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Disclaimer: I do not own Spider-Man. I only own the OC George Edwards/The Bladewolf.
"...In other news, police are still on the manhunt for the lethal vigilante known as 'The Bladewolf' who is responsible for the Massacres at the Burren Club and the perpertrator who shot up Metro-General Hospital in Hell's Kitchen. We have also learned that Elliot Grote AKA Grotto, a survivor of the Burren Club massacre, was found dead in a car just off the coast of the Brooklyn Bridge. Mayor Osborn has declared that the Bladewolf is to be apprehended or, if need be, shot on sight by NYPD. If you spot him, contact the authorities right away, do not approach. He is reportedly armed and extremely dangerous."
A pair of emerald green eyes watched the TV, the news showing a image taken of the new vigilante though the only things one could make out was that the figure was a silhouette in the darkness.
The person watching the TV was a very beautiful woman with platnium blonde hair, a pear-shaped figure accentuating her natural curves that could draw the attention of men and women alike. And the image she presented right now would strike any man or woman silent and stunned... mainly because of the fact she was clad in nothing but a towel that stopped barely mid-thigh and showed off her cleavage, since the woman was planning on going for a shower before she'd begin 'working'.
Uncrossing her long legs, the woman stood and strutted towards the TV, then proceeded to bend down which would've given anyone standing behind her quite a view if they had been standing behind her. The woman placed her hand on the TV, over the image of the Bladewolf and caressed it, a look of intrigue and curiosity in her eyes.
"You're a new one." She muttered softly to herself. "Maybe I'll cross your path and see what you're like for myself."
With that, she straightened up and walked towards the bathroom, dropping her towel along the way and finally stepped into the shower with the water soon running as the woman washed herself.
Soon, the Black Cat will be out to prowl...
George, dressed in his armoured suit, sat crouched on the ledge of a rooftop overlooking a construction site, which still seemed very active despite the late hour. Through his own means, he learned this was a Munitions and Narcotics stockpile... and a weapons deal was going to go down at this place tonight.
Behind the glowing red eyes of the helmet, George's eyes narrowed at the sight of the active construction site. He then stood and took out a grappling hook from his belt, then shot out so he can swing from it towards the construction site, which was a smaller building, maybe three or four stories, most of which seemed nearing completion, at least structurally.
Landing on the roof, George rolled then whipped out a pistol from a holster on his right thigh, scanning the rooftop on instinct. Sure enough, the plywood rooftop had several gaps in the center, carefully proceeding towards them, he looked inside.
"Holy shit." He breathed as he looked at the startling array of firepower on display. At the center of the room were several tables, all covered in a laundry list of guns, from Barretta 92 and Glock 17 handguns to Benelli M4 and Mossberg 590 shotguns, Uzi and FN P90 Submachine Guns to M4 and AKM Assault Rifles.
Any possibility this was simply a collection that would have made the biggest gun nut envious ended when George saw what was proudly displayed at the center of the tables. Mounted on a pintle with its associated power supply and massive ammunition belt was a six barreled M134 Minigun.
"Christmas just came early for me." George said with a small smirk under the mask. He then watched as a half dozen men entered the room, buyers probably, indeed, two began showing off the various items while the others listened to the sales pitch. While they were occupied, he carefully slid the plywood over until there was a man-sized gap in the roof before he took a deep breath and dropped in.
As he stood to his full height and shouldered his weapon, he saw the six men turn to face him. "Knock knock, Gentlemen." Bladewolf said darkly.
"Oh shit." he heard one of the men whisper and saw him back up in fear. No doubt word of his war on crime has spread throughout the criminal underworld of New York, of what he's done to the Dogs of Hell, the Kitchen Irish and the Mexican Cartel. "It's him! It's the Grim Reaper!"
'Grim Reaper? Is that what they're calling me? Bladewolf the Grim Reaper...' George thought with an amused snort.
"Don;t you dare pussy out!" One of the buyer snapped at his man before looking at the armoured vigilante while his hand crept towards the visible pistol in his waistband. "You got a lot of nerve showing your face here, pal. I don't know whatever hellhole you crawled out of, but when you get there, tell the Devil you ain't so tough."
"Why don't you tell him yourself?" Bladewolf retorted darkly. "You're about to meet him."
The silence in the room was tense as the two parties were locked in a stare down until George saw a flicker of movement that he was sure was the drawing of a weapon. He reacted by whipping out two M4A1 Carbine Assault Rifles hidden underneath his trench coat, which he proceeded to pull the triggers on and unload a hailstorm of bullets into the thugs. The first six men in front of him, including the buyer who mouthed off to him, were shot down, while the rest quickly made for cover as they fired back at him.
The doors to the room swung open as more gunmen rushed into the room guns a blazin'. George turned one of the guns in their direction and fired blindly, aiming the other to the left and firing it blindly. Once the rifles ran out of their ammo, George tossed them aside and rolled to one of the tables with a Benelli M4, which he proceeded to pick up and fire on the thugs with.
Getting up close with one, George shot him in the head, blowing his brain to smithereens, then used the shotgun as a club to bash the skull of another gunman in. Tossing the shotgun aside, George engaged another thug in hand-to-hand combat before easily overpowering him, broke his arms in two places and used him as a shield when the gunmen reloaded their mags and proceeded to fire on the vigilante, but the human shield took the bullets instead, riddling him and staining the ground with blood and bullet shells.
Tossing the body aside, George cocked the shotgun and returned fire.
"Die!" A thug yelled as he charged the vigilante, but George grabbed him and pulled on his left arm, easily dislocating it, before he shot it off with the shotgun, which made blood gush out the missing limb like a fountain, then George used the arm as a weapon on the thug before dropping the arm.
Grabbing a AK-47 off the table, George cocked it and fired on the thugs until they were all dead. He wasn't done just yet however; he could hear the sound of many men running towards the room. Quickly retreating away from the one main entrance, he wracked his brain for his options, he didn't want to rush out guns blazing and kill someone he didn't mean to, but at the same time, he refused to lose the initiative. Looking around the room, his eyes soon came to rest on something as a plan began to formulate.
"Now that could work." He said as he slide hopped to the M134.
Getting behind the gun, he waited. He didn't have to wait long as a barrage of gunfire cut through the hall and, followed by a torrent of curses and swears.
All of which was replaced by the unmistakable sound of the Minigun as it unleashed 6,000 rounds per minute downrange, George sweeping the wall in front of him, counting on the penetrating power of the 5.56mm rounds to slice through the sheetrock and anyone on the other side.
In five seconds, George was now standing in a pool of 500 brass cases, the entire length of the belt had been fired, the wall now resembling swiss cheese. But the brief respite ended as the survivors of the assault returned fire through the wall as well, forcing the armoured vigilante off of the minigun as he slid behind a table he knocked onto its side for cover.
Looking over his protection, he saw two thugs silhouetted in the doorway, grabbed a nearby Super 90 shotgun, promptly raised and fired the shotgun twice, sending both flying. A third poked his head out before a gunshot from the Super 90 forced it back into safety.
"Give it up!" Yelled someone from the other side of the wall. "We have you surrounded, and this is the only way out!"
"That's what they always say." George muttered to himself before pausing as he heard the faint sounds of police sirens in the distance. Looks like someone reported a noise complaint here.
Grabbing a Armalite AR-18 in his left hand while grabbing a Franchi SPAS-12 in his right, the Bladewolf stood and proceeded to fire both guns on the blown-open doorway, no doubt forcing the men outside to break for cover. Using that chance, George tossed the guns aside before he took his grappling hook out, shot it through the roof and ascended out onto the roof of the building, then prioceeded to shoot the hook out to another, taller building which he went sailing towards, landing on the rooftop.
"Not a bad night, I'd say." George muttered to himself as he left the scene...
Sorry if this chapter was't that great.