Narrating an Introduction

Mongolian Cashmere is expensive to clean.

Especially when it's a bright grey color and covered with blood.

How do I know that?

Because I, Richard Fisk, had to clean blood off of my suit.

But I also never owned a Mongolian Cashmere suit, and I never had to clean blood off of it.

Because I'm not Richard Fisk.

But I also am.

Allow me to explain.

It all began when I got run over by a truck.

Generic, isn't it?

Well, My name was Richard Fisk, your regular 19 year old guy, I had a regular job, and regular friends.

I didn't have a girlfriend or, god forbid, a wife and kids, I was an only child.

I was, for all intents and purposes, A normal guy.

Now, Richard Fisk is the name my parents gave me, but it's also coincidentally the name of a comic-book character.

Are you still following me? Good.

So, this comic-book character, Richard Fisk, was a criminal in a super-hero comic.

Some bad guy for the hero to beat up.

What made this Richard Fisk more noteworthy than other c-list bad guys, was that he was the son of a major villain.

Wilson Fisk, The Kingpin.

Now, This comic-book Richard, Let's call him Rose for now so we won't get confused all the time, wasn't an amazing villain, He wasn't even a memorable villain.

He's the kind of villain that appears once in a while as a side-villain in a bigger over-arching story.

He isn't big MAIN villain material, and he wasn't fine with that.

Not when The Kingpin, his father might I remind you, runs the biggest criminal empire in the largest city in America.

The Kingpin of crime, The King of New York. That was what they called him, And Rose, he was jealous, he wanted to be at the top, he wanted to be The Kingpin.

Sadly for him, he wasn't brutal enough.

Don't get me wrong, Rose had no problem with Kidnapping and Murder, but he wasn't fit for the Top-Dog position that was Kingpin, He got himself a nice spot in hell after he Died, he was not a good person.

Except that I'm not him, I'm Richard Fisk, the young adult, not Richard Fisk the Rose.

Except now that I'm dead, I guess the cosmic entities in charge of karma or creation or what have you decided that it would be a funny idea to place the memories of a comic book character into my head.

And now I'm thinking about expensive suits and gardening tools.

What has my life become?