Den des Chasseurs

Happy Hogan

Happy was passing the dorms when he heard it. He was making a decent living as a chueffer for fancy companies, but that was only a side job. Normally he was a guard at MIT. On usual nights, he broke up students having PDA publicly, but on occasion he would run into people getting mugged. Many outsiders assumed everyone who went to MIT were rich, due to the tuition fees, but quite a few kids fundraised for their education here, and often students only were there because of scholarships.

So it wasn't too big of a shock when he heard a faked tough voice demanding some poor kid's money.

"I know yous got more 'den 'dat on ya. Hand 't over, ya little shit." The accent was butchered, clearly some guy hiding his voice, meaning the kid he was robbing might recognize him. Happy took no time stepping in. He soon realized that there was more than on thug, three total.

"You let go of that kid, and step away, please." He stated calmly to the man, no, child, in the ski mask (which was quite cliche in Happy's opinion). He couldn't see the face of the kid getting mugged, but the body was wearing a rather nice suit jacket, a black sabbath shirt underneath, black jeans worn as well.

All three thugs wore masks, along with what can be claimed as cliche thug attire. From the saggy pants, to the gold chains around their necks. The one that seemed to be the leader held a small, cheap pocket knife to the student's throat. It didn't even look sharp enough to cause more than a bruise, and the kid knew it too. His entire posture was relaxed, and had a hand in his pocket.

"Oh yeah, and what 'chos gonna do's 'bout it?" Dumbass number one asked, laughing.

"Yeahs," Number two sneered. "Yous just somes donut loving renta cop. Gonna offer me a sprinkled cream?" They all laughed, and Happy smiled devilishly.

"Actually, I've always been partial to coffee cake myself." And sprung into action. A hook to the head, and number three was stumbling, and an uppercut stunned him. A final kick to the stomach knocked him out.

Number two was out with a kick to the stomach, which knocked him into a wall, and his head smacked against the edge of a trashcan.

Number one quickly moved around, holding the knife to the student's throat from the safety of using the boy as a human shield. He backed away.

"Back off, cop. Or I slit his throat." The ridiculously stupid accent vanishd in nervousness, and Happy got a good look at the student's face. With a start, he realized that student was Tony Stark, but he didn't dwaddle on that for long.

"Jarold, is that you?" Stark seemed to brighten at the boy's now un-accented voice. "Hi Jarold!" The boy seemed way to cheerful for about to be murdered.

"Shut it, Stark." The thug, now dubbed Jarold, growled, pressing the blade harder on Stark's throat. Happy was about to interfere, when Stark sprung. He grabbed Jarold's wrist, and spun out of the hold, kicking the boy in the stomach. Stark then twisted behind Jarold, and pressed his hand firmly against the back of the exposed elbow, which was bending the wrong way. Jarold hissed in pain, and dropped the knife. Stark kicked the back of Jarold's knees, causing them to buckled, before putting an elbow in the back of the attempted mugger's head. Jarold was out like a light.

"I never did like you, and I know you cheated on that last exam in Mr. Turner's class." Stark scolded mockingly, picking up his wallet, and counting the money. He finally acknowledged Happy.

"Hi! Thanks for the help there. Say, would you like a job?" Happy blinked.

"Uhhh. No problem. I already have a job though..." Tony nodded thoughtfully.

"Ok...I mean for me though. Work for me, I mean. The big guys are insisting I get a bodyguard, and that there would have just proved them right. Any chance you'll work for me? I pay well." Happy cocked his head.