The Black Spider: One Against All
"A desperate avenger is striking fear in their hearts
Invading their dreams before the day even starts!
Whet with your blood, I sharpen my sword
No turning the other cheek like a coward!
Come tomorrow I may lay down and die
But not this day... this day we fight!
""This Day We Fight" -MegaDethCentennial Ridge
McGinnis Shipping Warehouse
Saturday April 1930
He watched them working from his vantage point on the roof, having dispatched the last of their lookouts. He could
practically smell the nervousness in the air... and the FEAR. The McGinnis family story reads like a supplementary history
of Centennial Ridge's past... especially the more shadier parts of it. While not a HUGE player in the run of things, they
still have a significant role in the chain of crime that encircles this city.
A chain he intended to break.
They were moving boxes, labelled as fruit, a fake delivery to an imaginary business that (usually) doesn't exist. The
contents of said boxes could be anything. From illegal alcohol shipments to secret mob money, acquired from rackets in
neighboring towns and cities. One of the many veins that keep the machine of villainy running, and further fattens the
coffers of the masterminds that have their boots firmly planted on the neck of the populace.
He spotted amongst their number some men he recognized as police officers, out of uniform, like such things suddenly
mattered in this city, obviously put there to provide security. Seems his special little 'meeting' with Chief Blaine had
not been taken too seriously. Next time he might have to break more than the man's jaw and ribs.Time to sever this artery...
He slowly made his way down the fire escape, each step checked and measured... ensuring a quiet descent to the streets
below. His uncle, a vetern of the Great War, had taught him well. Lessons learned from the bloody fields of Europe, hard
taught by hours... days... spent quietly making his way to the enemy trenches. By the time the old man finished drilling
these strategies into his head, he could sneak up on just about anyone.
The first thug, probably the street-level lookout, it didn't take much to put him out of commission. All it took was a
little applied pressure to choke him unconscious. Men like him deserved worse, but time was of the essence in this kind of
scenario. He's learned that type of thing since he started this 'War' months ago. So in the end... what's one less-dead
Besides... there's going to be more than enough death tonight by the time he's through.
Silently he slid up behind the truck they were loading up. As he scanned the environment from the new vantage point, his
eyes fell upon a crowbar. It was resting on a crate, obviously to make sure these were the right shipments.That has some promise.
The next two thugs, who were guarding the truck rather ineptly, became intimately acquainted with this implement. So did
their skulls. Unfortunately as he finished off the last of the duo, one of the crooked cops decided then and there to come
outside, carrying one of the smaller boxes. A crudely rolled cigarette hung from his lips.
He looked and beheld a shape silhouetted against the dim glow of the streetlights. It was a man... clad in black, the only
shred of color to his shadowy personage was a red scarf draped around his neck, partially covering his face. The officer
couldn't believe his eyes, but he was staring straight at the Black Spider.
"Wha... what the HELL?!" the dirty officer exclaimed, the color draining from his face as he dropped the box... and
reached for his sidearm. Without words, without sound, the dark spectre threw the crowbar at the man, hitting his target
right in the face as he unholstered his Colts. He had the next targets in his sights before the cop (and discarded pry
bar) hit the ground.
The Spider unloaded on the crooks rushing out the door as they came out to check on the sudden commotion. Two of their
number fell before the others wised up and ducked back inside. "IT'S THAT DAMN MASKED FREAK!" yelled one of the thugs
before one of his compatriots wheeled around from inside the warehouse. In the scumbag's hands was a thompson sub-machine
gun. Bullets peppered the streets as the zipgun chattered away, sending the vigilante ducking for cover as the surrounding
area got chewed up. Soon though the gun's circular clip ran out of ammo.
"Where the hell is he?" asked the owner of the Tommy Gun as he slid back inside to reload. One of his compatriots, perhaps
with more balls than brains, hazarded a peek outside.
"Dun see 'im!" he replied before a bullet carved a hole right between his eyes.
"SHIT!" exclaimed the Machine Gunner as he pulled back on the bolt of his prized possession and spun back around... fully
intent on continuing his 'snipe hunt' for their costumed attacker. Before he could resume spraying ordinance all over the
streets again, the gloved hands of the Spider grabbed ahold of the Chopper. With the owner taken so by surprise, it proved
quite simple to pry the weapon out of his hands. Before the thug could react, he found his face full of the polished
wooden stock of his pilfered weapon.
"Aww shit!" exclaimed someone from within the building, upon realizing what had just transpired. "He's got the tommy gun!"
as about a dozen goons ran for whatever cover they could find within the warehouse. Pallets, shelves, even desks became
utilized as would-be protection.
"Would you stupid shits KILL this dumb fucker?!" came a voice from the back. It was Darrel, the son of their employer,
Bradley McGinnis, the patriarch of the McGinnis family. Some say he had eyes for one day taking over the business. The
young hood tried to put up a bold, defiant front... the kind his pop would've been proud of, but the Spider could sense
the quivering fear in his words. The Dark Spectre answered this mock 'front' with a vicious spray of bullets across the
warehouse floor, sending the paper tiger screaming for cover amidst the splintering wood and cracking concrete.
"You stupid crumb bum! The coppers are on their way! What'll you do then, ya twit?" barked Darrel, panting and cursing
from whatever hole he managed to hide in.Good question. A good question indeed.
Within minutes a legion of police cars swarmed towards the Warehouse. Leading the charge was the car owned by Chief
Francis Blaine, his jaw on the steady mend from his encounter with the vigilante. He's just recently been able to switch
back to foods with more consistency than soup. In seconds the cops were just about surrounding the building.
Officer Branden assisted the Chief as he got out of his car. Not the first person Blaine would've chosen for the task, but
ever since his run in with the Spider back in February, the black-clad bastard had been picking apart his special 'Task
Force'. Carter was in intensive care, McDaniels had just gotten used to crutches, Kennan quit the force, Carlotto was
dead, and Evans was a nervous, panicky mess. The Chief just hoped he'd keep his itchy trigger finger under control.
"C'mon out Spider!" barked Branden, feeling pretty tough with this many cops around. He'd had his own run-in with the
masked vigilante, and was in a neck brace for a few days, not to mention getting his right arm broken. Not that it
surprised Blaine, given the officer's tendency towards hostility. Needless to say, Branden's not going to show his face in
the Ghettos anytime soon. "You're surrounded!" added the crooked cop.
A window pane shattered, and the loud report of a thompson submachine gun filled the air. "Alotta tough talk from a
fucking coward!" shouted the Spider, poking his head out from behind cover long enough to insult the cop. A string of
insults answered him as Branden tore out his sidearm and took a few potshots at the vigilante. Chief Blaine sighed in
irritation, smacking his subordinate upside the head.
"Cease fire you idiot!" he barked, the pain in his jawbone not exactly helping his current disposition. Grumbling to
himself, and chewing at his bottom lip as he went, the Chief pulled Branden back. The crooked officer started to object,
but an icy glare silenced him.
"It's over Spider!" hollered Blaine, his hands clenched in tight fists as he talked. "Just give it up! Turn yourself in!"
Though deep down he knew how this was bound to play out like. This so-called 'dark spectre' wasn't a fool. Frank wasn't
going to delude himself in thinking that this vigilante would ever live long enough to see a jail cell. They now simply
waited for his answer.
It wasn't going to be long.
A loud pop was heard, a gunshot, that clipped Officer Branden in the shoulder. Blaine could literally feel the blood drain
from his own face as time seemed to slow down. The only noise heard was the wounded cop's hoarse voice spewing insults,
and the sound of the railcars in the distance. Before the Chief could say anything, the assembled police began to fire
back. The air was filled with a thunderous cacophony, as if someone was setting off fireworks.
Inside the warehouse it was pure chaos. Some of the thugs that had managed to escape the Spider's wrath were cut down by
the volley of police gunfire. Darrel McGinnis whimpered as he tried to make himself as flat on the floor as possible. He
silently hoped that the vigilante would be among the mounting casualties. As the gunfire started to die down, accompanied
by Chief Blaine's chastising of his officers, a gloved hand grabbed the young hoodlum by his shirt collar.
"Dammit! Everyone stand down!" hollered the head police official back outside, trying to re-establish order. Lord knows
how many people might've been hit by stray bullets from this. He could only guess how many of McGinnis's men had been hit.
Part of Blaine just knew he was bound to catch some hell from the 'Founders' over this mishap.
"Spider! You still alive in there?!" bellowed the Chief, yet a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach told him that the
masked man had (somehow) managed to survive that exchange. As Blaine had learned over the last number of weeks, the
vigilante was quite fond of making the Force look bad. Course, some of his officers just love to play into his games.
"As much as your paymasters would like it to be otherwise, Francis, I'm still alive!" replied the gruff voice of the
violent 'wraith'. Sighing, the Chief tried to think of how to end this. He couldn't send officers in to apprehend this
guy, it'd be what he would want. This freak had already made fools of them so far, he wasn't going to serve up a group of
cops on a platter for this psycho.
"Surely even you see the folly of this!" yelled Blaine, trying to buy himself some more time to think. Though he knew that
the longer they waited, the more anxious his men were going to get. "What's your plan here, Spider? You ain't bulletproof!
Turn yourself in! I promise you'll be giv-"
"Hrrmmm... don't waste my time with hollow promises and petty platitudes!" spat the masked man, cutting the Chief off as
his voice sounded closer. "I don't need to be bulletproof with the shitty accuracy skills of your men! They fired off
enough bullets to clear out a trench and all it succeeded in doing is helping me save some ammo!" Blaine sighed heavily,
practically feeling the tension mounting through the gathered policemen.
But what he didn't realize was it really dug at one man in particular.
"Then try your fuckin' luck!" roared a very familiar voice. It was Branden, bellowing as he marched to the front of the
police line once more, suddenly forgetting the Chief's orders. Blaine cursed under his breath and moved to stop him,
fearing such actions would only destablize things further.
As he reached out to grab the man, the front door suddenly burst open. Bullets from within the warehouse started flying
immediately, each hitting a spot on Branden's body as a dark shape emerged from the shadows within the structure. Chief
Blaine barely managed to avoid getting hit himself as he saw his officer fall backwards, sprawling onto the concrete.
"Oh sh-" gasped Blaine as time seemed to stop for a brief moment, he looked up at the bizarre figure before him. As the
seconds ticked by at an excrutiating pace, the police chief suddenly realized who stood before them.
Darrel McGinnis. His mouth had been wrapped in duct tape.
Before Francis Blaine could think of something to do, the assembled officers returned fire to the percieved attack, in
some desperate attempt to avenge their fallen 'brother'. Countless bullets ripped into the young man, leaving the shocked
Chief speechless as he watched the scene unfold. It took a few seconds before the gathered officers realized their error,
but it was already too late to save the young hoodlum. He was dead before he hit the ground.
For the Chief, the next few moments seemed to be one big mental fog.
As soon as the cops had realized their mistake, they had stormed the warehouse. Blaine couldn't remember if he had, in his
shock, ordered it or not. Those fully expecting to find the armed vigilante waiting for them were soon disappointed. Aside
from the bodies of dead, dying, and/or wounded mobsters... there was no sign of the Black Spider. Even after a hectic and
thorough search of the establishment; which wasn't helped by the fact that many of the lights had been knocked out during
the previous gunfire exchanges... the black-clad 'avenger' had just seemingly disappeared. But this was only known to the
Chief after the fact, in the written casefile reports a day later.
Miraculously, Officer Branden survived his ordeal. The bullet wounds he sufferred proved to be largely non-lethal... still
didn't prevent the damage done to his legs, arms, and other parts. He certainly won't be back on the clock anytime soon...
if at all.
Bradley McGinnis, patriarch of the McGinnis family, largely withdrew from the public after that night. The 'life' had cost
him his son, and all the condolensces and good intentions from those in said 'business' couldn't change that. Chief Blaine
tried to contact him, to perhaps shed some light on things that still didn't add up, but had none of his calls returned.
It wasn't until days later, when some of the surviving gangsters came forward, that the police discovered how the
vigilante pulled off such an amazing disappearing act. Old rumrunning tunnels, placed there by the elder McGinnis when the
Volstead Act had been first put into law. Centennial Ridge's officials hadn't rigidly enforced these laws (at least,
against the criminal element that is), so the tunnels went largely unused after 1926.
Somehow the vigilante had learnt of them. The most popular theory was that Darrel, hoping to save himself from the wrath
of the Black Spider, tipped the Spider off to their locations. Clearly this hadn't helped his situation. The 'Vengeful
Spectre' had managed to elude capture, and was still at large. A point which papers like the Gazette (and that bastard
David Fouts) were happy to point out.
All this was of little comfort, in the end, to Chief Blaine as he sat outside the main room door at the Founding Lodge,
waiting to be summoned by it's shadowy members. A feeling in the back of his spine told that this is only going to get
worse for him.
Continued from: <da:thumb id="380452160"> Story: Black Spider: Opening Salvos
Part 3 of my slowly developing 'Year One
' storyarc for Centennial Ridge's Dark Avenger.
Not entirely happy with how this turned out, in the end, but hopefully it's still good.
Black Spider artwork done by the incredibly talented
, which I added to a screenshot from the game "Mafia II", and added color and other details in photoshop. >> [COM] The Black Spider by Alexiel-VIII
David 'Lead Bottom' Fouts created by
This takes place during the 'Golden Age' of the world of