Post by shadejak on Apr 14, 2023 14:34:23 GMT -7
This song and dance had gone on long enough. From raising a little Christmas spirit, to killing one of the Devils in her own home with her own laptop she posted her self-righteous dribble all over social media with... He'd made sure she was online and streaming live on ClikClok when he'd done the job, though the most anyone saw was someone dragging her away from the camera before the laptop closed and wound up in her rib cage. Fun times!
Dex had kept himself busy with using Turk to give him connections and a few supplies, and the man was all too happy to accept the bundles of cash Bullseye handed him like they were used tissues. Money was never the motive for Bullseye. He never spent outside of what he absolutely needed, the rest was for show of his success and how much people were willing to pay him to get the job done. He sometimes wondered if he had more then Fisk or Osborn.
The Devils had been a nuisance, he did wonder when the police would just nut up and arrest them all or go scorched earth on them, not out of concern for peoples' well-being, rather because they pissed the assassin off to no end with how they dared to defile Red's name, had the audacity to wear Red's horns, and think they had earned it. He'd cut down more then he could remember, a fitting punishment for those clueless college kids and losers whose piece of paper mom and dad spent fortune on didn't get them anywhere in life.
The small graveyard he'd made of them would only hasten Red's pursuit. It was time, he'd left the most obvious clue behind to make it clear the gauntlet had been thrown and he was more then ready for him. Throwing stars, kunai knives, his Mauser, one of Red's billy clubs, and a deck of cards would be enough. He'd sent Turk his last payment and told him to go spend it on a call girl rather then cheap hookers for a change.
The thought of someone like Turk who looked like he'd seen better days shagging it up with someone the upper crust would call once their work shifts in Wall Street were over was hilarious enough to make the assassin laugh. Still, the man did his job and Bullseye may have been a ruthless killer but he was also a professional and kept his word. The man had done his part, no need to pull the rug out from under him when he'd potentially be useful again later.
Outside, revving up his motorcycle, Bullseye made his way to his destination. Buildings blurred past him, lights became glowing snakes freaming his field of vision as he sped through the dark streets of New York, out of the slummy area he'd been hiding out in, through the better parts, his trenchcoat flapping in the wind behind him as he picked up speed, a wide grin like a hungry beast spreading across his face.
Time to play.
Dex had kept himself busy with using Turk to give him connections and a few supplies, and the man was all too happy to accept the bundles of cash Bullseye handed him like they were used tissues. Money was never the motive for Bullseye. He never spent outside of what he absolutely needed, the rest was for show of his success and how much people were willing to pay him to get the job done. He sometimes wondered if he had more then Fisk or Osborn.
The Devils had been a nuisance, he did wonder when the police would just nut up and arrest them all or go scorched earth on them, not out of concern for peoples' well-being, rather because they pissed the assassin off to no end with how they dared to defile Red's name, had the audacity to wear Red's horns, and think they had earned it. He'd cut down more then he could remember, a fitting punishment for those clueless college kids and losers whose piece of paper mom and dad spent fortune on didn't get them anywhere in life.
The small graveyard he'd made of them would only hasten Red's pursuit. It was time, he'd left the most obvious clue behind to make it clear the gauntlet had been thrown and he was more then ready for him. Throwing stars, kunai knives, his Mauser, one of Red's billy clubs, and a deck of cards would be enough. He'd sent Turk his last payment and told him to go spend it on a call girl rather then cheap hookers for a change.
The thought of someone like Turk who looked like he'd seen better days shagging it up with someone the upper crust would call once their work shifts in Wall Street were over was hilarious enough to make the assassin laugh. Still, the man did his job and Bullseye may have been a ruthless killer but he was also a professional and kept his word. The man had done his part, no need to pull the rug out from under him when he'd potentially be useful again later.
Outside, revving up his motorcycle, Bullseye made his way to his destination. Buildings blurred past him, lights became glowing snakes freaming his field of vision as he sped through the dark streets of New York, out of the slummy area he'd been hiding out in, through the better parts, his trenchcoat flapping in the wind behind him as he picked up speed, a wide grin like a hungry beast spreading across his face.
Time to play.
