rubber band and wrapped something up before he got out of the van and tossed a total of $100 in a rubber band to the kid who caught it clumsily, having not expected it after all. "Don't waste it all on sweets." Was all George said as he got into his van and soon drove off... heading for New York City.
Soon, the streets of New York were going to be soaked in the blood of scum who deserved it...
Yeah, this was to introduce the OC and his skills. He ain't superhuman or anything, but he does know how to fight. I tried to give subtle details of his origin and backstory, and unlike my Hellspawn OC, who lost his wife and children, this OC lost his parents and little sister. I know the whole 'loss of family makes a dark and gritty Anti-Hero' plot has been done... but it's the only way you get Anti-Heroes who've been through some shit to go killing criminals. It's always the loss of family that makes the vigilantes.
Batman, Spider-Man, the Punisher, and yeah, I know the first two don't kill.