bloodykiller (bloodykiller) wrote in themarvelverse, @ 2011-09-05 13:12:00 |
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Entry tags: | erik lehnsherr, jeremy mcgarry |
Who: Sanguine & Magneto
What: Meeting for the first time
Where: New York, Upper West Village
When: Late Sunday Evening
Status: Closed
Few in the underworld of organized crime or worldwide espionage knew of the Assassin known to most as the Red Death. Secrecy of ones identity was necessary for a trained killer, thus it was with Dr. Jeremy McGarry. As his otherwise secret name as a contracted killer, the Red Death provided his clients a unique method of killing his targets. While a bullet to the head was an effective way to murder someone, it would inevitably lead to questions. The Red Death specialized in murders or deaths that looked Medical in nature, something less prone to bring up investigations, and instead appear as tragic incidents. Of course he could do the violent messy deaths as well if necessary. His ‘messy’ deaths could be spectacularly bloody if he so desired. Yet most of his clients paid him to make the deaths quick, clean and mistaken for a tragic medical circumstance.
Most of the few who knew of him were unaware how he achieved his methods of operation. Jeremy wasn’t used to advertising himself as a mutant Assassin; his methods were his own secret most of the time. As he kept his identity and powers secret, he rarely asked or pried into the reasons of his contracted killings. He accepted the money, did the work, got close enough to his victims to cause a stroke or other death, and then moved on. He still even worked as a medical consultant Hematologist on occasion, even helping to save lives, if just to keep up appearances. But his true source of income and profession was being a contracted killer for hire.
Yet Jeremy was perfecting his abilities, learning better ways to manipulate blood. He started to desire more then just the life of a contracted killer. He knew he was a mutant, and in his spare time began seeking others out like himself, seeking those who felt as he did. He met a few mutants, none of them truly impressed him, and few of them believed as he did in mutant superiority. It was disappointing really, he could not find an equal even among his own kind, or not yet at least.
He’d learned in the news reports about Magneto, the threat to human kind. He heard of his activities, and others who followed him. As Dr. McGarry, he had few ways of reaching out to the Brotherhood. Under the guise of the Red Death however, Jeremy began sending out feelers through his underworld contacts in an attempt to reach the master of Magnetism. He knew it was a long shot to find him this way, but he felt he was now ready to expose himself to the world of Mutants, put his talents to the test.
So he found himself a place to stay in New York near the West Village, and waited for a response to his request to meet. He knew the location would need to be temporary so signed the lease under a fake identity. Jeremy filed himself under sabbatical with his various medical colleagues so not to be bothered. He spent his free time practicing, both his abilities, and martial arts. It was only a matter of time.
Soft music played from his speakers, in his sparsely decorated loft on the fourteenth floor. He purchased five mannequins and set up himself up a bit of a sparing area from which to practice. Jeremy pulled out from his fridge a small medical cooler he’d taken, within plastic bags filled with pints of blood. Taking the cooler over to his cleared out area, with the five naked mannequins spaced out in frozen poses, Jeremy got to work.
Blood flowed out from his command, forming in front of himself a ruby red pool that circled in the air before him. Jeremy smiled as he shaped the collected blood into a group of spheres, then into various geometric shapes, spinning through the air in front of him. He collected the blood together and created from it a small form vaguely representing a man, and then sprouted bloody wings from the form, creating an angel of blood. Sufficiently pleased with his practice, the angel was whisked away to create a long tendril of blood. Jeremy concentrated, condensing all of the iron, all of his will to the tip of his tendril, creating a razor sharp edge to his bloody weapon. Once satisfied, Jeremy looked upon the pale mannequins, and prepared to attack them.
The strikes were precise, strong as he could create his whip to be. Bits of the mannequin’s parts flew off. Yet some of his slices failed to penetrate deep into the wood and plaster. Still it was the practice that Jeremy needed, to perfect his weapon of choice. Cool night air drifted in to the apartment from the open balcony window, as Jeremy worked at dismembering the mannequins.