[Upper East Side, Manhattan]
The East River stretched out like an endless void, its inky black waters mirroring the shrouded sky above. On the edge of the docks, two mobsters loitered, sharing a pack of cheap cigarettes and idle conversation. Their breaths mingled with the smoke, barely visible against the oppressive dark.
The city's ceaseless hum was muted here, replaced by the rhythmic lapping of water against the dock.
"It's gotten way noisier, I can tell you that much. Ever since that Castle bastard came back from the dead..." Grumbled the older of the two, exhaling a cloud of smoke that quickly dissolved into the night air. His weathered face, lit briefly by the ember of his cigarette, spoke of years spent skulking in the shadows of Manhattan's underbelly.
The younger one, thinner and jittery, leaned on the dock's railing and gazed out at the river. "Queens has been too hot to handle lately." The older man continued. "Since that hit a month ago, everyone's pulling back to Manhattan. Keeps things contained, you know?"
"Why, though? What's so special about Manhattan?"
The older man shrugged, flicking his spent cigarette into the void below. "Beats me. These vigilantes are a pain in the ass, sure, but not enough to make us overhaul everything. Still, I don't ask questions, I'm just some grunt."
The younger man raised an eyebrow, his curiosity piqued. "You've got a theory, don't you? I've been hearing whispers about weird stuff. Like how they're leaving the Bronx for the Harlem gangs to handle. Almost like they're tying up loose ends. Doesn't seem right."
The older man shot him a cautious glance, his voice dropping to a hushed whisper. "Keep it down, kid. You want to hear something, fine. But not a word of this gets out, you hear me?"
The younger man nodded eagerly, leaning in close as though proximity could shield them from unseen ears. "Spit it out already." He urged.
The older man scanned their surroundings, guards patrolled the rooftops, their silhouettes cutting sharp angles against the dim glow of the city lights. The air was heavy with tension, the kind that made you second-guess every shadow.
"There's a rumour going around..." The older man began, his voice just above a whisper. "Word is, there's a new player in town. Some big boss muscling in, trying to bring down the Maggia. And not just a small fry, either. This guy's serious. Silvermane's on edge, and you didn't hear this from me."
The younger man's eyes widened. "A new boss? Who the hell is it? What's their angle?"
"I don't know." The older man admitted, his face shadowed as he reached for another cigarette. "But it's got the old man spooked. And when Silvermane's scared, you know something big is coming." He lit the cigarette, the flame briefly illuminating his grim expression. "Hell, they're even talking about alliances outside the Maggia. That's unheard of. Something's rotten in this city, and I don't like it one bit."
The younger man opened his mouth to respond, but before a single word escaped, a sharp, unfamiliar voice cut through the gloom like a blade.
"Fascinating story."
They froze. The voice was cold, calculated, a harbinger of violence. Before either could react, two massive white gauntlets shot out from the darkness, clamping down on their faces. Their cigarettes seared their lips as they choked on smoke, their muffled cries of agony drowned by the crackle of breaking bone.
Their skulls collided with a sickening crunch, and their bodies slumped to the dock, unconscious before they hit the ground.
A sudden thwip echoed, and thick webs bound their hands together, locking them in an unyielding grip. The assailant ensured they wouldn't be going anywhere, at least, not until the cops arrived to clean up the mess.
YOU ARE READING
- Black Tarantula - Male Reader x Marvel
Fanfiction[Male Reader x Marvel] Being a hero is a hard task, and not because of tough enemies, or the threat of death, but because it was about making a choice, a choice to take responsibility into one's own hands, and strike out for what they believed was r...
