DISCLAIMER: I do not own The Punisher, and I make no money from this fan fiction.
#
Super Villain
by Rhonnel Ferry
"THE PUNISHER HAS TO FUCKING DIE! WE HAVE TO FUCKING KILL HIM!" Alvin Perez, one of the heads of the notorious robbery syndicate, Hammer Gang, screams at the top of his lungs.
He sounds like he's about to have a heart attack.
"We know that, Alvin," Marvin Ecleo informs him. "Why do you think I sent my guys after him?!"
"Yea, and how well did that go?"
Ecleo doesn't answer. Wish I could see the look of contempt on his face. Should be priceless. A week ago, he had sent four of his goons after me. When I was done with them, they were four hundred puzzle pieces, courtesy of a fragmentation grenade.
Still, they did do a number on my ride. Rammed it twice with a street van, then shot it full of holes with their Uzis. So now, I have to settle for this cheap-ass compact.
The one strong point this car has is that, even though it's parked in a really bad neighborhood, no one is desperate enough to want to steal it.
I'm using a parabolic microphone to listen in on their conversation. And I'm curious why their most revered gang leader, Ruben Reyes, is so quiet.
About a month ago, I punished one of their boys, Mark Mercado, for the murder of sixty year old James Anderson. Mercado's hooker witnessed the whole thing, and told on me.
But I've got my sources, too. And this one, ironically, also happens to be a streetwalker. Olivia Washington, grateful for the punishment I meted out on her abusive pimp a while back, informed me about how one of her clients bragged on the subject of an important Hammer gang meeting regarding yours truly.
I arrived early, and saw Ruben Reyes go inside Shambles, a legit slaughterhouse Reyes owns, and one of the places where they hold their meetings.
That was a couple of hours ago. And he hasn't said a single word.
"You all wanna know what I think?!" Perez continues his tirade. "I think we should make us a super villain!"
There's a short moment of silence. And even I raise an eyebrow after hearing his suggestion.
"What?!" Ecleo finally breaks the silence.
"You know, a super villain! I mean, yea, that guy Punisher, he's just a guy, right. I mean he's got no super powers or nothin'. But he hangs with superhero types. Like Wolverine, the Ghost Rider, or Blade. So The Punisher is basically like...uh..an honorary superhero. So we should make a super villain. You know, expose a couple of our guys to radiation. Or maybe have them all struck by lightning an' shit."
"Are you listening to yourself?"
"What? It happens like that! That's how they're made!"
"You wanna subject our boys to radiation poisoning?!"
"Well, l-let's let the big man decide. What do you think, Ruben?"
Finally.
"I'm way ahead o' you there," Reyes responds ominously.
#
I gotta admit, it's tempting. Three of the top leaders of the Hammer Gang. All holed up in one place. God, what I would give for a rocket launcher right now! They gave all the workers the day off to avoid anybody overhearing anything. So I don't have to worry about collateral damage either.
Still, I'm usually more methodical. I know the area pretty well, but I haven't done any proper reconnaissance. I haven't formulated any strategies either. And they've got a lot of guns in there. Each leader probably came with four bodyguards each, armed with handguns, machine pistols, and mini Uzi carbines!
Compared to that firepower, my arsenal is a little on the thin side.
Ideally, I'd use an SR-25 with a riflescope and suppressor. I would silently shoot down the lookouts. Then stealthily rush towards their low riders. I would attach C-4s under their cars. Then I would go back to my sniping position, remove the suppressor, and shoot out a couple of the windows. They panic inside, and rush the bosses into the cars for immediate extraction. Then I sit back on my lawn chair, and blow them all up with my remote detonator.
Nice and efficient.
I have...none of those things! No sniper rifles, no plastic explosives. Fuck, I don't even have the goddamn lawn chair!
See, the war against crime is a costly one. And it's not like I have financial backers. I have my sources, like Olivia. A superhero ally here and there, like they said. But at the end of the day, it really is a one-man war.
Most of the time, I make do with what's available. What's available to me right now is a worn ballistic vest, helmet and face mask. I have an M249 light machine gun in the trunk. An M1911 pistol, a Ka-Bar Combat Knife, a couple of fragmentation grenades, and some spare ammo.
It would be messy. Risky. Honestly, I think I'd still win. Hell, against these odds, I'd probably still win with just the M1911. That's how confident I am of my skills. That's just how badass I am. But you never know with these things. Especially if there's no planning involved.
But damn, that is tempting.
Fuck it. I'm only human.
#
"Hey, isn't that-?" the thug watching the gate asks his companion when he sees me approaching.
"Oh, shit!" his companion yells, tossing away his cigarette.
They raise their machine pistols, but I beat them to the punch. The LMG easily rips their bodies into shreds.
An added perk of the skull symbol I have on my shirts and body armors, is that it temporarily puts my enemies in a state of awe. They've all heard about my exploits. And for one second, they can't believe that it's actually about to happen to them.
That one second hesitation is all I need.
I kick the large chain link gate open. It's a little difficult to move in all this body armor. I chose to sacrifice mobility for protection. Hope I chose well.
The drivers are next. They heard the gunshots, and see me coming. The idiots panic and start firing at me with their Glocks. I'm not even within range of their weapons yet. Unfortunately for them, they're already in range of mine.
I squeeze the trigger, and I swear it's like putting paper through a shredder. Or I guess meat through a mincer would be closer.
The metal doors to the slaughterhouse slide open. Six guys come out. They open fire at me with their mini Uzi carbines! The old tactical armor, though shabby from long and hard use, manages to protect me from the bullets. Doesn't do so well protecting me from the pain.
I try to return fire, but all that deafening ammunition bouncing against my helmet causes me to lose my equilibrium, and makes it damn near impossible to aim. I miss them completely with a barrage of bullets, and I fall on one knee.
So in the end, it didn't matter that I chose protection over mobility. I still die. I just die slower.
Even as I get peppered from all sides, I still manage to clear my head. I switch targets, and aim for the low riders. If this plan doesn't work, I'll still have the satisfaction of knowing that I forced them all to walk miles home.
The plan works. The cars explode one after the other. Suck my dick, MythBusters!
The shock wave throws the armed thugs off their feet. And while they're still dazed, I mow them down with the LMG! I didn't count, but I musta' put a hundred rounds in each of them.
I slowly and wearily force myself back up. And as I trudge over the scattered internal organs, I can't help but wonder if it's good or bad for the grass to soak up all that blood.
#
I enter the abattoir, but carefully set the M249 on the floor, in favor of the M1911. The light machine gun's weight and length might prove too cumbersome in some of these narrow corridors.
It's completely quiet except for the sound of dangling meathooks and chains. I can also vaguely hear the frightened squeals of pigs from the direction of the pens. They say animals are acutely aware of approaching disasters. I guess I qualify.
There's a large freezer to the left of me. They wouldn't be desperate enough to hide in there, would they? I peek through the small freezer door window, just in case. I don't find anyone inside. But as I search, my peripheral vision catches movement. And then I hear a gunshot!
A hanging meat carcass takes the bullet for me. Yes, I am protected by armor anyway, but I've had enough bullets hit me for one day.
I swing around, and return fire. I hit the shooter twice in the chest. He goes down. And I continue with my slow, cautious progress.
#
I check every room I pass. The compressor room, the women's locker room, the men's locker room,... Eventually I make it to the kill floor. Very appropriate.
But when I open the door, I am surprised by what I find.
Ruben Reyes is standing in the middle of the room, his hands covered with blood. A goon, bleeding from a cracked skull, is lying dead at his feet. Perez and Ecleo are also dead. Perez looks like the bones of his nose were just punched into his brain. Ecleo's head is on backwards.
"I was going to kill them eventually. For complete control of the gangs," Reyes explains casually. "But then you showed up, providing me with both an excellent alibi and a clueless fall guy at the same time. What can I say? It was too tempting."
"I know that feeling," I admit, pointing my gun at him. Something is very wrong with this picture. He doesn't seem the least bit afraid of me at all.
He raises his bloodstained hands.
"You wouldn't shoot an unarmed man, would you?"
I shoot the unarmed man. But to my surprise, he pirouettes out of the way. He just fucking dodged a bullet!
Then he roundhouse kicks the pistol out of my hand, and follows with a spinning back kick to my chest that drops me to the floor.
This is not Ruben Reyes. I did my research. This guy does not have a black belt. The only belt he has, he doesn't even make good use of. He's a fucking sagger!
I know who this is.
"Mystique," I mumble, tasting the blood in my mouth.
Mystique, a shape-shifting mutant terrorist, reveals her true form. That of a voluptuous, blue skinned, red haired woman.
"We have big plans for the Hammer Gang," she begins. "By performing several hate crimes, the mutant society will be spurred-"
"Whoa whoa whoa! I don't wanna hear it!"
"What-?"
"I don't wanna hear your convoluted, super villain, world domination bullshit! One of the reasons I don't stick around with superhero teams like the Thunderbolts or the Secret Defenders is to avoid hearing convoluted, super villain, world domination bullshit! I keep it simple. Identify target, locate target, kill target!"
"Fine. I'll simplify it for you. I'm going to kill you now, Frank Castle. For no reason, other than the fact that you're a human!"
She moves in for the kill. I don't know how she plans to do it. Maybe rip my throat off, or snap my neck. Someone like Mystique doesn't really need a weapon to kill you. But I surprise her with a quick slash across the face with a reverse gripped Ka-Bar!
She yelps and jumps back. Then she smirks as I watch the wound on her cheek miraculously heal itself.
I spring upward and swing the blade twice at her face. She evades both attacks effortlessly, then kicks me in the fucking nuts! Thank God this armor comes with a ballistic groin protector.
She follows through with a high kick to my chin! The room starts spinning, and my knees buckle. But I shake it off. Even if my brain wants to pass out, even if my tired body begs me for respite, I know that if I give in to the exhaustion and the pain, if I give Mystique the chance, there wont be any waking up afterwards.
I feint with the knife. She doesn't fall for it. I throw the left hook anyway. She blocks it, and counters with three rapid punches to my midsection.
I realize that there is no possible way I'm going to win this fist fight. I need to create some distance. But I'm going to need both my hands. I drop the Ka-Bar. It clatters noisily on the floor, stained with the dried blood of uncountable animals.
Her eyes move form the Ka-Bar to me.
"Given up already, Castle?" she asks.
"Never," I answer, putting up my dukes.
She complies with a butterfly kick! I duck under it, then parry a one-two punch combo. She does a low kick, but I check it. Checking in mixed martial arts is slightly lifting your leg to block a low kick. Executed perfectly, this counter can break your attacker's shin bone. Which in this case, it does. She winces, giving me the opening I need.
I grab her throat with one hand, grab her crotch with the other! Lift her over my head, turn around, then toss her halfway across the room!
Her body slams hard against the far wall, before crashing back down!
I dive for the M1911, and shoot her twice in the stomach, as she struggles back up.
She gasps in shock! Her blue skin is tainted by a deep red splotch.
I aim for her heart, and squeeze the trigger again, but she manages to dive out of the way, and through the door!
I reload, then chase after her. I'm slower, but she leaves me a nice bloody trail to follow.
It leads me back outside. Back to the guys I dismembered with the M249. And then... And then nothing.
She's gone. She's completely vanished. And I wonder if she's developed her son's ability to teleport.
I take a tentative step forward...
...then stop.
I've figured it out.
She's disguised herself as one of these goddamn corpses!
I pull the pin off one of the frags, and chuck the grenade right in the middle of the pile of dead bodies.
"Oh, shit!" one of the supposedly deceased exclaims.
Mystique makes a run for it in an attempt to escape the blast radius. I shoot her two times in the back! She collapses, then I dive back inside just as the grenade goes off!
#
What a day. I retrieve my LMG. Stuff my coat pockets with whatever cash, guns, ammo, or valuables I can carry. Gotta get back to my cheap-ass compact before either the cops arrive, or the workers discover the mess in the morning.
Then as I recover the Ka-Bar, I glimpse at the cows and pigs in the pen. And I'm suddenly glad that I didn't have that rocket launcher I wished for earlier. I mean, I don't know enough about these cows and pigs to decide whether they deserve punishment or not. Sure, they're all gonna be killed anyway. I got no problem with that. I like burgers and bacons.
But to kill them for no reason? Well, that wouldn't be human.
END