- See -
Seven Years, Three Months, Fourteen Days, and Eleven Hours Ago
Wilson Fisk was a large man. His girth was easily three times that of the young woman behind him. His bald head shone in the artificial lights of the skyrise apartment overlooking New York. A heavy cane bore the brunt of his ponderous weight. He was smoking a cigar, blowing out the roiling heavy smoke with its spicy fragrance and nicotine odor, while staring out the pristine glass at the tiny, heltering, skeltering people below. He lifted one meaty hand and gestured for the girl to come closer.
She stepped forward until the glass showed back his shrewdly thoughtful expression, reflected in the glaring pane.
"There's something I want you to do," he said, enunciating his words clearly and distinctly. He blew out another ring of smoke to break against the glass. He waited for it to dissipate completely. "I want you to go and visit a business acquaintance of mine. Jean-Luc LeBeau."
He turned and she stepped closer to him. She was so much smaller than him, wearing fitted leathers to his tailored suit, with dark, golden red skin to his pasty white complexion, thick black hair swinging at her waist to his bald head. Her eyes drank him in, focused unerringly at his mouth.
"You will offer him information in exchange for a favor." Fisk placed the cigar in his mouth again and inhaled deeply before breathing out.
She waved a hand to break up the smoke.
He chuckled, then sobered. "Tell him you are the Kingpin's daughter. He'll listen."
"What is the information?" she said. A light thickness coated her voice.
"Worthington, Stark, and SHIELD have created a proposal to use their Cure on baseline humans of any age, in addition to all known mutants. It has no side effects," he told her. "Mutants are the new nuclear warheads, Maya." He shook a warning finger at her. "The nations won't stand for it."
She studied his mouth, his face.
"Soon every person and every newborn child will be 'inoculated,'" he said, his tongue curling in disgust around the word, "against mutation."
She caught her breath.
"In exchange for this information, he is to hide you until the cleansing period is complete." Fisk stumped forward heavily on his cane and placed the burdensome weight of his free hand upon her shoulder. "You will not be Cured!"
Wilson Fisk was a large man. His girth was easily three times that of the young woman behind him. His bald head shone in the artificial lights of the skyrise apartment overlooking New York. A heavy cane bore the brunt of his ponderous weight. He was smoking a cigar, blowing out the roiling heavy smoke with its spicy fragrance and nicotine odor, while staring out the pristine glass at the tiny, heltering, skeltering people below. He lifted one meaty hand and gestured for the girl to come closer.
She stepped forward until the glass showed back his shrewdly thoughtful expression, reflected in the glaring pane.
"There's something I want you to do," he said, enunciating his words clearly and distinctly. He blew out another ring of smoke to break against the glass. He waited for it to dissipate completely. "I want you to go and visit a business acquaintance of mine. Jean-Luc LeBeau."
He turned and she stepped closer to him. She was so much smaller than him, wearing fitted leathers to his tailored suit, with dark, golden red skin to his pasty white complexion, thick black hair swinging at her waist to his bald head. Her eyes drank him in, focused unerringly at his mouth.
"You will offer him information in exchange for a favor." Fisk placed the cigar in his mouth again and inhaled deeply before breathing out.
She waved a hand to break up the smoke.
He chuckled, then sobered. "Tell him you are the Kingpin's daughter. He'll listen."
"What is the information?" she said. A light thickness coated her voice.
"Worthington, Stark, and SHIELD have created a proposal to use their Cure on baseline humans of any age, in addition to all known mutants. It has no side effects," he told her. "Mutants are the new nuclear warheads, Maya." He shook a warning finger at her. "The nations won't stand for it."
She studied his mouth, his face.
"Soon every person and every newborn child will be 'inoculated,'" he said, his tongue curling in disgust around the word, "against mutation."
She caught her breath.
"In exchange for this information, he is to hide you until the cleansing period is complete." Fisk stumped forward heavily on his cane and placed the burdensome weight of his free hand upon her shoulder. "You will not be Cured!"
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