Marvel: Ghost Rider

He opened a desk drawer and pulled out a few items: a heavy hammer, brass knuckles, a hunting knife, a broken katana, and… a hockey mask. The objects landed on the desk with dull thuds. The cousins froze.

"These are my trophies," Johnny continued. "Each of them has a story. Take this brass knuckle, for example. Bonecrusher tried using it against my fists. Now the knuckle's mine, and he'll never have kids again."

He picked up the knife, examining it like a cherished relic.

"This knife belonged to Pretty Boy. He tried to stab me at a school dance. Let's just say he now prefers to keep his distance from people."

Johnny ran his hand over the hockey mask, hesitated for a moment, and shook his head, as if deciding the story wasn't worth sharing. Then, he picked up the broken katana.

"And this…" His voice turned soft, almost nostalgic. "This katana belonged to a real yakuza. Maybe you've heard of him—Samurai. He was a fan of the old ways." Johnny gazed at the blade, covered in scratches, with its tip broken off. "The other half of this blade is still inside Samurai."

He raised his eyes, staring directly at the cousins.

"You know what they all have in common?" His voice turned glacial. "Each of them thought they were tough and me was just some school nerd. And where are they now?"

The cousins stiffened. They knew every name. Bonecrusher—an underground fighter who lured fresh meat into the ring. Pretty Boy—a pimp who scouted for young recruits. Samurai—a dealer in high-quality drugs, responsible for distribution in schools.

Those men were big league. Compared to them, the cousins were petty bike thieves.

Mr. Blaze stared at them, waiting for their response.

The cousins exchanged glances. One of them swallowed hard but tried to maintain composure.

"All right, all right, Mr. Blaze," the stocky one muttered. "We get it. You're in charge here. We're not trying to step on your toes. We just wanted to make a little money."

"Nothing happens in this school without my permission. Got it? No 'little money.'"

"Of course, Mr. Blaze. We didn't know how things worked here. Tim didn't tell us anything. Look, maybe we can make a deal? We provide the goods. Tim can sell in the hallways. If anything goes wrong, we'll make sure that loser takes all the blame and doesn't mention our names." He smirked and cracked his knuckles. "Fifty percent of the profit for you. Fair deal?"

Johnny leaned forward, folding his hands on the desk.

"You'll leave and never come back. If I see you near any students, even outside the school, I'll throw you out this window. Clear?"

The cousins hesitated. The stocky one looked ready to argue, but the other placed a hand on his shoulder and muttered that they should leave.

They headed for the door and pulled the handle, but it wouldn't budge. They were locked in.

"What the hell is this?" one of them panicked. "We don't want to do any business here!"

"Smart choice," Johnny said darkly, smirking. "But you still need to pay for your past sins."

"Mr. Blaze… we can work something out…"

"There's no Mr. Blaze here anymore." He donned the hockey mask. "It's just two scumbags and the Demon."

He lunged at them, hammer in hand.

/////

The next day, Johnny lounged comfortably in his office. He was in high spirits. He smiled as he admired the spotless cleanliness, the faint smell of bleach the only reminder of the blood, teeth, and two groaning bodies that had occupied the room yesterday. Where his deputy had dumped them near a hospital was no longer his concern.

"Having subordinates isn't so bad," he thought, eyeing the cleaning supplies his team had used all evening.

Finding positives was good, but he needed to be realistic. The urge to punish was growing stronger every day. It first appeared in grade school, a maddening swarm of hellish bees demanding to sting every scumbag nearby. Back then, one fight with bullies could sate it for a year. Now, a single act of vengeance barely lasted a week. The curse was closing in. Any day now, he'd become the Ghost Rider. And then school bullies wouldn't be enough to quench his thirst.

A knock at the door broke his grim thoughts.

"Come in," Johnny said, donning his usual icy mask.

To his surprise, Tim walked into the disciplinary committee's office. Johnny had been certain that after seeing his barely breathing cousins and scrubbing their blood off the walls, Tim would avoid this place like the plague.

"Did you need something?" Johnny asked indifferently.

"Mr. Blaze, thank you," Tim said, bowing. "After your… uh… talk, my cousins promised never to bother me or my mom again."

Johnny simply nodded, returning to his thoughts, but Tim didn't leave. His eyes were filled with tiresome gratitude.

"You literally saved my life," Tim continued, his voice brimming with enthusiasm. "I want to be useful. Sign me up for the disciplinary committee. I know I'm not strong, but I'm ready to improve! Enroll me in the boxing club!"

Johnny barely resisted rolling his eyes.

"I just wanted to unleash my darkness," he thought. "Why does everyone think I fight for them?"

///

The Cross of Vengeance rested on the neck of its rightful heir.

A week had passed since the conversation with… what were their names again? In any case, their time of reckoning had passed, and a new sacrifice was required for the flames of vengeance. Johnny sat in his office, bored out of his mind. The fire in his chest burned with unbearable intensity, but no opportunities for retribution had arisen all week. He felt like a caged beast.

The only thing distracting him was Roxy. She sat across from him with a biology textbook, chattering cheerfully about how she would pass her dreaded test and then become a famous actress. Johnny found himself willing to listen to anything to drown out the burning inside.

A month ago, spending time with loved ones helped him maintain his humanity, but now the fire in his heart screamed for action—terrible, brutal actions against the guilty.

"If this keeps up, I'll start attacking people indiscriminately, like a rabid dog," Johnny thought with a wry smile, though it carried no joy.

Roxy, mistaking his smile as a response to her joke, beamed with happiness. She had no idea what turmoil was raging inside Johnny, and he had no intention of explaining it.

The office door opened, and Tim walked in, sporting a black eye and a nervous expression. Johnny looked up, focusing on the signs of violence. In that moment, a spark of life lit within him. He immediately closed the textbook and stood, giving his full attention to his subordinate.

/////

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