JohnnyZ
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[Life is Good] Chapter 43
🕑 Added 2025-02-07 18:22:49 +0000 UTCFisk paced around her office, irritation rolling off her in waves. The conversation with Mysterio… yeah… calling that screaming match a “conversation” would be a fucking stretch. So much had been fucked up. A massive, inexcusable failure. And no, it wasn’t just about the “cargo” those idiots had lost. There were bigger problems.
Two people—people who knew too much—had landed in police custody.
Scorpia was missing.
No concrete intel, just some early rumors that she was dead. But Fisk needed guarantees. Tailed bitch knew her personally. And knew way too much.
Some decent fighters were lost, but worst of all? Another blow to Fisk’s reputation.
And those couple million in cash? The ones stored in the safe at that hideout, meant for “delivery” payouts? Not even worth mentioning at this point. Cleaning up the aftermath was proving even more expensive.
Mysterio whined that Scorpia had insisted on defending the place…
Goddess, why the hell had they even started this shit if that dumbass Coll was just gonna fuck it up? And Mysterio? Fucking idiot. If she’d used her illusions properly, she could’ve extracted the key people, the cash, maybe even a couple of the cuter, younger slave girls, and just left the cops with the dregs. That’s it! No shootouts, no aggravating charges. The right lawyers would’ve spun some bullshit to get minimal sentences for the girls, and Fisk wouldn’t have this raging headache right now.
Instead, she spent the rest of the night and part of the morning micromanaging damage control. Four detainees—two who knew too much and two of the most unreliable—had conveniently dropped dead in their cells. The others? A little “chat” had been arranged.
The official story: those four were the traitors who sold them out. Dirty snitches. Spineless rats. Backstabbing trash. Nothing riled up survivors quite like the thought of an inside job. And the two “unreliables” being among the dead only made the story more convincing. A simple equation: these four talked = these four are dead. It kept the others from running off to Silver-Haired Bitch for protection. Fisk could stomach a lot, but that kind of humiliation? Absolutely not.
Then there was Scorpia. As of now, Fisk had finally confirmed she was alive. Well. Not completely dead. Did that make things better? Not even remotely. Someone had taken her.
Who? Where? No answers—yet. Her people were on it. She needed to be retrieved or eliminated. Preferably the former. Too much money had been pumped into her. As mind-numbingly stupid as she was, she was still a rare asset.
This entire goddamn disaster was because of her. Stupid decisions, escalating shit for no reason. Why…
Fisk growled, realizing she’d been stuck in an endless loop of cursing that fucking tailed cretin Coll.
And then there was that Silvermane Cunt… She’d called Fisk, her voice dripping with fake sympathy, asking how she was holding up, whether she needed help. She even asked if she should send over a couple of “pseudo-boys” along with a bottle of high-end contraband liquor to help her de-stress. Fisk would bet her entire empire that the moment she hung up, that damn Sicilian hyena laughed her ass off with her inner circle.
And that damn mutant boy? He’d clearly picked Kingpin as his personal arch-nemesis. Three incidents, all hitting her operations. No wonder the Sicilian bitch was so happy—Daredevil and the Punisher were already tearing through Fisk’s business on the regular, then that new little Spider-Bitch showed up, and now there was this Salamander punk. And the worst part? He worked both solo and with the cops. Fisk got that info straight from her moles in law enforcement and the fucking newspapers.
She glared at the fresh morning edition of the Daily Bugle with pure hatred. J.J. was slobbering all over that little bastard. They put a whole ass interview with him on the front page, turning a dozen sentences into a fucking anthem for the little freak: responsible, blah-blah-blah, a role model for supers, a true American hero. An oppressed but unbroken victim of government experiments! The bigger man, who forgives, who holds no grudge against America!
Jameson went hard on that one. And she sure as hell didn’t forget to throw shade at her former darling, Spider-Bitch. A whole fifth of the article was just “Be like Salamander, or at least stop interfering with people doing their jobs.”
Fisk would’ve laughed if the situation wasn’t making her want to break something.
She’d given orders about the kid after his first hit, but now? Now she was getting personally involved. Time to light a fire under her people’s asses. She needed info on that brat. His weaknesses. His pressure points.
Superheroes were an unavoidable evil, but here’s the thing—when their attention is scattered, it’s like a lottery. Whoever gets unlucky that day, gets unlucky. But when a super zeroes in on you? That’s a personal enemy. And personal enemies need to be dealt with. Brutally.
I slept at home last night.
You have no idea how amazing that was.
My room. My bed. My pillow. Everything familiar and cozy. Goddamn, I wanted to stay home forever.
Too bad it wasn’t an option. My school was way too far, and even on a car, I’d be wasting way too much time commuting every day. And with my lifestyle, spending three hours of daylight just on travel? Stupid and inefficient.
I rode home from the hospital with my family. Called Xavier, let her know what’s up. Got the day off from classes, with the promise they’d pick me up tomorrow morning. Baldy McTelepath did strongly warn me to be careful with “Fire.” She stressed that word so much that I had zero doubt she meant my Flames.
Charlene… she’s too good for this world. Erika thinks she’s too good, and yeah, sometimes I agree. But someone like her has to exist. Without her? The temptation for mutants to say fuck it, let’s just build our own kingdom with blackjack and hookers would be a lot higher. She’s the angel on the community’s shoulder, constantly whispering: "Let’s not commit war crimes today, guys."
So yeah, I got the best sleep ever—until I was rudely awakened by a solid elbow to the nose. Not painful—thanks to my powers. But terrifying. I bolted awake in a blind panic—not for myself, but for G’s safety. If I’d reacted wrong—even slightly—she could’ve ended up on the receiving end of an explosive mix of fire and electricity.
Ginger was curled up next to me in my bed, sleeping as restlessly as always. Which is how she managed to clock me in the face in the first place. Scary. So fucking scary.
And you know there had to be payback. Swift, ruthless payback.
So I wrapped her up tight in my arms and held her close.
She squirmed, whining about how she wasn’t a little kid anymore and how I should be ashamed of myself. Even weakly punched my chest.
But ten seconds later? She gave up.
And then? She snuggled into me herself.
My little Ginger. My tiny, adorable disaster of a sister.
We just lay there like that for a few minutes. Me, breathing into the wild mess of red hair on her head. Her, softly snoring into my chest.
“Alright, Toby. I gotta pee. Lemme go.”
Reluctantly, I released her. Got a quick peck on the cheek before she darted off, bare feet padding across the floor. The bathroom door slammed shut.
I stayed in bed, smiling like an idiot. This was bliss. No alcohol. No drugs. No meaningless hookups. Just home. And family. Pure, absolute, fucking happiness.
Enjoyed the moment—now time to get shit done. Three important things on the schedule today. First, I called Deadpool this morning and invited her for a bite. In classic "chaos is my middle name" fashion, she spent a solid ten minutes rattling off every possible place we could go, before finally settling on the same park where she once hijacked a taxi—with me inside it. Checked the time… still two hours before the meetup, plenty of time for a shower and some coffee.
Then, Penny. After such a long time apart, I was looking forward to seeing her again. Excited, sure, but not the kind of excitement that makes your heart pound. Not that my feelings had faded, but after everything that had gone down recently… the weight of the moment had dulled a little. Once she arrived, we’d be heading to see Mom Betty together with my family. After that, finally, I’d have some one-on-one time with my girl, no interruptions, just us.
Sophie, one of Penny’s moms, had come into town for the week and brought my Little Black Sunbeam with her so we could spend some time together. We’d already cleared it with Charlene—Penny would be staying at the school for the week, but tonight, she was crashing at my place.
Dragged myself out of bed and shuffled to the bathroom for the usual hygiene routine, then straight to the kitchen, where Ginger was already making breakfast. Mom Judy was still asleep but probably wouldn’t be for much longer, so my sister was cooking for three.
Sure enough, the smell of food soon lured out a slightly groggy mom. Breakfast was… more cheerful than somber. Yeah, there were moments when one of us glanced at Betty’s empty seat and felt a pang, but we didn’t let it pull us down. Laughter filled the table—me and Ginger swapping school stories, Mom chiming in with her own comments. We were just enjoying each other’s company.
Finished eating, got ready, and called a cab. Once inside, I took a good look around using my energy sight and, when I found nothing suspicious, relaxed into the seat. The house, though? Different story. Did a quick check before I left and found some tiny little devices in places where they definitely shouldn’t be. Bugs. Probably surveillance. Didn’t say a word to the girls—no reason to freak them out—but I’d be giving Mom Betty a heads-up, carefully.
Honestly, I wasn’t surprised. The "powers that be" had me marked ever since the Striker lab incident. They’d already figured out the connection between me and Salamander. I knew they were watching me, and my family was under surveillance, too. The real question was: who and why?
There were plenty of candidates. No point in guessing blindly, but my money was on either SHIELD or Hydra—or, more likely, Hydra embedded within SHIELD. I had to admit, I’d been debating… who to side with. Yeah, horrible phrasing, but let’s be real here.
Mutants? Sure, I was always gonna stand with them. Keep my connections, help out however I could. But right now, the mutant community was isolated. A closed-off society, except for a few exceptions like Banner. We didn’t have strong ties to outside structures, aside from people like Xavier or Magneto. And even then… it wasn’t much.
And we were too few. That was another reason we stayed hidden.
So yeah, I’d always be a part of the mutant community. I’d protect my own, keep my ties strong, but we had to play the long game. The second the powers that be decided mutants were public enemy number one again? We’d need our people inside the system, not just outside it.
Which brought me to my dilemma: I needed to join something bigger. Not just for my personal power—though, yeah, that mattered—but for the backing of an organization. A place where I’d have resources, intelligence, and muscle behind me. No matter how strong I got, there’d always be problems too big for one person. Right now, there were a few powerful factions in the world. They all had their strengths and weaknesses. The problem? I didn’t want to join any of them.
But I probably had to.
Take SHIELD, for example. If I was a SHIELD agent and found bugs in my house? The next day, I’d be in my boss’s office, laying it all out. The pros would investigate. And if the bugs were SHIELD’s? I’d throw a fit, they’d do some fake groveling, promise to "respect my privacy," and improve their snooping methods so I wouldn’t notice next time. Maybe they’d even give me a bonus as a "sorry." The game would continue, same as always.
And that’s assuming they weren’t already keeping tabs on everyone important in their ranks. I didn’t believe for a second SHIELD wasn’t running at least some discreet monitoring on their own people. Not full-blown Big Brother, but definitely quiet surveillance. Every now and then, they’d do a little shake-up, just to keep everyone on their toes.
And who the hell was I supposed to go to about this now?
McCoy? What’s she gonna do—tell me the brand? Great, super helpful.
Magneto? She could fry them out of existence, sure. But she’d probably have to pull someone from more important work to do it.
Betty? At least she worked in law enforcement, where actual detectives got paid to look into this kind of thing.
And let’s say, hypothetically, we did track the bugs back to, I dunno, the Ten Rings. Then what? Declare war? And when the mutant enclaves ask why they should fight, what do I say? "Because they bugged my house"?
Yeah. No.
This needed serious thought—closer to when I finished school.
Right now, I was leaning toward SHIELD and, weirdly enough, Hydra.
Being openly with SHIELD and covertly working with Hydra might actually be the best way to keep my family safe. It’d let them stay put, no need for relocation, with a decent layer of security on top.
Best strategy for now? Keep doing what I was doing. Work with law enforcement, build a positive rep as a mutant who’s on the side of order. Make myself too valuable to screw over. Sooner or later, someone would come knocking.
“Hello, sir, I’ve been trying to reach you about your car’s — ehm, about your recruitment into SHIELD, blah blah blah. Would you like to save the world?” (1)
And that road? That led straight to Hydra.
Drop a few casual "A unified world under a strong government would be easier to protect" lines in conversation. Let them think it’s just some young idealist shit. Normal people would roll their eyes and move on. But Hydra?
They’d notice.
And they’d reach out.
If I played my cards right, they'd think they were recruiting me—when really, I'd be playing them.
Plans. So many damn plans. My head was starting to hurt.
And what if Hydra actually was wiped out in this world? What if Pierce was a loyal SHIELD director and not a Hydra snake?
Honestly? That’d be the best possible outcome. Would make life so much simpler.
But I wasn’t betting on it…
Damn. In my last life, when a problem was this big, I’d just gather my buddies, brainstorm some ideas, and come up with a solid plan. Now? It was just me.
Arrived. Paid the cabbie, stepped out into the fresh air, and checked the time. Got lucky with traffic—showed up a whole forty minutes early. Scanned my surroundings, spotted a bench near the park entrance, and made my way over. It was a weekday, middle of the day, not a lot of people around. Noticed a small coffee stand on the way and changed course. No line—perfect. As the barista performed their caffeinated sorcery, I just stood there, idly waiting.
Still, I wasn’t that relaxed. Last time someone snuck up on me, they sprayed knockout gas in my face, so yeah, I was keeping an eye on energy signatures in my range. Which is why, when someone approached soundlessly from behind, I reacted in the simplest, most effective way—I held my breath. Learned that trick at home. I can go a long time without air, so better safe than sorry. Besides, turning around all paranoid at every passerby? That’d make me look like a twitchy lunatic.
So, I took my double-shot Americano with hazelnut syrup and headed for my chosen bench, flicking a glance at whoever had been behind me. Turned out to be a man. A solid one. Mid-forties, refined features, not a trace of makeup, neat haircut, expensive black leather shoes, classic gray slacks peeking from beneath the tailored hem of his equally gray, perfectly fitted coat. A guy like that? Rare breed.
I actually felt a bit of respect—strictly dressed men were becoming an endangered species. Yeah, I’ve had decent luck with the guys around me, but there’s no shortage of "peacock syndrome" out there. Take that idiot MJ, for example.
Took a few sips of coffee, then tensed up. The guy had gotten his drink and was now casually making his way toward my bench. Even though plenty of others were empty.
Huh. Maybe he just wanted to chat? I wasn’t in a rush, and judging by his calm expression and unhurried pace, neither was he.
Still, my inner paranoia goblin woke up, and I started eyeing my coffee suspiciously. Maybe it was time to invest in a spatial-expansion flask and a backpack full of emergency snacks. Hell, did Marvel have poison detectors? I should check that.
"Hello, Tobias," the man greeted me with a warm, practiced smile. Instinctively, I tensed. "My name is Philip Coulson. I’d like to have a word with you, if you don’t mind."
Ah, shit. Here comes the car warranty sales pitch, I thought, warily nodding toward the empty space on the bench beside me.
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(1) If US got “I’ve been trying to reach you about your car’s extended warranty” meme then in Russia that niche is taken by Oriflame, MLM company that sells personal care products.
