Moments earlier, there had been a huge argument in the corridor. In the end, it had been decided that Clint, being the newest member of the gang, would have the 'privilege' of going first through the door. The door the Punisher had just dived through.

"Think about it Clint," commanded one of the other members. "You're going to have the first chance to nail the Punisher! Think about the rep you'll get! Babes will throw themselves at you! You'll never have to pay for a drink ever again! You'll be right there at the top of the gang."

Clint shrugged. He knew damn well that the reason he was going through first was that the others thought the first guy would be shot instantly. How pathetic, a bunch of armed, grown thugs frightened of just one man. Hard nut, cold-blooded killers, and not one of them had the nerve to take on one guy. Well, he would show them.

"Hand me the shotgun" Clint calmly said. The rest of the gang looked at each other, debating hurriedly. Finally, the skinhead with the shotgun handed it over, quietly sure he'd have it back soon enough. Clint made sure the safety was off, then walked calmly over to the door. He'd killed before, and he wasn't going to let some ageing relic end his life tonight.

As always, Clint was carrying a small amount of C4; these days it seemed everyone had to have a trademark. Every other crook seemed to be a 'Desert eagle' Dave or a 'Machete' Mark. 'C4' Clint seemed to have a ring to it. Besides, he couldn't think of any cooler weapons beginning with 'C'. Either way, it looked like his trademark would come in useful tonight. He set the explosive around the doorway, quickly and efficiently. It wasn't much; C4 wasn't cheap after all. Bu there was enough so that if this Punisher freak was anywhere near the door, he was gonna be in for a world of pain. Time to go in with a bang. Everyone backed off, and Clint triggered the C4.

The door flew like a bullet through the air, it's steel form ripping through the rooms. Clint rushed to the smoking doorway, shotgun raised. Now was Clint's time, now was his chance to shine. With any luck, the stupid idiot Castle had been waiting by the door to ambush them. Either way, if the fool was still alive, he was going to be reeling. The Punisher didn't stand a chance. This was it. Clint was going to finally be someone. As he stormed through the smoking doorway, the one thought filling his mind that this was going to be the first night of the rest of his life. A heartbeat later, the bullet cracked through Clint's skull, killing him instantly.

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A small part of Castle always felt sorry for the first guy through the door. He'd lost count of the number of times he'd been in a situation like this; stuck in a room with a bunch of people outside wanting to kill him. And every single time, the first guy through the door was the first guy to die. No exceptions. Lambs to the slaughter, every one of them. They never even had a chance to take a shot at him. But hey, this was no game. There were no rules that Frank abided by when it came to criminals. So, as always, the first guy through the door took the bullet to the head. But the floodgates seemed to be open, as the seven other criminals practically flew through the door, spraying bullets in Frank's direction. Frank squeezed another shot before launching himself to the bedroom, just as the sofa he'd been hiding behind was ripped to shreds by the hail of bullets. Thug number two took Frank's bullet in the chest and collapsed just in the doorway, coughing blood up as he fought for every breath. After a few seconds, he lost the fight.

The remaining six spread out, trying to find cover in the sparsely furnished room. Castle appeared briefly in the bedroom doorway and fired a barrage of shots into thug number three, before disappearing again, as bullets filled the space he had just vacated. Silence filled the apartment. It wasn't a pleasant silence.

"Steve! Go and get him," whispered one of the goons. Steve looked back in disbelief.

"Are you trying to be funny! Anyway, who made you boss Matt?"

"Well, Adam doesn't seem to be in a position to lead us," Matt muttered, motioning to the remains of thug number three, "and I'm next in line to be boss. Now listen to me, this is the only way any of us are going to survive this."

"You mean the only way you're going to survive this."

"Now, this is no time to argue, just do..."

Matt got no further as a single bullet passed through his heart. If he was capable of such an action, Castle might've smiled at the stupidity of the street thugs. All their attention on whom should be boss, none on Castle. Fine by him. Gave him time to line up his shots. He disappeared back into the darkness.

One of the thugs took it into his head to try and sneak upon Frank. Having retrieved his shotgun, the skinhead slowly edged his way to the door, gun trained on the entrance. After what felt like an age, he finally reached the doorway, and his ape-like skull was confused. What was he to do next? He hadn't expected to make it this far. After a brief hesitation, he took a deep breath and stepped through the doorway, firing blindly into the darkened room. A few seconds went past and the goon was pleasantly surprised to find that he was still alive. However, he couldn't see the Punisher anywhere. He was still looking around when the Punisher stepped from behind the door, and pushed it shut. The skinhead turned just in time to see Frank fire the colt at point-blank range. Frank picked up the shotgun

Outside, the remaining thugs heard the shot, and as another venomous silence descended, there were no doubts as to the fate of their comrade.

"There's no way that I'm going into that room," stated a fear struck crook.

"Damn straight," began another villain. "To go in there would be certain dea..."

The sentence remained unfinished, as Frank came out of the bedroom fast, firing a shot from his colt that caught the villain in the face. The last two quickly opened fire as Frank dived to the ground. Sliding along the floor, he unloaded the clip in the direction of one of the remaining losers, who fell to the floor like a lead weight.

The last thug fired wildly in Frank's direction, screaming like a dying banshee. And then there was the sound that was even worse, at least from the thug's point of view; the click-click of an empty clip.

Franks stepped from his cover, wielding the shotgun he had just picked up. He advanced on the criminal, until he towered over the trembling killer, who was busy crying out for his life.

"Please Mister Punisher, don't kill me, please, I'm not worth it."

"You know anything about the Open Throat killer?" interrupted Frank.

"What? I don't know what you're talking about," whimpered the confused criminal.

"Didn't think you would," stated the Punisher. The shot echoed around the room, and Punisher set to searching the bodies. Apart from a few additions to his armoury and a small amount of cash, there was nothing really useful on any of the corpses. In retrospect, Frank wasn't sure what he was expecting; maybe a quick memo saying who the Open Throat killer was. Well, no such luck.

An hour later, Castle collapsed onto the hard mattress that graced his current safe house. Tomorrow, he would find out who the killer was. But for now, Frank felt he deserved a rest.