Obligatory Disclaimer : I do not own anything (except maybe OC characters) all characters, places, worlds, universes…etc mentioned here belong to their respective owners and/or companies. 

This is purely a work of fiction. Not meant to offend or incite, but to entertain and (maybe) inspire.

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TRUST ISSUES

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‘If you can’t buy it, you’re broke.’—A common thief. 

Here. The faceless guy handed me a cyoa—a choose your own adventure—sheet, one based on marvel. 

Choose. He directed. 

I did. I picked a pen up from his table and made a quick choice. Healing factor and an innate adaptive ability to give me extreme survivability. Genius level intellect combined with a photographic memory so I could learn things with but a glance, if you can’t get the sharingan you’ve gotta improvise. I took warp immunity to resist all the reality and matter warpers affecting my body, and pinpoint accuracy to never miss. And last of all, I took unbreakable, immutable soul to protect my center from mickey mouse shenanigans and to have a passive protective effect on my mind. 

I handed the sheet back to him. He told me how much what I chose cost, and balanced the points. I was thankfully a point just under the red limit. He gave me my handicap, I’d have to suffer things that’ll make me wish for death for a while. 

I closed my eyes and I woke up as a baby. Now the question is, are you going to take my word for it and believe all this shit I said or are you going to look for the ‘real’ truth somewhere between the lines.

*.*.*.*.*

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If there was one place to build my rep as a prolific killer, that place would be Madripoor. An island for criminals by criminals for criminals. The worst of the worst call it home, I call it my new hunting ground. 

I gave the, honest-to-god, pirate captain the silver sword and he gave me passage onto his ship. I wasn’t necessarily beholden to the weapon, it was a fine tool, but a tool nonetheless. One that would bring disaster for the pirate, considering the Hand would be searching high and low for it.

I boarded his vessel with my still bloodied clothes, nay, rags. I did not have a dollar or cent to my name. My entire possession amounted to the rags on my back, that would soon change however. 

I could see the way other passengers eyed me, those smart enough to notice the blood wasn’t mine steered clear, but those blinded by greed and lust, those ones kept their eyes locked on me. I might have given them a bit of a push, by releasing specific pheromones targeted at them, I was assured to have them attack me soon enough. Criminals weren’t always bad people, but bad people were mostly criminals. The thing with bad people is we understand that you take what you want by force. 

I sat in a meditative pose, steadily releasing chemicals into the night air, making my targets want to simultaneously want to kill and fuck me. 

“Fuck it.” One threw his cigarette into the dark waters and approached me. “What’s a kid like you doing on this ship.” The man said, a menacing scar over his right eye, the moonlight reflected off his shining bald head. 

“I-I was looking for Joe.” I said in faux anxiety. Eyes observed, yet no one made to interrupt. Perfect. 

“Joe who?” It took everything I had to hold back the laughter as the gruff man asked, standing over me now, emboldened by my show of fear. The lust in his eyes was as loud as the saliva building up in his mouth. 

“Joe mama.” I sprung, striking his neck with a palm chop that crunched through his windpipe.

“Uhrk!!” He wheezed, dropping to his knees and clutching his throat, trying by all means to breathe through the shattered organ. I placed a palm beneath his chin and another on the back of his skull. 

—Crack! I twisted his head 180 degrees beyond what his anatomy allowed, shattering his atlas and axis vertebra, severing his spinal column and cord. He crumpled to the wooden flooring, unmoving and lifeless. 

I searched his body for my loot, retrieving a small stack of fifty dollar bills which amounted to a solid $500, a switchblade, a medallion of some kind, a burner phone, a pack of cigarettes and a metal lighter. I stashed it all.

I stripped him of his black boots and leather jacket, they were large but would do. The rest of his garments weren’t worth it, not with the stench on them. I dragged his body to the edge and threw it over the railing, watching it fall into the calm waters with a splash before it sank. 

I turned back to meet eyes that stared with new weight, some wiped the sweat of their brow, sighing in relief at not acting on their desires against me. I gave them as innocent a smile as I could muster.

I grabbed the smoke and put one on my lips, this is to never being able to get cancer. Healing factors just friggin rule. I lit the cig and took in a deep fucking drag. It's been too long. 

I stood by the railing, smoke slowly wafting up from my lips as I exhaled. 

The stars were out tonight, the clouds hung to the sky in lazy clumps that gave the atmosphere more serenity than it deserved. The moon peeked out from above the wafting clouds, dyeing the dark waters a milky pale glow.

It was picture perfect and beautiful. 

*.*.*.*.*

Let me be clear, Madripoor was a place for the very rich and also for the very poor. It was an island nation located on the southwest of Singapore, off the strait of Malacca. It had a capital and single city which, as you guessed it, was the said Madripoor. 

The curious thing about this city was that it was separated into two distinct districts, Hightown and Lowtown. Hightown is where the rich dwell, it is the city that puts New York to shame, it is the place to party, to spend and make insane amounts of money. Thing is, since the island nation did not allow extradition, it was a safe haven for criminal activity on all levels. 

I stepped off the ship and walked down the Harbor, observing Lowtown as I progressed into the city, you didn’t need to smell it to know it was an absolute shithole. There were no rules in this place, there was no code of operation. It was simply an abyss of sin, vice and degradation. There was no act sacred, no desire profane. As long as you have the money for it, everything goes. 

Allow me to emphasize; everything goes. That was the kind of place Lowtown was. This was the shit you couldn’t get shown on the pages of a comic book or in the movies. This was the reality of this place. If your mind could conjure it up, then you could get it here. 

The first thing I needed was information. Without it I’d be lost, more than I already was.

“Hey kid, you’re new here right?” A clean shaven man dressed in even cleaner blue Khakis and an open breasted Hawaiian shirt approached. He looked like he did not belong in a place like this. 

“What’s it to you?” 

“You look like you’ve been through some rough shit. Looks like you could use a hand.” He said, a disarming smile on his face as he gave me a scrutinizing look. Ah, he’s that kind of bastard.

“A-are you really going to help me?” I performed. 

“Trust me kid. C’mon, let’s get you some clothes and something to eat.” He said, gesturing me along. I followed the man as he told me of Lowtown, places and people to avoid and why to avoid them. 

“So where can I find information?”

“In these parts, that’ll be the Harbor Pub, but I strongly advise against going there. Too many rotten apples in one place.” He said. Had he forgotten that this was Madripoor? Rotten apples were the only things here. 

He took me to a clothing store where I acquired a matching set of durable and fitting black denim jeans, and similarly colored long sleeved shirts. I still kept my leather jacket with me, I liked it enough, but switched out the boots for a steel toed variant that fit better. 

I stood before the full-length mirror and observed my reflection. Simple and efficient. Oh, and handsome too. Not to sit on my own dick, which was impossible mind you, but I was certainly a head turner. Chocolate brown skin, angular jawline, slightly raised cheeks, sharp brown eyes reminiscent of a hawk’s, a fucking cute nose of all things and lips that made one just want to lick and chew on them, and lest I forget, a side fade to make me the king of E-fuckboys. I looked like someone the devil personally designed to tempt and seduce God’s children despite their sexual orientation or better nature.

I was extremely fuckable in simple terms. Which meant I’d become even more so as I aged. Don’t blame me for being handsome, blame my biology for choosing the form best guaranteed for my survival and the propagation of my seed. All I needed now was a gothic girl to bring darkness and black nail polish into my life. 

His eyes widened when he saw me come out the booth, him and the attendant both, and wouldn’t you know it, lust was in the air.

“How much?” I said to the attendant. 

“No, please it’s on the house. Could you however grant me a request?” The Asian lady waved her hands, my eyes went to the razor scars etched on the back of her palms and the thin scar running along her left brow. “I would like to take a single picture of you.”

“Why?”

“You’re very striking. And it is our store tradition to honor our most outstanding customers in such a manner.” She bowed, a camera already in her hands. 

Shit, with the way she’s blowing up my ego, my head probably wouldn’t fit out the door. I allowed the photo-op. She smiled contently and put it up next to a row of other similarly ‘striking’ individuals. It’s always good to have origins, that pic would probably be worth much more than the whole store in time. After all, I was greatness in the making. 

From the store, the guy, whose name I threw to the wind, then brought me to a restaurant by the harbor, sat me down and ordered for the both of us. 

Since he didn’t ask me for money, I sniffed the food, nothing funny in it, and ate to my heart’s content.

“Slow down pal, it’s not running away.” He laughed. I laughed along, sheepishly rubbing the back of my head. He then offered me a bottle of cold water, I cracked it open and, while he watched expectantly, I held it to my mouth.

“Hey, why are you helping me?” I placed the bottle down.

“I was once in your spot, I needed someone to help me too but well, my luck was pure shit.” He sighed. “I make it a mission to help kids like you these days, so they don’t fall into the shit I did. Now eat up, when we’re done here we’ll find you a safe place to stay.”

“That makes me feel way better for doing this.” I grinned, bringing the bottle up.

“Doing what?” He asked, still smiling along.

“This.” I splashed the water into his eyes and heeled the table into his abdomen, sending him to the floor. Others stopped eating to watch the ongoing display.

I could smell the poison in the bottle from a mile away, its subtle fishy scent reminded me of something I was trained to build a resistance to. A drink spike that left you sedated and paralyzed. 

I rose from my seat and steadily approached him. He wiped at his reddened eyes and rolled to his feet. A blade now in his hand and pointed menacingly. “I’ll fucking gut you like a pig you little bastard.” He spat, gone was his signature smile, replaced by a murderous snarl.

I retrieved the switchblade from my pocket and looked the man in the eye. I’ll be taking the right.

Swish! 

I hurled the weapon at him the same moment he decided to move. It cut through the air and right into him.

His feet folded from under him like a puppet with cut strings, hammering his head and back to the floor. The switchblade’s entire length was embedded deep into his right eye socket and frontal lobe, its handle poking out of his frozen face. 

I walked over to his body, noticing an expression of deep reluctance on his dead face, guess he didn’t want to die. I searched his pockets, retrieving some more dollar notes, a smartphone and some miscellaneous items which I stashed into my pockets. 

I left his body on the floor, pulling my bloodied blade from his eye and wiping it on his nice shirt. I took his blade as well, a short and slightly curved glinting dagger, which I placed by the belt of my jeans. 

I checked through the phone, seeing a sneak pic of myself with the title of prey sent to someone who said my face and organs would fetch a good price. I marked them down for later. 

I could probably make money selling my own organs. My healing factor would allow me to constantly regrow them so there wasn’t necessarily a loss there. Except someone might use it to make clones of me, plus I didn’t want to make money that way, I had to make it through blood and sweat, well the other type of blood and sweat that didn’t warrant me seating on an operating table and having my insides dug out for profit.

I thanked the waiter for the food, paid for it. Which left me $220 poorer and with a newfound respect for inflation.

“Sir, can I have the body?” He asked, bowing. He couldn’t have been a day older than twenty-five . He’ll probably harvest the organs and sell it before the body gets too cold. 

“Go ahead.” 

“Thank you.” He beamed, whistled for his colleague who jumped in joy. They grabbed the guy by the foot and pulled his body out the restaurant, leaving a trail of blood behind that a third waiter mopped up. 

What a wonderful place. I stepped out of the establishment and found my way to the Harbor Bar. I need to start working and getting paid for this shit, a lazy man don’t eat. 

*.*.*.*.*.*

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The moment I stop having fun with it, I’ll be done with it. Drake on writing.

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