Disclaimer: All Marvel Characters are used without permission. The others belong to me
HUNTERS AND KILLERS: A PUNISHER FANFIC
NEW YORK CITY
0802 HOURS
Cleveland Franklin walked into the police precinct. He asked who was in charge. He stated his purpose.
"You're not the first to have this job. Countless feds and cops had this shit assignment before you." The police captain said to the bulkier man following him.
The large black man said nothing. His eyes were hidden by shades. Unreadable. The Captain went on.
"Years ago, there was that fed, Hamilton, he gave up. The VIGIL, high tech blowhards that looked like action figures, then there was this dyke who quit and worked wit this world class loser, Soap...He became and alcoholic and then a porn star."
The men were still walking silently in the hallway. The Captain again:
"So...I suppose the feds couldn't spare more resources, with all the Al Qaeda shit and Homeland Security and that stuff, right?"
The man didn't answer.
"I heard about you, Franklin. A few months ago, you were tracking this escaped convict. Some scumbag biker asshole up in Phily. He was holed up with a dozen of his biker buddies. You had no back up. No fellow US Marshals to help you out. So, you rushed in and-"
"Soap kept files?" Franklin said.
The voice startled the captain. It sounded like a raspy lion's growl. The voice of a man who saw a lot of shit. Ate a lot of shit. And kicked plenty of ass.
"W-Well..."The captain said. "Yeah..."
Franklin opened his office door. It was the office that had once belonged to Martin Soap. Several boxes of files were piled up from the floor to the ceiling.
"Uh..."The captain said.
"Shut up. "Franklin said.
"Hey. "The captain said, grabbing Franklin's arm "you don't-"
Franklin grabbed hold of the captain's neck and pushed him against the wall.
"Listen to me, asshole. Your bosses had Van Richtofen and Soap assigned here because they were fuck ups and they were expected to fail. There was also some poor bastard who hung himself in that office. There are rumours that that Ma Gnucci owned this precinct."
Certain cops approached the scene. Franklin looked at them.
"Back the fuck up." He growled.
"Do what he says." The cops backed down.
"Here's the deal." Franklin said. "I'm here cause I pissed my bosses off. So they tell me "Catch this guy, get back in the game, you get your own squad to take scumbags down." I said yes, but I know I'm expected to fail and not give a shit. But I'm a cop and I'll do my job and I expect your full cooperation."
"What do you need?"
"I need for you and your corrupt bureaucrats to stay the fuck out of my way. Think you manage that?"
"Yeah". Captain had trouble breathing.
Franklin let go. "Good." He whispered and walked away. Some of the cops stood in his way.
"We gonna have a problem?" Franklin asked.
They still stood in his way. He took off this shades and put them away. When they met his eyes, some of them almost recoiled.
"Let him go." The captain said.
They backed down and let him through.
Some rushed to the captain: "You okay, captain?"
"Yeah. Look. Let that fucker go. The NYPD, the feds, I heard even the CIA couldn't nail AND keep locked up the bastard Justice sent this asshole to get. That crazy fuck thinks he can nail The Punisher by himself, let him."
"Boss, I have a buddy in Phily. It's true. That crazy son of a bitch did grease half a dozen bikers by himself and crippled a couple, including the escaped guy. Fucker IS hardcore."
"I heard about that too. "Another dick said." Also, he took out several gang-bangers in Chicago. And L.A. And-"
"Fuck him." The captain said.
Cleveland Franklin went to his car. A black 1980s model Trans Am. He went behind the wheel.
Alone. No back up. No resources. Hung out to dry. Expected to fall.
It didn't matter.
One way or the other, he was gonna get Frank Castle.
STATEN ISLAND
2403 hours-the next morning
The Punisher had a theory of the kinda scum he killed.
Someone must have a dome somewhere where they grow them, like a greenhouse, or something.
For 30 years, Castle was killing this guys. Ever since scum just like them killed him and his family in Central Park. That bright sunny day where Frank Castle took his family for a picnic and they stumbled in on a gangland execution. The skills he learned and honed as a marine in Nam were since dedicated to the eradication of gangsters and assorted fucks.
Some called Castle a blood thirsty psychopath. Maybe he was. Maybe he just believed, like his Sicilian ancestors, in the laws of the vendetta. Maybe he just believed the end justified the means.
Well, as long as they kept coming, Castle kept killing them. Two things the world would never run out of, idiots and scumbags. Someone else would have to handle the idiots, Castle took care of the scumbags. Though some skells belonged to both categories.
Another big goombah shindig in another huge estate. Cosa Nostra trying to get their shit together despite Castle's relentless war. However, with the post 9/11 hysteria, most fed were on the look out for Al Qaeda. Less surveillance on this assholes.
Some this pricks got more ambitious and a bit careless, since they had fewer cops and fed on their asses.
So did Castle. There hasn't been a decent manhunt for the Punisher in ages. The best the cops in recent times could do was that Soap guy. The epitome of pathetic.
The powers that be had bigger fish to fry. Like scan the sky for a hailstorm of Boeings and Anthrax missiles.
Mobsters getting fat off dope, whores and murder wasn't important anymore.
Fine. That left more targets for Castle.
The Punisher checked his gear.
MM-1 12-round 40 mil bloop gun.
M-60.
A5 ACP, MAC-11. Four of them. Two under armpits, two strapped on thighs. Not top of the line, but they came cheap. Hard to resist a bargain.
Twin Colts on his hips.
That should about-
An engine. A big engine was coming this way. A monster truck made its way onto the estate, followed by several black SUVs.
Ok. Castle never tried for Columbo's spot as a detective, but that seemed like a strong arm move. Castle remained in the bush.
Men in suits came out of the house with pistols, subguns and shotguns. Several were squashed by ten feet high tires. Instant road-kill. Dozens of others came out of the big house. Men in black fatigues came out of the SUVs, in full battle gear, holding silenced assault rifles. Firing controlled, disciplined bursts at the mob guys.
Pros. Special forces training. Had to be. The way they were moving, the speed with which they were control of the place. No wasted ammo. No wasted motion.
Castle was trying to figure out what to do. Rival crew? Fellow vigilantes? Wait and see.
One of the mob guys rushed out of the house. He was with his wife and child. He either planned on getting them to a safe place or was trying to use them as shields. The mob guys were thinking they were dealing with a squad of Punishers.
Castle saw some of the assailants take aim at the guy, with wife and child. No way they could hit the guy without killing the wife and kid.
That was all the evidence Castle needed. He grabbed hold of his MM-1 and fired a HE 40 mil at one of the SUVs. Despite being hidden in the bush, he was within effective range. The truck exploded in cacophony of twisting metal and ignited fuel and explosives.
They turned their attention towards Castle. The were ducking for cover. The man ran to safety, taking his family with him.
Fuck it. No balls, no glory.
He grabbed the 60 and let her sing her song of death. The heavy 7,62 rounds were chewing into a couple of the men. Four went down. The rest fired back. Tree bark was splintered around the Punisher, he would have to-
One of the fired a flare in the dark, starless sky. Castle noticed some of them had night vision goggles.
This was way professional.
They were splitting the assets. A force of 20 men. Half were taking the house, the others heading towards Castle. They spotted him. For sure this time.
Two men had 40 mils fitted under their rifles. Castle had to retreat. He ran towards the forest, away from the death squad.
Two trees exploded behind him. Castle ducked to avoid the debris and the shockwave. The blasts were still deafening. A question of seconds before they could reach his position. He had to cover his retreat-
He couldn't retreat.
He thought of the wife and kids. The mafia guys brought their families. Kids. They were about to get slaughtered.
Flee, live to fight again and let innocents be killed. Certain death, by professional mercs.
No choice at all.
Holding the sixty in one hand the MM-1 in the other, he ran back towards the opposition. If Judgement was gonna come for everybody, Castle included, so be it.
And Castle advanced towards what could be his doom.
No time for stealth and strategy. Castle had to take these bastards out. All he could think of were the possible innocent casualties in the house.
He came out of the forest he used as a cover, blasting with the 60, from the hip and firing with the MM-1 thumper.
No cover, had to rely on luck, speed, skill, determination and weaponry. The large 7,62 rounds from Castle's machine gun tearing up Kevlar vest and flak jackets. Three more of the hit squad went down, as two more flew, blown away by HE 40 mil rounds.
Their buddies didn't lose their nerve, crouching down and firing from silenced H&K MP-5 subguns.
The enemy rounds shattered the m-60 and hit Castle in the chest. He dropped it. The 9mm slugs couldn't penetrate his own body armour. Adrenaline and bloodlust kept The Punisher going. He absorbed the pain as he unslung one of his .45 ACP MAC 11s. He ducked sideways and down, firing full auto bursts of 230 grain slugs at their kneecaps, parts unprotected by Kevlar.
Two sets of kneecaps blood, bone and tissue exploded as well as crippling pain and blood curling screams of agony. Then Castle rolled on his sides, firing half blindly with the Mac 11 at his last two adversaries. And fired a HE from the MM-1. A yell. An explosion. When stopped rolling. Both men were down.
He dropped the then empty MAC-11, and grabbed another one as he rushed towards the house. His mind was filled the all too familiar images of bullet riddled bodies of women and children, bathing in blood.
He had to-
He came face to face with the rest of the death squad coming out of the house. Filled with dark, cold rage, he rose his weapons. There were half a dozen men aiming at him. No way he could them all, but he would go down-
Something whistled over his head and two explosions scattered and blew apart the members of the hit team. The shockwave knocked Castle on his back. Automatic fire poured in from somewhere behind Castle. The Punisher, still dizzy from the blast, was seeing stars, but also the hit team being cut apart by high velocity bullets.
Then, it was over. The silence was as deafening as the preceding sounds of war.
Castle heard footsteps behind him. He rushed to his feet, but ended up looking into the smoking barrel of an M-16 rifle, fitted with a 40 Mil launcher. He looked at the man holding the weapon. He had another one slung over his shoulder. Still smoking as well.
Tall, black, muscular. Hard features. Cold determined eyes. Stubble. Kevlar vest. Badge.
"Cleveland Franklin" The man said. "United States Marshal Service."
"I suppose I'm under arrest."
"Good guess. Drop the hardware, Castle."
"You came here, alone, no back up."
"I'm about to drill you between the eyes with my back up if you don't drop your guns."
Castle did as he was told, his mind racing. The idea of going to Ryker's yet again didn't really please him that much.
"How did you know where to find me?" Castle asked.
"Same way you knew this big mob meet was gonna happen. I asked around. Someone talked. You ain't that hard to figure out, Castle."
"Guess not."
"I don't wanna shoot you, Castle. I'm not a hit-man. Just a cop, doin' his job."
"Could have let these guys kill me. Would have made your job easier."
"I'm a cop, Castle. I don't let people get shot, no matter who they are."
"Who'd you piss off?"
"What?"
"Cops don't bother with me that much anymore, especially since 9/11. Unless they're losers, or they pissed someone off. I'm a shit assignment, Franklin. I'm proud of it. So if you're here, you must have pissed somebody off. You're a good cop. Must have pissed off someone high up. Who?"
"Never mind that, just-"
Then Franklin's eyes went wide and he went down. Unconscious. Castle saw a dart in the big cop's neck.
Then a slender, female shadow came from behind one of the parked SUVs on the estate's lawn. As she came closer, Castle relaxed. He recognized her. Reddish, auburn hair, skintight black outfit and wrist guns.
"Black Widow." He said.
"Come quickly, Castle." She said. " We have little time."
"Why should I trust you?"
"For God's sakes, drop the paranoid war vet façade-"
"It's not a façade"
"Let's go."
Castle could hear sirens.
"Okay."
Widow pulled a small remote and a nifty sports car appeared out of thin air, hovering several feet feet off the ground. It came down near the former spy and the current vigilante. They got in and it flew away.
Two federal agents were on their way to the Staten Island crime scene.
"Biggest fuckin' mob meet since….since…"Agent Feinstein said.
"That Manhattan Towers thing in the 1990s." Agent O'Reilly said. "The one Punished crashed on his suicide run at the bastards."
"At least. I can't fuckin' believe it." Feinstein said. "Where the fuck were we?"
"Uh…back at headquarters?" O'Reilly said.
"Don't be a fucking smart ass, Irish."
"You have to cuss every other word? And why do you call me 'Irish' and I can't call you Jew'?"
"When I call you Irish, it's a term of endearment. You call me Jew, it's anti-semitic. Rules of the PC game, bro."
"Something's screwy about that rule."
"I appreciate the attempt at levity and humour and changing the subject, but we shoulda been sittin' on these assholes."
"What, no F-bomb?"
"We fuckin' shoulda been fuckin' sittin' on these fuckin' assholes."
"Better. And I agree."
"Fuckin' homeland security. Yanking our budget."
"These mob guys kill a couple dozen people a year. Al Qaeda kills 3000 in one hit. Who's the bigger threat?"
"Please. The average business owner has a bigger chance at being hit up for protection money or being forced to buy from certain suppliers…or…or…being whacked for being at the wrong place at the wrong time and wanting to testify against some mafia piece of shit than…being…fuckin'… blown up by a suicide bomber or by some fuckin' crashing plane again."
"You willing to take that chance?"
"Oh, fuck that shit, Irish. Just because terrorism is the new fad don't mean that crime shouldn't be a concern anymore. There are still gangsters out there. They get away with enough shit when we were watching them, never mind NOW."
"Aren't you jewish? Shouldn't you be concerned about these Allah-Ackbar dudes? These guys hate you guys. Aren't you happy we're going after them?"
"We're here. To be continued, Irish."
"Better believe it."
The two FBI agents got out of their car. The estate was covered with emergency vehicles. Cops and feds from a couple divisions.
Fenstein was 6'2", broad shouldered, black hair. O'Reilly was shorter, balding, more rotund, and had glasses. They were greeted by NYPD detectives. A tell red-headed man and a shorter woman, with brown curly hair.
"Feinstein and O'Reilly. FBI, Organized Crime Task Force."
"Detectives Kelly and Brenner." The red-headed man said. "This is a friggin' mess, guys."
"Give it to us." O'Reilly said.
"Big shit mafia thing. People from the Tri-state, Vegas, Chicago, Montreal, Toronto…."Kelly said. "This was huge."
"We know all that. So what happened? Was it Castle?" Feinstein said.
"Maybe you should ask the witness." Brenner said.
"Witness." Feinstein said.
"Yeah…It's a story worth listening to." Brenner said.
The small group walked around dozens of cops, paramedics.
"Place is a fuckin' war zone." Feinstein said when he saw some of the bodies.
"It's horrible." Kelly said. "Almost a hundred dead."
"Christ…"Oreilly said.
"All the wiseguys are dead. Their bodyguards, their wives and kids, it was a fucking massacre." Brenner said.
"And there's more." Kelly said.
"This miracle witness, right?" Feinstein said.
They soon approached a black man sitting on the hood of a car. Sipping a cup of coffee.
"Holy shit." Feinstein said.
"What?" Kelly said.
"I know this guy. It's Cleveland Franklin."
"What?" O'Reilly said. "Killer Cleveland…Hey, it's true, it IS him."
"So you know this guy's story?" Brenner said.
"U.S. Marshal. A genuine bad ass. Keeps pissing off the brass, but they can't get rid of him."
Feinstein said. "Fucker keeps getting the job done, no matter shit ass job he gets handed. One of the best cops ever. The fuck is he doing here? He the witness?"
"He's the guy?" O'Reilly asked.
"He's the guy." Brenner said.
They approached him.
"Marshal Franklin?" Feinstein said.
Franklin looked up from his coffee.
"I'm Special Agent Feinstein, this is my partner, Special Agent O'Reilly, FBI, OCTF."
Franklin nodded. And said. "You probably gonna ask what the fuck I was don' here?"
"Pretty astute observation." O'Reilly said.
"Astute?" Feinstein said.
"Yeah. Nice word, huh?" O'Reilly said
"Worth a lot at Scrabble?" Feinstein asked.
"I was on The Punisher's trail." Franklin said, ignoring the banter.
And Franklin told the story. About The Punisher and the commando-like men that entered the scene. How ruthless and professional they were. How Castle actually never made it in the house. How he had Castle dead bang. And how he went down. And the docs told him he was hit with a tranquiliser.
"You were sent here, no back up, no nothing to nail Castle?" O'Reilly said.
"Yeah." Franklin said.
"Who uses tranquiliser darts in gunfight?" O'Reilly said.
"And who the fuck are these commando guys?" Feinstein said.
"Maybe we can help with that second question." A voice said from behind.
The small group of cops turned to see two more men. Both over 6 feet tall and broad shouldered. One was clean shaven, square jawed, had crew cut hair and carried a seemingly muscular build under his suit. The other had shorter hair, a short beard, seemed athlectic, but less bulky than his partner.
"I am Peter Niemans." The one with the stubble said. "This is Arkady Danko. We are INTERPOL."
"INTERPOL?" Feinstein said, with and incredulous expression on his face. His colleagues seemed just as surprised.
"Yes." Danko said, in accented English. "And we may have a name for the man behind this carnage."
MANHATTAN
"Viktor Rastovillich." Black Widow said.
Widow and Punisher were in a sky-rise downtown. Top secret high-tech facility. Castle was slightly wounded from the firefight and was patched up. He was having coffee and watching a large monitor. There was the picture of a man in his 50s. Short white hair, hard face. Cold eyes.
"You were there for the mafia." The ex KGB spy went on. "But so was he."
"What's his story?" Castle asked.
"Soviet Special Forces. Best of the best. Went everywhere he was sent. Has a reputation for being cold and ruthless. In the 1990s, he left and went on his own doing mercenary work. He built himself a small army of former comrades in arms. Also recruited men, former spies and soldiers from the Eastern block: West-Germany, Romania, former Czech soldiers…He has veritable network of hard men doing dirty jobs for whoever can afford him."
"And now, he's here?" Castle asked.
"My sources told me he is. Tonight's events confirm that."
"He's a merc. Who hired him?"
Natasha Romanov stroke a few keys on a key board and the screen split in two, Another face showed up next to Rastovillich.
"Piotr Tatamovich." Castle said. "Russian mob boss here in this very neighbourhood."
"You know him."
"He was on my list. He disappeared a few months ago, figured he left or got killed. I moved on."
"We have reason to believe he hired Rastovillich and his army of killers."
"Tatamovich would be trying to make a strong arm move on the New York mobs?"
"That's what we're thinking."
STATEN ISLAND
"Jesus fuckin' Christ." Feinstein said.
"These men are cold blooded murderers. They are animals." Danko said. "They will kill anyone who stands in their way."
"I knew those guys were pros." Franklin said.
"You were quite fortunate to survive them." Niemans said.
"We're gonna have a fuckin' war on our hands." Feinstein said, rubbing his eyes.
"That is putting it lightly." Danko said.
"You guys have a reprieve." Franklin said.
"How you figure that?" O'Reilly asked.
"They weren't expecting heavy casualties. They thought this would be a cake walk." Franklin said. "They gotta regroup. Rethink their plans. Gives you time to figure out their next move."
"He's right, Feinstein." O'Reilly said. "Man, do we need to make some calls. We're gonna need some serious manpower.
MANHATTAN
"How about the US Marshal on my ass?" Castle asked.
"The car's cameras took pictures, ran them in the system on the way here." Soon, the black cop's face appeared as well.
"Cleveland Jeremiah Franklin. Born in Washington DC. Served in Desert Storm One. Joined the Marshals afterwards. One of the highest fugitive recovery rates in history. Prone to excessive force. Fierce determination. Survived countless firefights. Shot many times. Often charges in alone during arrests, when he believes there is no time to wait for back up. His last major gunfight, he killed eight members of a biker gang and wounded six more, on his own, during the arrest of a prison escapee, also member of that gang. Confined to desk duty the last few months."
"Tough man." Castle said.
"It would seem so."
STATEN ISLAND
"Me?" Franklin said.
"You." Feinstein said. "We need some hard asses on this one."
"I'm not here to stop a gang war." Franklin said.
"No, you gotta catch Castle." Feinstein went on. "Look, Castle is probably on to this little Russian invasion-no offence, Danko."
"None taken." Danko said, deadpan.
"Good." Feinstein went on. "Look, you can keep doing the Lone Wolf thing, but you have better chance at getting the Punisher if you hang with this—task force, I guess we're becoming that. What do you say?"
"I've killed a bunch of guys and been knocked out. I need to rest if I'm gonna make any decision." Franklin said.
"Makes sense." O'Reilly said. "I say we adjourn this little battlefield meeting, grab some sleep and hook up tomorrow morning."
Without another word, Franklin got up and walked away.
"Think of that offer!" Feinstein said.
Franklin kept walking.
"Nice guy." O'Reilly said.
"Give the guy a break." Feinstein said. "He's been fucked over by the brass so many times, no wonder he doesn't trust anybody anymore, but you've had the right idea. We need to rest and try to figure this thing out. And hopefully stop the slaughter before it starts."
Franklin got into his car.
What started as a hunt turned into something much more complicated. A potential full scale mob war.
He looked at the time.
2am.
He did need some rest. He burned at the thought that he had Castle in his sights and that such an opportunity might not come again. Fatigue and discouragement fell over him.
Then he heard a voice, booming in his head: "Don't give up, boy. Never give up. They say there's no rest for the wicked. That means no rest for the people who fight evil and battle the wicked."
His father. A cop. A good cop. Shot dead. Murdered on his doorstep. And young Cleveland Franklin saw it. He was at the apartment window looking down. His father waved up at him. one sunny afternoon. A car drove by. Gunshots. The killers were never caught.
He remembered something his father told him one day. He'd asked why he didn't just shoot the bad guys with his gun. He did a long speech, but Franklin remembered the end of it:
"Evil is everywhere. Fight it. Always. Never give in to it. Fighting bad men is hard work, and it can get to you and get you frustrated. Never let it turn you into what you're hunting."
Franklin knew about Castle's family. Castle let it turn him into what killed his family. As angry as he was, Cleveland Franklin didn't let the darkness swallow him whole.
His father taught him many lessons. The most important one:
Never give up.
Castle was going down.
MANHATTAN
"Your apprehensions were correct." Black Widow said. "The families of the gangsters were murdered."
Castle said nothing. He thought of Maria and the kids. Wrong place, wrong time. Widow said the words with a neutral tone. She was a pro. He didn't care how she knew. Maybe all this high-tech stuff caught the message from the cops. Cold anger filled his gut.
"One more thing, Widow." Castle asked. "How did you get on this gig?"
"Fury. Through my own network of informants, I heard rumours about these men coming over, but Fury came to me and wanted me on this job."
"I didn't think Fury monitored crime that closely."
"I'm just full of surprises, Castle."
Castle and Romanov turned towards the familiar, gruff voice.
Nick Fury, director of SHIELD was standing in the shadows. Smoking a cigar, like always.
"Shoulda figured you'd be on to this thing, Castle." Fury said.
"I've been told I'm easy to figure out." Castle answered.
"You didn't announce this visit, Nick." Widow said.
"Yeah, well, had a fight with insomnia and lost." The one-eyed super-spy let out a cloud of smoke. "You know the deal now, Castle. You in or out? "
"Not much of a team player, Fury."
"Cut the hard-ass loner bullshit, Castle. This fucker has an army of assholes with him. You're gonna need help. I know you want this bastard, Castle. So do I. Fuck all the dick-measuring crap. I could use you and you could use back-up. It's like a one-night-stand: wham-bam-thank you, man. After this, we leave you alone."
Castle was silent for a moment.
"Ok. But answer me this-"
"Why is SHIELD on this gig?"
"Yeah."
"For one thing, SHIELD isn't. It's you, me and Widow. A couple others. Off the books. On the other hand…I got a few reasons. Other than the fact that the cocksucker in question is an evil, ruthless son of a bitch. Conventional cops might not cut it this time. And the realization that if we have the resources to run around the world, going after religious fanatics, rogue spooks, stolen nukes and badly dressed psychotic douchebags hell bent on ruling the world and in search of instant gratification for whatever fucking reason, well, we might have a little something to help make the streets safer. I'm a soldier, and a soldier's job to protect his own. That's it."
Castle nodded.
"Now" Fury said, "if we're done with all the metaphysical bullshit, you two catch some sleep and try to figure out what the fuck these assholes are gonna do next before New York turns into fuckin' Bosnia."
UNDISCLOSED LOCATION IN NYC
0808 HOURS
Viktor Rastovillich had just woken up. He was in his headquarters with several of his men. It was hidden and no-one knew of this place.
Piotr Tatamovich was also present.
"My sources tell me that the cops are on to us." Tatamovich said. "And that was The Punisher in Staten Island."
"The Punisher, eh?" Rastovillich said. "I heard of him. A hard man. He might be a problem. More so than the police."
"Indeed. We need to remove him. Cops can be handled, not this man."
"You're a smart man, you don't underestimate your enemy."
"Graveyards are filled with men who underestimated him. He's the American version of a suicide bomber. He's dangerous. He's a fucking maniac. He'll stand in the way of my plans."
"He's also methodical and well informed. And lucky. We'll have to be smart about how we trap him."
"That fucker needs to die, Viktor."
"To be able to kill him, I must know him, understand him. Why is he the way he is. He's not motivated by greed or power. So what is it, hate, love, revenge….Protecting the innocent? What do you know about him?"
"What everybody else knows…His family was murdered by gangsters over 30 years ago, shortly after he was back from Vietnam."
"His family?"
"Yeah, a bitch and two brats, I think."
"How about him? How far does he go in this war?"
"He kills mobsters, pushers, pimps, street gangs….No civilians, no cops."
"Hmm. I see."
"You have a plan do you?"
"I think I do. I'm going to need more help from you, though."
"Anything."
"Really? Anything?"
"I want this city. The Big Apple. I want it to be mine. I've been dreaming about it ever since I got here."
"And you think you can do it?"
"Yes. Or die trying. With Fisk out of the way, anything is possible."
"Fisk…You mean the Kingpin, do you? Big man in charge, in every sense of the word."
"Yes. He was brought down several months ago. He left a vacuum. Now, I want in. I've told you all this before. I will crush my competition and conquer this town. I will destroy whoever stands in my way. Not kill, not eliminate: DESTROY. And The Punisher is the way. Now, tell me about your plan."