Marvel: My Life Is A TV SHOW!-Chapter 131: Some D*ckings

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Chapter 131: Some Dickings

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She stepped closer, closing the distance between them. "Then let me offer something different. A partnership. Not with the Maggia as a whole; with me."

"I want to take over New York's underworld. Then the entire US. Every crime family, every head, every throne. I want to rule this place." Her visible eye burned with ambition. "Alongside you."

It seems that that's her goal from the start, a partnership with Adam, because if there is something they can agree on, it's that he rules Hell's Kitchen.

It's something the World knows about and Adam 'accidentally' leaked... He's doing the job of the cops here.

His mechanical spiders are everywhere in the district, and they are the reason why the previous crime-ridden streets are now heaven in comparison.

The effects of Adam's protection were seen and felt by the people here, and they genuinely love him more than anywhere else.

It's often that crime is prevented by his little cuties, those spiders releasing a simple electric shock, effective enough to put the targets unconscious.

Whitney Frost is smart enough to see the implications, and a hint of the future... What if Adam expands his protection? What will the results be? So she's here.

But...

Adam took another step forward. He was close enough now to touch her, close enough to see her pulse flutter at her throat. His hand rose, reaching for her face; for the mask.

"And I knew you'd be like this," He murmured. "So broken, exactly as I expected."

Whitney's hand snapped up, slapping his away; and immediately regretted it as her palm connected with unyielding titanium.

Pain shot up her arm. She stepped back, her composure cracking, "I didn't take you for insolent and impolite."

Adam laughed, the sound bright, "You have Mephisto to thank for that. He drilled rudeness into me personally. Not gently, I might add." His smile widened. "So you'll just have to deal with my insolence."

Before she could react, chains of blood erupted from him; crimson tendrils that wrapped around her arms, her legs, her throat, lifting her slightly off the ground.

She hung suspended, powerless, her golden mask gleaming in the dim light.

Whitney's voice remained steady, though her eye betrayed her apprehension. "You're making a mistake. I came here for cooperation. Pushing this to the point of no return..."

Adam stepped closer, his expression one of genuine curiosity. "Did you really think this meeting would go smoothly? That my circumstances make me desperate for allies?"

He shook his head slowly. "Let me correct a misconception. I am not in danger. They are in danger. Your little threat about making more enemies?"

He grinned. "That just sounds like a good time."

He reached out again, and this time, she couldn't move. His fingers brushed the edge of her golden mask.

"Where was I? Oh yes. You."

His voice dropped, becoming intimate, almost tender.

"I know you, Whitney Frost. Daughter of Count Luchino Nefaria, though you carry your mother's name. Born into wealth and power, raised to be a queen of crime. Your face..."

His fingers traced the mask's edge, "It was destroyed by an unfortunate incident, a plane crash. The chemicals finished the job."

"You've worn this mask ever since, hiding what you consider your greatest shame."

Whitney's visible eye widened.

"You rebuilt yourself. Became Madame Masque. Took control of the Maggia's American operations."

"You've killed more people than most diseases. Betrayed allies, climbed the ladder of organized crime on a foundation of corpses."

His smile was gentle. "And yet, here you are. Offering partnership to a man you barely know, hoping he'll be the tool you need to finally take everything."

He leaned closer. "I saw you coming from a mile away. Predicted every word that would come out of your mouth." A pause. "Well, almost every word. I'm not that intelligent. Yet."

His eyes gleamed. "But the things I can see now, the visions, the voices; I can't even begin to describe it. Intelligence above all, my dear. Above power, above wealth, above love. Intelligence."

His hand closed on the mask.

Whitney struggled, yelled; but the blood chains held. Terror filled her visible eye, terror of exposure, of someone finally seeing the ruined face beneath the golden facade.

She's someone so ashamed of her disfigured face that she's killed everyone who has seen it.

Adam lifted the mask away.

He looked at her. At the scarred, melted skin. The touch of acid had forever altered her features. The face she had hidden from the world for years.

His expression didn't change.

Whitney's eye dropped, resignation flooding through her. She waited for the disgust, the pity she so hates, the revulsion she had seen in every person, every enemy, every mirror.

Instead, Adam raised his free hand. One nail extended into a razor-sharp claw.

Without hesitation, he drew it across his own cheek; a long, deliberate cut that welled with blood.

The crimson flowed. It danced, rising from his skin to swirl in the air between them, forming into exquisite flowers; roses, lilies, orchids, each petal perfectly rendered in liquid red.

"I miss my scars," Adam said conversationally, as if he hadn't just carved his own face.

"My nature, you know; it heals everything. No marks remain. I had so many memorable scars, so many stories carved into my skin, and I lost them all."

He watched the blood-flowers spin. "In that regard, I envy you."

Whitney stared, her anxiety momentarily forgotten.

"But I also don't. A perfectly devilishly handsome face serves my persona better." He touched his already healed cheek.

"But damn. Can't a man have some scars in hidden places?" He chuckled. "I had this one on my upper back; beautiful thing, really."

"Got it when a Hydra interrogator tried to remove my spine with a rusty spoon. Spoon! Who uses a spoon?"

"I was almost impressed by the creativity. Almost. Mostly just in pain. But the scar? Art. Now it's gone, and I can't even prove I was ever interesting."

He met her eyes. "But I see you don't share my love for scars. Hell, looking at you; sure, you're disfigured. But it's beautiful. Like abstract art. Like a painting of pain that survived the artist."

He smiled, "I guess I'm merely looking for a story, for something distinct that would make people better than the nothingness I perceive them to be."

"It's kinda twisted, huh? Maybe not, but goddamn am I a yapper." He glanced up at the side, at the imaginary camera by which the audience watches him.

"Am I boring my imaginary friends? They're probably on the edge of their seats. Or asleep. One or the other."

[Fuck is he so fucking twisted, so fuckin' unhinged.]

["Beautiful like abstract art." You know what, I agree, scars make characters look so fucking cool.]

[The spoon story is bullshit, right?] [I don't know, but that shit sounds horrid.]

[It's Adam, it must be bullshit, then again, he spent so much time with Hydra, he must've experienced things more painful, maybe some dickings.]

[???] [...] [...] [Weirdo.]

[Whitney's going from terrified to SMITTEN in real time. The manipulation, the charm, he's learning the dark ways.]

[The right ways, he's saving her, and it's not manipulation, it's converting her to the light!]

[True, she's a self-conscious broken individual, vulnerable to his 'natural' mannerism, thus accidental saving, yup yup.]

[...] [???] [...] [...] [The Illuminati's propaganda is working.] [*Truth.]

Adam gently replaced the mask on Whitney's face, his touch surprisingly delicate.

The blood chains dissolved, releasing her. She stumbled, catching herself on the edge of his desk, her breath coming in short gasps.

"Your proposal interests me," Adam said, returning to his chair. "But it's not there yet. If we partner, it can't be equal. My vision..."

He gestured vaguely at the ceiling, at the sky, at infinity, "My vision is stars, otherworldly dimensions and so much beyond."

"Yours is... New York's underworld. Maybe the whole US, if you're feeling ambitious."

"A few crime families. Some turf wars. A really nice penthouse with a view of Central Park. It's cute, really. Like watching a kitten plan to conquer a litter box."

Whitney's eye widened behind her mask.

"But as long as your ambitions don't intrude on my territory, I won't interfere. Consider it a trial period." He smiled. "Good luck, Madame Masque. I hope you get that penthouse."

She opened her mouth, closed it. Opened it again. Nothing came out.

This wasn't how the meeting was supposed to go. She had come to negotiate, to threaten, to seduce if necessary.

Instead, she had been seen; truly seen; and the man who saw her had called her beautiful and let her go.

Well, he called the scars beautiful, but the way it sounded in her ears was much more romantic.

She left without another word, her steps unsteady, her mind a hurricane of confusion and something else. Something that felt dangerously like infatuation.

After the door closed behind her, Adam's serene expression didn't change. But his voice was cold.

"Alice. Initiate Project: Paper Trail."

"Track the micro-tracker I placed on her mask. Map every step she takes. Cross-reference with our real-time city surveillance..."