A ring of condensation after he lifted the beer to his lips. Light rust in the same place on the dulled steel gave proof to it's present use as a coaster not being an infrequent one. Maddicks flicked between the sports networks. He'd laid a twenty on the Gators in basketball, as a casual side bet to the five hundred he had on Michigan, and those bums were down two scores going into the half. He used ta be somebody. Well he used ta almost be somebody. He hung around people who had "somebody" potential, and would still send a shiver up the spine of the man on the street. That was before the sentencing. Before the isolation in a cell. Before when he still gave a shit about his appearance enough to work out. Before the parole board saw him as a broken down has been who wouldn't have started have any more trouble if he could. The spark of life having left him years ago. Before he had the P.O. officer check ins. Before he really started to hurt in the colder months. He barely had it in him to be mad at any of these kids for getting scrubbed. Hell, it was probably his fault for betting on them. The five hundred was chasing already bad money. He was collecting cheques from a slip-n-fall in a Whole Foods, to keep the heat which went out last month going, and those cheques were fast running out. Nobody hires ex-cons. The classiest decision he'd made this year was choosing to take his dive in Whole Foods over Dollar General. He couldn't pay. He knew he couldn't pay. Knew it when he laid the bet. In part it was the reason why he did it. [hr] [Center][img]https://i.imgur.com/knxuQ0h.jpeg[/img][/center] [center][color=yellow][h3][b]T H E R E A S O N[/b][/h3][/color][/center] [hr] Maddicks got up and trudged to the can, he dropped his boxers (which a long with a wifebeater, was all he was wearing) and closed his eyes, letting the stream go where it may, in the vaguest direction of the toilet. His past in the Air Force, as a merc, working off-book for Roxxon, going toe-to-toe with those in tights, it all played back before him. "Kyle Lofton bricks the three!" Simon barely opened his eyes. "And time expires!" Sounded like his low-bet wasn't going to pay off either. There were years apparent on his face, years of weariness and no surprise. There was a loud knock on the door. No crispness. Just loud. Simon trudged to the front door and opened it without looking through the peephole. He was met by his bookie. An undersized man, fast talker. Full of life. Chasing life. Feeding on life. "If I'm not mistaken, Vandy just got up." [color=yellow]"Were you waiting right outside of my door?"[/color] Simon asked, incredulous at how quickly the bookie got to his home to collect on a twenty dollar bet. "I was, and do you know who else was..?" And knowing their cue in walked two large men who didn't look like they'd be able to mentally handle much more than that cue. [color=yellow]"They know their choreography..."[/color] "They do. But they only dance when I say so." The confident man of smaller stature said. "And when I say so, tends to be when people don't answer this next question properly." "Where's my money, Maddicks?" [right][i]"Sonuvabitch. He knows I've got a second bet laid. It was with HIM for chrissakes. The prick wants to make me beg. Beg for an extra hour or two, when my next bet ends. Which I'm also likely to lose. Little turd's playing power tricks."[/i][/right] Maddicks wasn't going to beg. However today went down, [b]THAT[/b] was not on the cards. Simon walked back across the room, and turned up the volume on the television. [color=yellow]"I don't have it."[/color] This caught the smaller man by surprise, as evident by his gaping mouth. One of the larger two men nudged him and mouthed something, dragging him back down to Earth. Something was different. He wasn't openly agressive, Hell, he still gave off the basic impression that he was dead inside. But he wasn't yielding. He wasn't arguing his own cause for an extension. If only for a few hours. "We--well that's too bad. You owe." [color=yellow]"I do."[/color] Maddicks said plainly. His eyes still barely open with general disinterest. "Then I guess these two guys are going to take have to take it out of your ass." The first one punched him in the gut, just below the solar plexus, and folded him in half like he was made of cardboard. Simon was sucking up air, when he was straightened up, and his jaw met with a heavy right hand that knocked a tooth loose. Maddicks raised a finger, and struggled to catch his breath. The bookie put a pause to proceedings with a smile, expecting Simon to beg and plead for the extra few hours to see how it would play out. [color=yellow]"What's our balance so far?"[/color] Another heavy right. Another shot to the gut. A left hook that sent things spinning briefly. "You're a punching bag. I mean, I knew you were for those tights and capes guys, but Good Lord, Maddicks. You're going to die over what? Five hundred bucks? Twenty bucks? I mean, you know I'm gonna kill you, right? You realise how much faster those two-bit, no-money dickheads will pay up after they hear I iced a gen-u-wine supervillain, right? Or at least, whatever the Hell you were... Don't worry, I'll make you sound far more impressive than you are. Or ever were." Simon kept taking repeated punches. "I mean, I don't get it. I heard you've got no income anymore, but surely you could have sold this old suit to some kind of capes and cowls collecter for a couple grand." [color=yellow]"Two hundred."[/color] He grunted out in exhalation, through his teeth. "What?" Came the bookie's surprised reply, not the least because the man could still talk. [color=yellow]"I got it valuated. Two hundred bucks. Market's flooded."[/color] "Well, shit Maddicks. I don't even value your life and I still overvalued you." He chuckled, as the beating continued. "I mean, I guess I can see, why it's only two hundred. Even if you weren't a big name, suit made of steel. Really, steel? In THIS world... and you've only got one gauntl-- Oh shit!" The bookie was interrupted by the larger of the two men flying backwards across the wall, whilst seizing from electric shock. Sparks flew from Simon Maddicks as he looked up with a brutal grin, blood drooling out from between baked bean shaped teeth. Lit by the flickering blue electricity from the one remaining gauntlet on his wrist. The bookie shoved the remaining big body towards Maddicks, who grabbed him by the throat and made him convulse with the power surging through the gauntlet, befor dropping him in the corner. [color=yellow]"Empty your pockets."[/color] Maddicks said, now that the pair was alone. "Wh--What?" [color=yellow]"Empty your pockets."[/color] His eyes were still half open, but now that was mostly because his right eye was closing over from the battering he'd allowed himself to take. He dropped a roll with three hundreds four twenties and a bunch of quarters and brass. [color=yellow]"You really thought I give a shit over twenty bucks? Even now?"[/color] The bookie shook his head. Terrified. A wet patch spreading across the front of his pants. Simon pocketed the notes and juggled the change in the palm of his hand. [color=yellow]"You're here for one reason. I made those bets for one reason."[/color] The supervillain sighed, adrenaline starting to leave him. He shoved the change in the bookie's mouth. [color=yellow]"You can't. Buy. Hungry."[/color] The gauntlet sparked. His mouth flashed blue, he didn't stop until he could smell the foul scent of the man's hair burning. He dropped him on the floor and donned the Killer Shrike costume once more, leaving his apartment forever with all of his belongings on his back.