A seedy bar,
Mike's Grill & Chill,
Hell's Kitchen.
Logan swallowed the last sip of his ninth beer, and to him, it felt just as flat as the fourth.
He'd been in the bar all night. The people around him – every single one – was having fun, with their significant other, or insignificant for all they cared. Good for them. They avoided him like the plague and he preferred it that way. Made things easier. The bartender knew him well – not for what he did best, but for what he filled his downtime with. The beer numbed him, made him feel nothing instead of irrational, blind rage…how the hell did Banner deal with this –
"Logan."
He saw the man walk up out of the corner of his eye, not bothering to look at him until he stood before him. What an odd man he was – wrapped in a trenchcoat and sporting a black fedora, he certainly was a sight to all the bar-goers. They laughed at him amongst themselves, pointing to him behind his back. He didn't see them. His eyes seemed to burn unnaturally bright from under his hat, though, and Logan's vision was blurred enough to obscure most of his other features.
"Logan," said the man again. "I need your help. Urgently."
"No," uttered Logan without hesitation.
"It's important – "
"Didn't you hear me?" Logan asked flippantly. "No. I'm busy."
The man simply laughed in disbelief. "Wow. Such is the legendary hospitality of the Canadian furball Wolverine, eh?"
Logan stopped, his drink halfway to his mouth. He placed it down gently, rising from his seat – and although he came up to the man's nose, he still possessed a very threatening aura.
"Now, you listen here, bub – " Logan brought his face to within an inch of the man's – "if you call me that again, I'm gonna mess you up. Now, if you'd like to take this outside, I'll gladly gut you out back."
This made the man chuckle in earnest. "How right you are! I did forget my manners. Come, then. Let's talk outside."
Logan slammed the bar door behind him as the man looked around. Behind the bar, cars zoomed past like bullets. Above them was a giant billboard with the Avengers plastered on it, all boasting merry smiles bar Hulk. "What do you want?"
"Please, call me Stanley." The man removed his hat, revealing a nondescript middle aged man in his thirties. "I'm well aware of the work you do, Mr. Logan, and I was wondering if you'd take requests."
"Requests?" Logan's laugh turned very quickly into a heavy cough. Clearing his throat (a hard task, considering), he continued. "I'm not a damn hitman."
Stanley nodded. "Yes. I know. But this matter is, uh…personal."
"How so?"
"Someone has done me wrong," Stanley explained agitatedly. "They've crossed a line. I need someone to take them out for me. He's an awful guy, I doubt you'd have any moral objectifications to it – "
Logan cut through the bull. "Who is he? What's his name?"
Stanley paused, thinking over his next words very carefully. "Let's just say, he's a self-righteous prick who needs to be put down. He gets off on giving people, ah…punishment."
The word made Logan step back. "Wait. You mean the Punisher? Frank Castle? The hell did he do this time?"
"He, uh…he killed a very close, ah…friend of mine," Stanley admitted. "Very close. He was like my brother. Name of Aaron Steinberg. Good guy, he was, no debts, no record, no mob connections…but the Punisher didn't care. He murdered him in cold blood in his living room in front of his eight year old son. Left the kid there by himself, they found him crying his eyes out the next morning. It was awful. Aaron helped me get out of a lot of stuff…he didn't deserve what he got. Like that mattered to him."
Logan stared at Stanley with a strange look in his eye. He'd tangled with Frank in the past, several times. Their fights had been brutal. He wasn't a big fan of his authoritarian methods, either. The history between the two was definitely present, and more than complicated. He wasn't exactly the type of person Logan had particular indication to spar with.
"Please," Stanley pleaded. He approached Logan with hands folded like a child in prayer. "You're all I can count on to end his destructive reign. Those – " he pointed to the billboard – "those fools up there wouldn't have the balls. Someone like Spider-Man or…or Daredevil, they're goody two shoes. But you – you have a history…"
"Yeah," Logan countered aggressively. "I have a history with Punisher, too. He ran me over with a steamroller, shotgunned my face off and blew off my balls. You think I don't wanna slit his throat? But if I did that, I'd be like him. A nutcase psychopath who doesn't belong anywhere near a gun. Killing him would only leave a path for others to fill. Plus…I have enough of a reputation, being a mutant and all. Frank Castle might be a pain in the ass, but he isn't my pain in the ass." He turned to go back inside. "Sorry, bub, but you'd be better off getting Deadpool to do that."
Stanley watched him go with bared teeth and a look in his eye that was filled to the brim with danger. Turning back to the billboard, he began laughing hysterically to himself.
"You 'superheroes' are all the same. Self-appointed SAINTS! Well…I'm sick of this rampant abuse of authority. Those who misuse their power…best fear my wrath."
