Wolverine and the Kingpin are the property of Marvel Comics.

"You tell Jameson that if he publishes that story, I'll bury that rag he calls a newspaper!" I slam the phone down, as I feel my blood pressure rising. Damn press. Always stirring up trouble. I buzz Mary Anne.

"Yes, Mr. McLaurence?" she asks sweetly.

"Mary Anne, please get me Wilson Fisk on the phone." I request.

"Right away, sir." She replies.

Trouble. Always more trouble. You'd think that having money would make your life just a little easier. But of course not. Everybody wants a piece of your wealth. A million here, a million there. 'C'mon, Mr. McLaurence... what's another million, when you have so much?' No one wants to work for it anymore, like I did.

-Bzzzt-

"Mr. McLaurence? Mr. Fisk on line one." Mary Anne says, through the intercom.

Wilson Fisk. Another of New York's richest men. Also known as the Kingpin, Fisk is one of the most powerful crime bosses, running the vice rings, and from what I'm told, has had a hand in several assassinations throughout the past two decades, or so my sources tell me. And my sources are rarely wrong. I don't like Fisk, but sometimes our goals coincide, and we make partnerships of circumstance. Generally, I don't like the guy, though. Just gives off a nasty impression.

"Wilson! We seem to be having problems with the Bugle again." I tell him.

"Not to worry, Quinton, the Bugle can be taken care of. Reporters are an easily bought bunch," he replies, laughing.

"So were still on?" I ask.

"Of course, Quinton," he says.

"Perfect. I'll talk to you this weekend then."

"Very well."

We hang up. I'm always left with an uneasy feeling after talking to Fisk, no matter how short the conversation.

-Bzzzt-

"Yes, Mary Anne?"

"Sir, Zachary is here." She says.

"Send him in, please."

Zachary Bryant, head of my security affairs division of my corporation. One of the few men whom I put considerable trust in. Zachary and I served for two tours of duty in Vietnam together, and owe each other our lives many times over.

Zachary enters through the office door, looking distraught.

"Quinton, I've got some terrible news," he tells me.

"Well, what the hell is it?" I demand. Terrible news, coming from Zachary is always bad.

"It's... it's Michael..." he drifts off.

I stand up in alarm. "What's wrong with Michael?!?"

"He's... he's dead, Quinton." Zachary whispers.

I slowly sit down in my seat, shock overwhelming me. "How... how did this happen?"

"He was found in the subway tunnels, downtown. He... he got electrocuted on the power track of the train. One of the drivers saw his body, and was barely able to stop from running over the body."

I can't believe this. Michael... gone... how? Why? All of these thoughts flying through my mind... Michael! No! How could he be gone?!?!

"Why the hell was he in the subway tunnel?!?" I shout.

"We're not really sure... Apparently there was some kind of cavernous room built into the side of the subway tunnel, but much of it had been destroyed by the time we got there. The sub driver said that not five minutes after he stopped for Michael's body, he heard a loud explosion and saw someone run out of the tunnel. He couldn't identify him, only could say that the guy was, and I quote, big, ugly, and moved incredibly fast past him, unquote."

"Was anything left of the room?" I ask.

"Apparently it was some kind of laboratory. No records could be found, and all of the equipment was destroyed in the blast," he says.

"Can you tell me anything of use?" I demand.

"Oh yes, we found several bodies of what seemed to be guards, strewn about the room, many not even touched by the explosion. When we examined them, we found something very interesting. They had all been killed by something with claws approximately a foot to a foot and a half long. Now, tell me Quinton, have you ever heard of a group called the X-Men?" He asks.

"The mutants?" I ask tiredly.

"Exactly. One of their members, nicknamed Wolverine, operates with claws like this. In fact, we found a couple of police officers that were patrolling the street say that they saw someone matching his exact description leaving up the stairs from the subway." Zachary said.

"This is the same man who blew up the room?" I ask.

"We don't think so. The description of the man whom the driver saw doesn't match Wolverine. We believe that he came in after Michael was... was killed," he replies.

"This Wolverine killed my son? I'll tear him apart." I swear.

"Quinton, our files say that this is not someone to be dealt with lightly." Zachary says cautiously.

I can feel my blood pressure rising, my hatred boiling. The time for mourning is later. The time for action is now. My son... my son! "Neither am I, Zachary, neither am I. Not when it comes to Michael," I buzz Mary Anne. "Mary Anne, get me Mr. Fisk again."