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wouldntyou-liketoknow · 1 year ago

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Day 7: Needles

(Disclaimer: three of the characters in this story belong to me. You can find more information about Azalea here. For more information about Caliban, go here. For more information about K.O., go here. For my personal headcanons on Murdock, who belongs to the Markiplier Cinematic Universe, go here. And if you’d like to learn more about the mob these guys all work for, go here.)

(Additional Note: I got some partial inspiration for this story from this lovely drawing by the extremely talented @rebar2042. Please go give them a follow and share their awesome art!!!)

(Trigger Warnings: descriptions of illegal business, physical violence, abduction, blood, syringes, poisonous substances, torture, implied dismemberment, implied cannibalism, implied murder, talk of death/dying, strong language. Please let me know if I missed anything.)

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Unless you counted his tinted glasses, Murdock looked absolutely nothing like himself right now.

In the place of his currant-colored turtleneck and black overcoat was a pale button-up and a half-zipped fleece jacket that was the same shade as a cornflower, complete with a screen-printed logo (an orange circle outlined with white) to match the cap resting atop his head. His raven hair was hidden, tied-back and pulled-up, though some of his bangs peeked out from beneath the rim.

Murdock understood the importance of disguises; any hitman who didn’t was a moron who could look forward to a career that would last a couple years at most before ending in humiliation rather than mystery.

Yes, he was more attached to his usual work clothes, but he took satisfaction in that particular sentimentality being more fucked-up than one would probably expect. Aside from that and the business angle of things, costumes really were just a fun concept to play around with. Even now, as he pulled into the cul-de-sac and parked near the curb, the adrenaline that’d already been slithering around his lungs spiked when he glanced at his reflection in the rearview mirror.

He hopped out, stepping around the decoy mail truck to hoist the back door up. After pulling out the dolly and loading a larger-than-average box onto it, he tucked a much smaller package and a clipboard under his arm and strolled up the driveway of the nearest house.

Murdock rolled his shoulders, taking a quick, deep breath. He went over the script in his head for what was probably the eighth time today, then reached out and rapped his knuckles against the front door.

Five seconds or so passed, and then the telltale sound of muffled footsteps approached from the other side.

Murdock put on a polite, well-rehearsed smile as the door was pulled open.

He immediately had to bite his tongue to keep that smile in place as he registered the man now hovering in the threshold.

He was the same height as Murdock, appearing a bit older. . .well, that was Murdock’s best guess, at least. The amount of tattoos on his skin was truly shocking. Only a few patches of his natural skin were left in between each of them.

For the most part, Murdock didn’t really have an opinion on tattoos. He was aware of how painful the process tended to be: therefore, when any of his victims happened to be inked, he tended to take that as something of a personal challenge for interrogation and the like. He knew it was best to avoid getting any himself, and he knew whatever body art anyone else decided to get was none of his business.

But he also knew how the lines between good body art and bad body art were not fine.

At all.

It seemed his latest target didn’t have that same understanding.

“Delivery for Mr. Abbott Tudye?” Murdock announced, willing his tone to sound lighter than usual.

“Right on time,” the target replied with a nod. Glancing at the larger package, he backed up a few paces, holding the door open. Murdock took the invitation, dragging the dolly along and leaning it against the nearest wall as the door was closed behind him.

“I’ll need—” Murdock cut himself off, just barely managing not to swear in surprise at the discovery that his target was among the ranks of people who’d gotten famous online for having actual pictures of faces permanently drawn on the backs of their heads.

The target turned to face him, casually raising an eyebrow.

Murdock cleared his throat. “I’ll, uh, need a signature for both packages, please,” he amended, holding the clipboard aloft.

The target blinked at this, but simply shrugged and took the offering into his hands. “. . .Y’know you don’t have to keep that act up in here, right? Suppliers are the last people to tattle on in my book.” He then outstretched his free hand, patronizingly gesturing for Murdock to fork over the smaller package

“Look, those papers are part of the contract. I just want to be thorough” Murdock reported, giving up the box like a good little boy and biting back a grimace at the sight of the back of the target’s hand.

(Was that tattoo seriously supposed to be depicting a lion’s head? If so, then it was proof of miracles, because it would’ve made the damn Gripsholm Lion look natural!)

His sudden surge of disbelief and disappointment was quickly calmed by smugness. He could tell when he was being lied to, but that didn’t really bother him right now. The pack of lies he’d personally help to set up for this job were much more clever.

“Besides,” he added, ever-so-slightly raising his voice, “you can never really tell when there’s some extra eyes or ears around. Not until it’s too late, I mean.”

The target snorted, rolling his eyes and shaking his head with a smirk. “Okay, calm down with the conspiracy, buddy.” He walked past Murdock to set the clipboard and pen down on his coffee table, his focus now consumed by the package. He fished a small knife out of his pocket, pushing the blade toward the thick line of tape. “Since you bring up eyes and ears, though. . .have you heard anything about my trigger? It’s been a good while since I sent him out, and he hasn’t reported back to me at all.”

“I’m afraid not. I did try to ask around, though,” Murdock answered, his expression flickering.

On one hand, the target had his back to him yet again; Murdock knew he had acting skills, but just how little this guy thought things through almost made his performance way too easy.

On the other hand, the target turning his back to Murdock meant he had to look at that second stupid fucking face again.

Oh, well.

He kept speaking, making sure the sound of his voice drowned out the way he carefully dragged one of his own knives down the length of the larger package. “But I wouldn’t worry about it too much. We’ve all gotta lay low after a job, don’t we? Your guy is probably a lot closer than you realize.”

The larger package silently twitched. A pair of brown eyes glinted at Murdock through the sliver of space between cardboard folds. The hitman smirked, raising a hand to count down on his fingers and mouthing along.

Three. . .two. . .

The scream that tore through the air was at an octave usually reserved for fire alarms, but neither Murdock nor his accomplice flinched at it.

A small thump followed the distress call, which was now breaking apart into shorter wails as the target backed away from the box he’d just opened. Murdock copied those movements, making sure to stay behind him. The target turned around soon enough, of course, his face contorted in absolute horror at the fact that he’d gotten so close to a pale, dried-blood-covered human foot instead of the cocaine block he’d been expecting.

“Y-you. . !” The target cried, now charging forward, anger joining his fear. “What tHE FUCK IS—”

His words suddenly wilted into unintelligible sputters of pain. He’d been a mere inch from Murdock when a blurry shape came jettisoning out of the larger package to collide with his neck, forcing him to double over.

“Haven’t you heard to not blame the messanger?” A new voice inquired, sounding like a casual lacing of venom in sugar. A petite woman emerged from the package, holding an unusually large packing tape dispenser and narrowing her eyes at the target in a way that should’ve turned him to stone. “I mean, this whole thing was my idea, so. . .”

“I’m not denying that,” Murdock promised, jokingly doffing his delivery cap to Azalea.

Azalea, in turn, nodded, her expression shifting from composed fury to maniacal at lightspeed. The target tried to regain his bearings, tried to keep shouting, but she had other ideas. In a single, fluid movement, she stepped closer and bashed the tape dispenser against his nose. She repeated this action until the target was on the floor, and even then she kept swinging the strange choice of weapon up and down onto his head again, and again, and again, and again.

Murdock was prepared to step in, but his instincts told him that wouldn’t be necessary. His expression grew more curious than sinister as he watched his colleague convince the target that he could be a phrenologist’s dream come true. Sure, the tape dispenser had some solid weight to it, but. . .wow.

“Impressive,” Murdock mused once the target finally went still and Azalea finally paused for breath. “And I thought I’d end up having to knock him out.”

“What, am I supposed to just let you take all the credit?” Azalea huffed a laugh, rising to her feet to look up into her accomplice’s dark eyes. “This is a half-and-half job.”

“It sure is.” Murdock knelt down beside the target’s unconscious form, fishing a few zip-ties as well as a bundle of thick cloth out of his disguise jacket’s interior pockets. Once the target was properly bound and gagged, Murdock crammed him into the same package that Azalea had previously been hiding in, not being the least bit gentle. He held the panels closed so Azalea could reseal them (which was a bit awkward, since the tape dispenser was now broken due to being used as a makeshift hammer).

“I’m a little surprised Cal let me take this,” Murdock mentioned as he strolled across the target’s living room, leaning down to stuff the severed foot back into the small package.

Azalea shrugged. “Feet are mostly just skin and bones. Plus, from what he’s told me, they just sell better on some markets than others.”

“. . .I mean, do the connoisseurs of those ‘other markets’ really know if the feet they’re looking up are still attached to people?” Murdock pondered, cackling when Azalea rolled her eyes and lightly punched him in the side.

“I texted the cleaning crew while I was in there,” Azalea pronounced, nodding to the larger package and its new cargo. “They should be here in thirty minutes or so.”

“Great!” Murdock nodded, remembering that The Pentas Family’s chop-shop was in need of a new car. “And we’re still set on the site you picked out?”

At his cohort’s affirmative hum, he bared his teeth in a patented, dangerous grin. He grabbed the dolly’s handle, then gestured to the front door. “Shall we, then?”

Azalea’s smile was a bit more lively, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t frightening. “Let’s.”

___

Reilpi Woods was a quaint place. It was only a fifteen-minute drive from the Cove Port Inlets, stretching for miles and miles and miles; a good portion of it grew near the beaches and along the seaside cliffs. Sure, its title kind of sounded like the beginning of a drunk madman’s attempt at a prophecy, but it really was a nice place. A convenient place, too.

With how deep it went, it could be plausible for someone to, hypothetically, get lost on a camping trip and never come back. That also made up for many of the hardships that came with burying a body (after tricking the authorities into digging up untouched soil in a specific location with a false report, of course).

The branches on the majority of its trees intertwined with one another, forming more than enough of a shield from both the sun or the odd camera-equipped drone piloted by some background character whose life could potentially be changed for the worse.

The trees in question came in varying heights: some were as towering as houses, and others were short enough to be scaled quite easily.

Murdock had chosen a tree that seemed to be right in the middle of those categories. It didn’t take too much effort to aim and toss the long end of the rope coil over a thick, sturdy branch. He gave the line an experimental tug, just to be certain it was secure, then began pulling it hand-over-fist.

“HMPE. Nice,” Azalea complimented, watching her accomplice work as she retrieved the small, pink-stained wooden chest she’d previously hidden in the decoy mail truck’s glove compartment.

“I only work with the best,” Murdock replied cheerfully. “The hardware store had a great sale earlier this week.”

Once his and Azalea’s target had been hoisted a few inches, just able to stand upright with bound wrists suspended over his head, Murdock strode over to a smaller tree nearby, tying the end of the rope into a tight knot around its trunk.

When exactly the target had regained consciousness, neither of them could be sure. By the time he’d started making noise, they’d already driven a good, long way into the heart of the forest. He’d tried to start running as soon as Murdock reopened that package, only to collapse on his face about three seconds afterwards. Even now, strung up and shirtless, he apparently still thought there was some use in writhing. He kicked and swayed, eyes bulging, chest heaving. His attempts to hurl obscenities at his captors were well-muffled by the gag that’d been tied around his mouth.

Azalea dragged a collapsable table out of the trunk, unfolded it a few feet away from where the target stood, and set the aforementioned pink chest on top of it.

“So,” Murdock pronounced as he walked past her, carrying a long leather case he’d produced from under the driver’s seat. “How much time do you think you’ll need?”

Azalea hummed as she pried the little chest open: five empty syringes had been organized into a little pyramid, kept in balance by the line of five glass vials sitting right beside them. “Well, each dosage will need at least a few minutes to take effect. I already have some pretty good estimates, so maybe. . .twenty-five minutes? At most?”

“Yeah, that’ll be just fine.” Murdock nodded. “Becky’s a fast worker.”

Though Azalea didn’t pause as she pushed a needle into a rubber stopper, she still couldn’t help but chuckle.

Murdock refused to stop his movements as well. While opening up the leather case and lifting a shovel out, he raised an eyebrow at his colleague’s laughter. “What’s so funny?”

Azalea tilted her head, flicking at the now full syringe before setting it down to prepare one of the others. “You always give the others flack for naming their equipment, but you don’t have any room to talk.”

“Excuse you, I’ve got tons of room,” Murdock protested. “Becky is special. She’s been there for me ever since I started out.” He hugged the shovel close, some brief yet total adoration worming its way onto his face. He then spun Becky in his hands and brought her tip down into the soil about ten feet from where the target was hanging.

“Good for her,” Azalea replied. “Still, are you sure you’ll be done around the same time I am? I wouldn’t want to just keep you out here for hours.”

Slight hypocrite or not, Murdock did have a bit of a point. The blades of Becky’s cutting tip were ridged, implying that she was capable of slicing through more than just dirt. There were black grips along the socket and handle. She truly had a polish to her, one that would seem more appropriate on a blessed and/or cursed weapon of yore.

“Hours?” Murdock barked a sarcastic laugh, glancing back and forth between Azalea and the ground. He worked himself into a pattern of movement, the little pile of loose dirt beside him growing bit by bit. “Becky and I will race you, Aza!”

Azalea blinked, placing a hand on her hip. “That hole’s gonna have to be six feet deep, at least.”

“And it will be!” Murdock insisted. Nodding at the target, he added, “Plus, we’ll be putting him in vertically.”

“You think I don’t know that?” Azalea retorted. She fidgeted in place. “. . .Aren’t longer holes harder to dig out than wider holes?”

There was no response from Murdock this time. He just kept digging, though he peered up at her over his glasses. His eyes were just barely visible, but that expectant, daring look was obvious.

“Okay, then.” Azalea offered a polite shrug before turning on her heel and approaching the target.

The target snarled at her, raised a leg to try and kick her. But as she gracefully sidestepped out of the way, she saw how he finally seemed to notice what was now in her hand. His scowl wavered, his muffled insults came to an abrupt halt, the patches of skin unmarked by tattoos turned pale as the needle caught a stray beam of light peeking through the canopy above.

Azalea rolled the first syringe between her fingers, thoughtful as she paced around the soon-to-be sentient pincushion. She had the experience to know which areas were most sensitive to injections: hands, the soles of the feet, palates, that little groove between the upper lip and the nose.

She couldn’t really go for any of those areas right now, but that wouldn’t be a problem. Run-of-the-mill muscles could always make getting a shot more of a struggle than strictly necessary.

With that in mind, Azalea halted in her tracks just behind the target. He tried to turn himself around to keep facing her, but he wasn’t fast enough. He didn’t even have time to recoil as she stabbed the needle deep into his lumbar, effectively piercing the tattooed eye of a snake that had bent fangs and looked more drunk than menacing.

Azalea pressed the plunger down with enough force to almost risk crushing it. She held onto it for a few long seconds, just to be sure, then stepped back. The syringe stayed in place when she let go of it, well and truly stuck in the target’s skin.

Slowly but surely, a dark red bead rose up around where the needle met the syringe’s hub. And as it began to trickle down, leaving a thin, red streak to disrupt the tattoos below that embarrassing snake, the target started bellowing.

The cries were low at first, but they grew louder in no time, broken up by the target’s gasps for air. The skin around the injection site was already swelling—it couldn’t really be compared to an allergic reaction or the like, but it was still horribly noticeable.

From what Azalea had heard, Gila monster venom caused an intense burning sensation, as well as dizziness, a rapid heart rate, and sometimes even a decrease in blood pressure. Cases of being bitten by the lizard in question were rarely ever fatal, but that was just fine.

A dosage of something fatal would’ve been too good for the target.

About a week had passed since the incident.

That one spot on Azalea’s arm still ached and stung like no other, but she didn’t have to wrap a new set of bandages around it anymore. The dull red mark still stuck out against the rest of her skin, but it seemed to be getting a little smaller every day. Hell, by now it could’ve been mistaken for a simple scrape, as though Azalea just had a disagreement with the sidewalk pavement.

The tranquilizer gun fit shockingly well in the pocket of her vest. The weapon was a lot like Azalea, actually; it was small enough to underestimate, and it packed way more than enough of a punch to make whoever was doing the underestimating regret all the choices they’d made to get to that point.

Azalea didn’t need to use it very often—remember, her way of work was all about stealth and cunning and HAHA YOU FOOL, YOU’LL NEVER LOOK AT A COOKIE THE SAME WAY AGAIN BECAUSE YOU’RE DEAD NOW!—but ever since that fateful evening, she’d made a point to carry it every moment she wasn’t in the public eye. Once she and her peers all made sure that the threat was truly gone, she’d return it to that innocent-looking little safebox in her cabinet.

The Pentas Family wasn’t on total lockdown; just lying low for a bit. There’d been no complaints about The Boss’ orders, of course. Just like there was no doubting that they’d come out on top. But that impromptu emergency meeting had still been so tense. . .

Azalea gave the Gila monster venom about three minutes to work its magic. The target had yet to vomit, but the nausea in his eyes was painful just to look at.

She checked in on Becky and Murdock, who were still preparing the grave.

The mound of dirt had definitely grown, but the bottom of the hole was still very much shallow.

Murdock glanced up as his accomplice approached. He stayed just as silent as Becky, but the sheer amount of excited determination on his face spoke volumes.

Azalea didn’t really have anything to say either, so she just gave him a curt nod before retreating to start the next phase of the session.

Warrior wasp venom wasn’t lethal, but it could almost make you wish it was. The insect in question was aggressive and territorial, so encounters with it weren’t exactly uncommon in certain parts of South America.

Some victims likened the sting to boiling oil being poured over your skin. Others compared it to being chained down in front of an active volcano, right in the path of all that flowing lava. Perhaps no two victims could describe it in the exact same way?

Azalea wasn’t certain, and she probably never would be. It wasn’t like the target had a chance to give her a description.

Or. . .maybe he did, in a way.

Because just a moment after she stabbed the second syringe into his right deltoid, he confirmed the rumor that warrior wasp venom made people sound absolutely insane when they screamed.

Azalea lightly shook her head, drumming her nails against the box she was carrying in time with her footsteps. Aforementioned box was full of sweets, but unlike many of its predecessors, none of those sweets would end up killing whoever decided to help themself.

K.O. deserved a reward for being so quick and so efficient with the bullet graze, after all. Yes, he’d already gotten paid for taking on the last-minute assignments, but Azalea couldn’t just not thank him personally.

Due to his walnut allergy, K.O. had to be very, very careful about the treats he consumed. Anything involving chocolate was almost always too risky, but Azalea had plenty of recipes for different types of candy. She knew this gift wasn’t much, but she also knew that K.O. would still be happy with it.

As if on cue, K.O. popped up right as Azalea rounded the corner. He was halfway leaning through the door to his den, light streaming across the old platform. What a coincidence: Azalea hadn’t told him about her plan to stop by, but she’d still predicted that he’d be down here.

What she hadn’t predicted was for Caliban to be down here, too. Last she’d heard, her brother was running his own errands around town. But, sure enough, here he was, doubled-over and gritting his teeth as he trudged onto the old platform from the opposite direction.

That was what made Azalea stop short before she could call out to either of them.

Something was wrong.

Caliban always kept his back straight unless. . .

An awful type of energy slithered along Azalea’s neck as she quickened her pace, nearly dropping her cargo.

A panicked shout caught in her throat, making both Caliban and K.O. flinch as they finally looked over and realized she was here with wide eyes.

Even with the dark blue shade of the fabric, it was easy to see a stain blooming through the lower half of Caliban’s button-down.

Even in the dim lighting, it was easy to see how the hand Caliban pressed against his stomach was covered in glistening red.

Even through the immediate cacophony of questions on Azalea’s part and instructions on K.O.’s part, it was easy to hear droplets of blood plopping against concrete as they trickled out between Caliban’s fingers.

Yet another wasp’s venom was next on Azalea’s list for the session, so the syringe containing it would go in the target’s left deltoid. To compliment the other, see?

Not immediately, though.

“The guy you sent is dead,” Azalea announced, speaking to the target for the first time since she’d knocked him unconscious. Her voice was soft, and muffled, agonized, unintelligible groans were still leaking out of his mouth. But she knew that he could hear her.

“. . .Or, I’m pretty sure he is, at least. He was kept alive for a few days after his little stunt, but there’s no saving him now,” she continued.

Visible shivers had been wracking their way up and down the target’s body all this time. Azalea knew that they were involuntary, that they were just more side-effects of the poisons she’d given him so far.

Now, however, he froze in place.

Azalea smirked, practically able to see her words registering in his mind. “Nobody’s going to find either of you, y’know. Even if someone actually tries to look, they won’t get any leads.”

She resumed her pacing, never taking her eyes off the target, watching as his ragged breathing stuttered.

“I know, I know. Scenarios like that are pretty underwhelming, but that’s more on you for springing this on us the way you did.” Azalea shrugged as she passed the syringe from one hand to the other.

Her smile widened a bit. “Don’t worry, though! We’ll try to make things more interesting for your other cronies. I bet one of them will end up being found again and again for a month or so. It’ll have to happen in a different city, but that’s not too big of a problem.”

Tarantula hawks got their name from their frightening diet, but that most certainly wasn’t the only thing they were infamous for. By some terrifying miracle, their stings truly felt similar to an active hair dryer after it was dropped into someone’s bathtub. They were described as explosive

The toxin was apparently explosive enough to give the impression of electric currents literally tearing their way through your bloodstream.

“This is like a weird variation of sibling ESP,” K.O. blurted as he carefully prodded at the puncture site with gloved hands. “Really, I’m surprised some cosmic imbalance hasn’t been triggered.”

“Don’t remind me,” Azalea replied, wringing her hands. She’d just returned from washing them for the third time. The skin around her knuckles almost felt a little dry.

“Hey, if I had to be jumped, at least it was by an amateur,” Caliban mused, chewing his lip while staring at the ceiling. A good few minutes had passed since he'd stopped shaking and choking on air. It seemed the sheer awkwardness of having to lay across someone else’s workout equipment with his shirt half-unbuttoned was balancing out his stress.

“Good point,” K.O. agreed as he soaked yet another washcloth into the bucket of cold, clean water he’d brought from upstairs.“I don’t really work with knives, and I can still see how that idiot should’ve used a drill if he wanted to cause some real penetration.”

The resulting fit of snickers on Caliban’s part were so sudden and loud that he lurched forward. Said snickers automatically had to compete with the way Caliban sucked in a sharp breath between his teeth as K.O. swept the washcloth over the latest wound.

“. . .I should’ve seen that coming.” The mental image of a person’s guts getting all twisted around a drill bit wasn’t pretty, but Azalea still clicked her tongue and fondly rolled her eyes as she carried over a thick roll of gauze.“If Murdock isn’t around to make jokes like that, then someone else always will. Always.”

“We’ve all gotta do our part.” K.O. took the bandages, offering a proud, smug grin in return. “Okay, Cal: sit up slowly but don’t move your feet too much. And keep your arms above your stomach.”

Caliban was still giggling at the semi-dirty quip as he complied with the other mobster’s instructions. His face fell, however, as he looked down at the new gash on the left side of his abdomen. Sure, the bleeding had stopped, and sure, it was actively being hidden by layers of fresh heavy-duty bandages.

But even with the knowledge that it hadn’t gone deep enough to cause any serious infections, Azalea could tell that it hurt much more than Caliban was letting on. She sidled around K.O., careful to give him enough space as she stood beside her brother. She quietly rested one of her hands on his shoulder, trying to help him stay steady.

Despite the initial panic, things had moved nice and quickly. Time hadn’t even seemed to slow down and make everything feel worse for once.

It hadn’t exactly been pleasant to feel her brother’s blood spill onto her hands while K.O. rushed to get something more effective for applying pressure, but Azalea knew how much of a tough cookie he was. This wasn’t the first time Caliban had gotten stabbed; this wasn’t even the worst example out of all the other scars decorating his torso. If he could heal up from all those other cases, then this one would be a cakewalk. He was going to be fine.

Azalea stared into her brother’s eyes, hoping to somehow filter all those little reminders into his brain without speaking.

Caliban stared right back at her. And, judging by the way his features seemed to relax a bit more, her efforts were successful. “That’s the thing about stabbing,” he finally continued, the usual grin back on his face. “You have to know where just the right spots are if you want to be effective. Otherwise you’ll just make the rest of us look bad.”

“Well, I’m sure you can give that moron a proper demonstration once we track him down,” Azalea promised, madness flickering along her otherwise gentle expression.

The tired look returned to Caliban’s eyes. He let out a melodramatic sigh, shaking his head sulkily. “No, I really can’t.”

“Why not?” K.O. asked as he secured the last layer of padding.

“Because the guy was covered in tattoos!” Caliban threw his hands up in frustration, eyes growing wider and just a bit more wild than before. “And when I say covered, I mean COVERED! Ink like that just completely ruins the meat! Makes it taste horrible!” He made the mistake of ever-so-slightly stretching his stomach, which prompted him to grind his jaw, screw his eyes shut and fall back with yet another hiss.

“. . .So, you’re saying other types of ink could make people taste better?” K.O. wondered with a smirk.

“Yes, K.O. That’s exactly what I’m saying,” Caliban deadpanned, craning his neck to raise an eyebrow at his colleague, who held up his hands in mock surrender.

Azalea, meanwhile, kept drawing circles on Caliban’s shoulder, all the ideas on what to do to her brother’s attacker quickly forming a maze in her mind.

“. . .They weren’t even flattering tattoos,” Caliban murmured, gingerly folding his arms across his chest. “Seriously, there was a pinup girl on one of his arms and she looked like a random stranger just offered to share a toilet seat with her.”

“Did you seriously not see this coming?” Azalea inquired, halting right in front of the target. “That’s hard to believe.”

The fourth and final syringe was ready. It was almost as long as a pencil, wider than the three that had been used before it. Its needle was thicker, shinier, sharper, the meanest-looking thing in Azalea’s collection. But even if it wasn’t, that wouldn’t have mattered.

When you were handling a dosage of fresh, pure, unadulterated bullet ant venom—a substance that was infamous for literally being described as “walking over flaming charcoal with three-inch nails in your heels”—nothing really mattered.

“Turning the art festival into a gun range wasn’t enough, huh? You just couldn’t resist going after my brother yourself.”

The target’s head had been hanging. He must’ve been tired from shaking it side-to-side as if that would somehow convince his brain to magically alleviate the torment. But it suddenly jerked up like that of a marionette puppet.

Like a new, foreign weight had just settled around his shoulders, encouraging the tiny rivers of blood to keep trickling down his chest and back. Not chasing all the pain away, but somehow managing to distract him from it, if only for a moment. His bloodshot, watery eyes seemed to grow even wider than before as he stared at his torturer.

“What, couldn’t you tell?” A sarcastic chuckle bubbled up in Azalea’s throat. “I know he’s a lot taller than me, but still: isn’t the resemblance obvious?”

She pretended to mull the question over for a few long seconds, then snapped her fingers.

“Oh wait, that’s right! There really is no way you could’ve known about that.”

She rested her thumb on the syringe’s plunger. Her knuckles were turning white as she kept the barrel pinned between her index and middle finger.

“You probably didn’t even know I was there for your first little rendezvous. . .” she continued, drawing even nearer, now holding her little weapon aloft.

The target attempted to stagger back, attempted to turn his head away.

Azalea, in response, reached up and gripped his chin, digging her nails into the skin of his jaw as she forced him to face her. Her other hand was a blur, the syringe glinting hungrily.

“. . .Because you’re just a bottom-feeding coward.”

The needle sank into the target’s flesh; the left side of his abdomen, to be specific.

There was still half of the venom left in the syringe when the target started screaming. His legs gave out from under him as though his bones had dissolved into his blood. As his knees couldn’t touch the ground, he swayed to and fro in a very unnatural manner with such violent convulsions that he could’ve been mistaken for having a seizure.

He’d been screaming for the majority of the session, of course, but this scream was. . .something else. It was like nothing Azalea had ever heard before; and this wasn’t even the first time she’d used bullet ant venom.

Eh, what else could be expected from the brilliant, intense, undeniable crown queen of pain?

Even with the new ache in her ears, Azalea felt a smile etch its way across her face. It wasn’t calm just yet, but it would get there eventually. She’d reached her goal: there was no way in hell that this target wasn’t regretting his choice to screw around with her, Caliban, and the rest of their family.

“Looks like I’m done over here,” Azalea pronounced, wiping her hands as she turned to look at Murdock. “Sorry if all this noise has been bothering you.”

“Oh, not at all,” Murdock reassured, his voice suspiciously more chipper than tired.

Azalea was about to jokingly ask if he’d brought a second shovel along so she could help him finish digging out the grave.

She was about to. . .but she couldn’t.

Surprisingly enough, the way her jaw hit the ground didn’t disrupt the pile of dirt beside Murdock, which had transformed from an improvised molehill to a small mountain. It even seemed to be a couple inches taller than he was! The hole that’d been excavated was just wide enough to put an adult human in feet-first. It also seemed to go much, much deeper than six feet; a sunray was shining down into it, and yet the bottom was still shrouded in darkness!

“H-how—HOW—?!” Azalea stammered, glancing back and forth between Murdock and the pit.

“Like I said, Aza: Becky works fast,” Murdock explained without really explaining, smirking like a bastard as he rested his arms on his beloved shovel’s handle.

“AAAAAAAAAAAUUUUUUUUUGH!” The target tried to add.

Azalea blinked, slowly raising her hands to massage her temples and reminding herself that she and Murdock had someone to bury. There wasn’t time to question the potential reality-bending powers of some tactical shovel. “Fine, okay, whatever. Could you just bring him down, please?”

Murdock nodded. “My pleasure.” He cradled Becky in his arms one last time before setting her back down in her leather case and returning it to the decoy mail truck. After that, he made his way over to where he’d tied the line. Azalea followed him, orbiting around the target one last time before the rope went loose.

Just because those four syringes were empty didn’t mean she wanted to waste them, after all.

@rebar2042 @sammys-magical-au

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cyarskaren52 · 1 year ago

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An icon. A legend. A superstar. And now, a Rock and Roll Hall Of Famer. The career of LL COOL J is filled with staggering firsts, improbable accomplishments and an ever-diversifying imprint across entertainment and business. But, first and foremost, the Farmers Blvd product is an emcee and an artist. And since 1985, LL COOL J has delivered so much musical greatness and so many hits. His body of work represents decades of Hip-Hop in sound and scope, it's unlike any other the genre has ever seen.

From his debut as a teenage b-boy on Radio, to his transformation into one of the rap game's most consistent chart-toppers with Mr. Smith a decade later, to his cemented status as a cultural icon with The DEFinition a decade after that, there has been no one in Hip-Hop like James Todd Smith. As he preps his latest work and as he is inducted alongside musical icons into the Rock And Roll Hall Of Fame, what better time to revisit the classic career of one of rap's greatest. The G.O.A.T. who invented G.O.A.T. The man who built Def Jam.

In recognition of his stellar career, we picked the 25 Dopest LL COOL J Songs.

#26

"ALL I HAVE" JENNIFER LOPEZ FEAT. LL COOL J [BONUS SONG]

Our BONUS SONG pick is a celebrated classic guest spot! Pop superstar J. Lo and the Hip-Hop icon always make magic together, and this is their most famous team-up and hit single. This is one of the most iconic duets of the 2000s.

#25

"YOU AND ME" FEAT. KELLY PRICE

Kelly Price and LL team up for this heartfelt love song. Produced by LL himself alongside DJ Scratch, it's one of his most underrated ballads, and features a stellar performance from the Grammy-winning singer.

#24

"IMAGINE THAT" FEAT. LESHAUN

This steamy Rockwilder-produced single could be considered an unofficial sequel to the classic "Doin' It." The track reunites LL with LeShaun, and their chemistry from that earlier duet is just as strong here.

#23

"6 MINUTES OF PLEASURE"

Armed with a Slick Rick snippet, Marley Marl smoothed things out on this Isaac Hayes-sampling single from Mama Said Knock You Out. LL gets to play cartoonish in the video, over one of his more seductive tunes.

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#22

"FATHER"

One of his most heartfelt and personal songs, this single from Phenomenon saw the rap superstar opening up about his troubled childhood, over a sample of George Michael's "Father Figure."

#21

"THE RIPPER STRIKES BACK"

After a feud was ignited via "4, 3, 2, 1" (more on that song later), Canibus dropped "Second Round K.O.," firing shots at Uncle L. James Todd responded with this thunderous diss track. Included on a Def Jam Bonus CD, it reminded everyone that LL will still rock any comers.

#20

"I NEED A BEAT" (REMIX)

One of his first tracks, and the song that garnered the attention of a then-unknown Ad Rock of the Beastie Boys, "...Beat" is one of early LL COOL J's most creative, a breakdown of the relationship between an emcee and a dopeass beat.

#19

"PARADISE" FEAT. AMERIE

Produced by Poke & Tone, this lush hit single is one of LL's best of the 2000s. Amerie provides a sunny hook, as LL muses about the perfect getaway over shimmering production, which interpolates "Rising To the Top."

#18

"TO DA BREAK OF DAWN"

You never wanna come at COOL J. One of his most infamous diss tracks, this heater from Mama Said Knock You Out takes aim at longtime rival Kool Moe Dee, as well as West Coast stars MC Hammer and Ice-T.

#17

"HEADSPRUNG"

The lead single from his eleventh album, The Definition, this kinetic track showed that Uncle L could get a lil crunk. And as anyone knows: Timbaland was on fire when he and LL paired up for this club anthem.

#16

"THE BOOMIN' SYSTEM"

On Mama Said Knock You Out, LL delivered one of Hip-Hop's classic odes to car culture. There's nothing like booming down the block with a bangin' stereo system, and this track captures the feel and vibe completely.

#15

"LUV U BETTER"

Nobody does rap romance better than Ladies Love Cool James. This slinky groove comes courtesy of The Neptunes, and is one of the best summertime singles of the early 00s.

#14

"JACK THE RIPPER"

A young gun coming at the vet. After Kool Moe Dee took shots at him with Moe Dee's hit "How You Like Me Now," LL COOL J responded with this banger of a bonus track.

#13

"LOUNGIN'" (REMIX) FEAT. TOTAL

With Bernard Wright's early 80s R&B anthem as the jumping off point, this uber-popular remix became one of LL's most beloved 90s hits. Another ode to dirty macking at it's finest.

#12

"I SHOT YA" FEAT. KEITH MURRAY, FAT JOE, PRODIGY, FOXY BROWN

East Coast boom bap at it's finest. The single dropped at a time when LL's glossier hits were dominating radio, but it served as yet another reminder that he's a rhyme animal. Teamed with four legends in the making. RIP Prodigy.

#11

"JINGLING BABY (REMIXED BUT STILL JINGLIN')"

A house party anthem, and not just because of the classic Paris Barclay-directed music video. Marley Marl's remix of a track from Walking With the Panther, this was rereleased on Mama Said Knock You Out a year later. Forever one of LL's best dancefloor tracks.

#10

"I NEED LOVE"

Perhaps his most iconic love song of the 1980s, LL set the template here for heartfelt rap balladry. Over an ever-memorable keyboard line, the teenage emcee bares his feelings and broke all kinds of ground.

"I CAN'T LIVE WITHOUT MY RADIO"

A b-boy anthem. A statement for a culture that was only just beginning to be embraced by the mainstream. This is a song for every Hip-Hop loving kid that was walking the NYC block in the mid-80s.

"DOIN' IT" FEAT. LESHAUN

This is how you make a Hip-Hop sex song, folks. Often imitated, but never duplicated. Over a perfect Grace Jones sample, LL COOL J and LeShaun engage in one of the freakiest "battle of the sexes" ever put on wax.

"GOING BACK TO CALI"

Rick Rubin delivered one of his most bass-heavy anthems, and this iconic track became one of the most indelible car songs in Hip-Hop. There was a time when you tested your car's bass system to THIS song.

"4, 3, 2, 1" FEAT. REDMAN, METHOD MAN, DMX, CANIBUS, MASTER P

The song that launched one of the most infamous beefs in rap history, it's almost taken for granted that it's also one of the dopest posse cuts of all time. Erick Sermon provides the beat, as a handful of rap icons do their thing.

"HEY LOVER" FEAT. BOYZ II MEN

One of LL's biggest hits and a classic rap love song, the legendary emcee teams up with Grammy-winning Philly quartet Boyz II Men for one of the most romantic rap songs ever made. Gotta love that Michael Jackson sample.

"AROUND THE WAY GIRL"

This gorgeous slice of urban perfection is one of LL COOL J's quintessential "romance" cuts. A celebration of the girl next door, up the block and around the way, it's timeless in every sense of the word.

"ROCK THE BELLS"

It's an anthem that solidified the teenage newcomer's place in rap's then-"new school." It's a pure distillation of rap purpose, a manifesto and a creed. You know every word. Everybody does.

"MAMA SAID KNOCK YOU OUT"

"Don't call it a comeback..." That iconic opening line has become embedded in popular culture. And over Marley Marl's gargantuan groove, LL COOL J reasserts his rap dominance at a time when critics dared suggest he was past his prime.

"I'M BAD"

It's brash. It's aggressive. It's about as Hip-Hop as Hip-hop can get. LL's iconic single from 1987 may not be his biggest commercial hit or a classic diss record; but it epitomizes and embodies the lyrical skill, performance stamina, and undeniable charisma of the legend from Farmers Blvd.

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#hip hop 50 #today in hip hop history #todayinhiphophistory #hiphop #hip-hop #hip hop #hip hop music #hip hop history #hip hop culture #music #history #music history #television #rap #rapper #emcee #mc

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