"Another report just came in."
"Him again?"
"Yeah, whoever this Castle guy is he's causing some serious damage on the streets."
"Fuckin' terrorist freak."
The New York City Police Department has had its fair share of disturbing cases, satanic murders and even child trafficking. Hell's Kitchen especially seemed a magnet for the criminally insane but nothing prepared the city for the onslaught of gangs and drug runners that flooded the streets.
Frank Castle or the Punisher as local media took to calling him had been busy. He'd taken out several mob families and even blew up a shipment of guns that Wilson Fisk had coming in. The bodies he left behind were quickly stacking up and the cops were no closer to getting Castle.
Some on the force were glad that Castle was on the streets executing his brand of justice, punishing. He'd often get the information on drug raides or whatever gang activity was on the department's radar from a few officers who owed him for saving their lives.
Just like tonight's intel on a gathering of the Hand and the heads of an Italian gang. One of the officers, Hank Westwood, had given Frank an update on the supposed location of this meeting.
Meanwhile across town near an old warehouse in Brooklyn, Frank sat on an opposite rooftop. He brought a large duffle bag that carried a sniper rifle and smaller firearms. He chewed on a piece of gum while observing the surroundings with a pair of military-grade binoculars.
The meeting had begun already and outside the warehouse stood several black trucks and vans. Bodyguards of both the Hand and Italian gang stood outside to prevent anyone from entering.
They were armed, nothing too fancy as he noted. There were five armed guards and each carried a regular sub-machine gun with a silencer. Frank smirked for a second before his stoic gaze returned and he spat out the gum. He put away the binoculars and rose to his feet. He loaded the various guns he carried on his person and made sure to strap an extra clip or two on his bulletproof vest.
The sniper rifle he brought had a strap which he hung around his neck and took it with him as he headed for the fire escape. The duffle bag he left behind. He circled around back of the warehouse, staying out of sight as most of the guards rarely moved it seemed.
He'd make too much of a noise if he just attacked and there was no telling how long the meeting would last or who was inside as the windows of the warehouse were blackened.
He was tactical, trained and patient. Frank stood against the side of the building shielded by the dark of the alley, he had a knife in hand and figured he'd get one of them walk his way.
He kicked an empty cola can toward the front and naturally the guard who stood closest to the alley came looking. It was a member of the Hand, Frank observed, he'd dressed as one. The guard held up his gun as he ventured into the alley and Frank ready to strike.
As soon as the guard came into range, Frank jumped out of the dark and stuck his knife up under the chin of the guard. Blood spat out of his mouth and Frank caught the sub-machine gun before it fell. He dropped the guard on the ground and made sure he was hidden behind a nearby dumpster.
The other guards were suspicious when their comrad hadn't come back and two more came looking.
Frank made quick work of them too as he took one out by snapping his neck and the other by slashing his throat. Only two left and they'd be easy pickings, he wouldn't even have to hide anymore.
He twisted a silencer on one of his guns that he'd drawn and made his way to the front. It would have to be two quick headshots, he'd have to act fast. Frank ran out and easily shot the first one through the head while the second one barely had any time to react before Frank shot him through the throat and one more in the head.
"Penny and dime," he grunted as he holstered his gun.
The meeting was still going on, he had no need of going inside though as he had a different approach in mind. He stood in front of the big metal doors of the warehouse and reached behind his back. He drew a small device that was a makeshift detonator. He brushed his thumb over the trigger switch while he gazed up the length of the building.
"Dogs get put down, scumbags get blown up," he muttered before pressing the button.
Within 10 seconds a loud explosion blew the windows out as fire blazed out of them. It was a napalm-rigged explosive that he'd placed inside the building the other night. He knew they were meeting here, he'd tortured the information out of a gangbanger he'd caught a few days earlier. He knew before any cop had gotten wind of it, though he appreciated the intel they gave him.
He walked a few feet away from the building and sat on one knee as he grabbed the sniper rifle from his neck. The building was lit up and black smoke was everywhere. He sat there patiently waiting as he stared through the scope of his rifle. Suddenly the big metal door swung open as smoke and noise came out. Members of both Italian gang and the Hand came rushing out, some on fire and some just scared.
He shot them down, one by one. Each a headshot and he made a point of shooting them right between the eyes. He sat there a good 15 minutes before he knew he had all of them. Sirens in the distance were approaching fast, he'd done what he came to do and calmly stood up. He flung the rifle around his neck again and turned away.
Though suddenly he was surprised by a man on fire who ran out of the still burning building and came straight for him. Frank narrowed his gaze and responded like any soldier would, he drew a 9mm berreta and shot the incoming goon through the head.
"Kill 'em good," he said as he inhaled the crisp cold air and holstered his piece. Micro had told him about a possibility of getting a rocket launcher that he'd found on Graigslist. Frank was itching to use it.