Coyote thought back to his early days in the company, and how he tricked his competitors to get ahead. He sent forged messages, luring them into old buildings and mine shafts where he then blasted them out of existence or saw them buried alive. His assistant started whisper campaigns again and again--and the fools never quite caught on in time! Once he'd won, it was too late, and the trick was never reported. The elixer of power was so heady, so inescapable, that Coyote stood in the window above the city, cock in hand, and blasted a splat onto the glass and slowly dribbled down onto the sill. Someone else would clean up this mess, also.

His assistant, the dark and surly Wolverine, entered the room a moment later. . .