But Mark was chilling out halfway around the world in Tasmania, where it was warm and sunny and generally much less stressful.

 

Mark's presence in Hobart posed an interesting question, namely whether it was a smart move for him to come there, because it definately wouldn't be a smart move to ever leave, as in the context of ending his "vacation". From a certain point of view, there was absolutely no compelling reason to get back into the game. Mark had money - well, he wasn't exactly Donald Trump, but you didn't become one of the most feared Enforcers on the East Coast without making a pretty penny -, and he'd set records for bodycount and brutality only he was likely to break. Worse, he was bound to take the fall sooner or later - why not quit while ahead? Then again, Mark had read Amazing Fantasy back in the days. He wasn't looking forward to his version of seeing Uncle Ben die - with Equinox on your speed-dial comes great responsibility. (And the occasional wedding invitation; Mark shuddered briefly at the most recent memory.)

 

Walking around town in tan 3/4 pants and a figure-hugging violet shirt - Mark had learned many things in his life, but not coordinating colors other than shades of black -, he briefly wondered whether maybe a Batman analogy might be more fitting for his situation, but then he noticed that he was thinking about things that had interested him 30, 40 years ago, and it made him feel old, so he forced his eyes onto the various hot women walking around him and felt the refreshing power of cute smiles and firm buttocks wash over him. Some of them even reciprocated - they probably recognised him from the photo next to Encyclopedia Brittanica's "Ruggedly handsome" entry.

 

"Hello sailor," a girl said, coming up on his side. He craned his head around to take her in; tankini, flip-flops and hair bleached to oblivion, but her face showed the signs of a refreshing wit hidden behind the beach bunny exterior.
"It's okay, I speak young people English."
"Had to check," she replied. "Look, is it okay if I kiss you? It's a dare."
"Well, is this a chaste peck on the cheek kinda kiss, or do I get to enjoy it?"
"Do your worst, pops."

 

Mark grabbed the girl and whirled her around, nearly laying her down as he bowed over her, but it wasn't for the kiss. At first, she wondered, then she asked, then she screamed, then she landed on her fanny as Mark dropped her to the ground shortly before following, creating a dull thud next to her as he kissed pavement.

 

Whatever questions she might have had were answered when she felt the pain in her belly, her fingers covered with blood. Her look went towards Mark, whose shirt was also subtly shifting coloration towards the red end of the spectrum.

 

While she screamed for help, one thought went through Mark's head.

 

Jesus, not again.