'Wired the place with enough explosives to send a small satellite into orbit. There's not enough time to search the place for drugs- better to just torch the whole building and be done with it. The owner was on the phone when I walked in, and if he had half a brain his reinforcements are going to be here any second.'

Castle walked backwards through the dance floor, uncoiling copper wire from a spool as he went. Just before he reached the door he reached into his coat pocket and produced a pair of wire cutters, snipping off the end. He tossed the spool to the side carelessly and retrieved the detonator from his pocket, wiring the copper inside, and then moved to open the door.

On the other side stood six armed men wearing suits, drenched from the rain. They looked about as surprised as Castle did. He frowned.

'Shit.'

The round slammed into his chest so hard he was thrown to the ground, as if he were magnetically drawn there, the wind bursting from his lungs like a bat out of hell.

'Fourteen gauge at point blank. Feels like I've been hit with a block of cement shot out of a canon.'

The shooter pumped his weapon and stepped forward, leveling the barrel at Castle's head as he coughed, rolling over on the cement. The Punisher, despite the absolute agony wracking through his body, pulled himself up into a sitting position.

"Guess we didn't get here too late after all, eh fellas?" The goombah with missing teeth laughed through the barrel of his pump action and the guys behind him with Uzis were eating it with a spoon. Castle ground his jaw together and sneered.

'Takes me three seconds to renew my faith in Kevlar, and another four to realize I'm not fighting ghetto street trash anymore and figure this guy has the balls to pull the trigger. They're Mafia by the look of them. Vallanis, but what are they doing here?'

"I'm gunna be the guy everyone know'se took down the Punisher!" And he was serious, too. The shooter shouldered his shotgun like he'd seen a man in an action movie do once, and squinted one eye down the barrel as he drew a bead on the Punisher's head, despite the fact that at this range the shotgun was firing anvils and pianos. But this was not a cartoon, and this was not an action movie.

"Die, you prick."

'There will come a day, when I am old and tired, when I will look into the face of death and nod, "Yes. It's time."

But that is not today.'

Just before the man squeezed the trigger, Castle was a blur of motion. He took hold of the barrel and ripped it adjacent, then applied both hands to the weapon and shoved it forward, catching the man in the groin with the butt of the gun. The shooter let out a yelp and stumbled backwards. The Punisher twisted the weapon and pulled as he jumped to his feet, ripping the man up off the ground with him, as he was still holding on to his gun and spun at the last second, placing the gunmen back to front against his chest. Castle kneed him in the lower back and relieved him of his weapon with one hand, using the other to grab him by the back of his shirt and hold him in place.

The entire action had taken less than five seconds, and now the tables had turned. Frank Castle was armed, and every single one of the mafia soldiers, they knew, were about to die.

The gunfire could be heard out in the street, although it was the only sound from the basement of the club that could be heard in the darkened van parked across the street through the droning groan and clatter of the rain, falling in torrents that had suddenly descended upon the city without warning and without mercy, and had lasted for several days. Sean Rahey stared out the front windshield of the car, his leather gloved hands gripping the steering wheel as if he were posed to make a getaway any moment. The man sitting shotgun fidgeted with his weapon restlessly, sweat beginning to ebb on his brow and his facial muscles twitched slightly in flinch with every gunshot.

He thought he heard a scream.

"C'mon, man! He's killin' them in there!"

Sean did not care. The men the Punisher was murdering were not under his command, and thus their screams and deaths were as insignificant to him as the rain that trailed down the windshield, only to be defeated by the unyielding tide of the punishing window wiper. He didn't care that the seven men in the car wanted to help their friends and go off to inevitably die with them, and he sure as fuck didn't care that one of them had the balls to ask for it.

The gunfire stopped, and seconds passed, audited by the rainfall and the frowing tension inside the car. Rahey's eyes finally broke for but a second to glance over his shoulder, and the briefest of smirks spread across his face.

"Too late."

He could feel the seven men's eyes on the back of his head, each one angry and murderous in their fury.

But he didn't care.

"Ta' hell with you, Lucky. Go back to your fuckin' rainbow and grow some balls. C'mon, boys. Let's get this fuckin' prick."

The loud mouth swore and slid open the van door, allowing the muffled sound of the rainfall to come screaming through the car as the gunmen piled out after him and readied their weapons. The soldier riding shotgun to Rahey shot the Irishman a dirty look, pulled back the slide on his berretta, and shoved the door open, following them.

Sean Rahey only smiled.

"Alright, stay quiet. This asshole don't know we're here, so if we're quiet we migh' be able to get a drop on 'em." The suited mafia men approached the club, now quiet as a tomb and gathered just outside the basement entrance.

None of them took notice that the door was now suddenly closed.

'These men may hold weapons…'

"So stay low and keep your fuckin' mouths shut!"

'They may know how to use them…'

"Alright, ready?"

"Open th' fuckin' door, Bobby. What's this, fuckin' Savin' Private Dickhead?"

'They may think they know what war is…'

The men made sure their weapons were secure. One man took each side of the doorframe, with one man directly in front and the others fanning out behind him. The loud mouth, sweat beading down his face, swore under his breath, and gripped the door handle.

'But they are not soldiers.'

The men were pushing forward before the door had fully swung open, which is why they at first didn't notice the trip wire being drawn across the space between the wall and the door until the first man caught a glimpse of something duct taped to the wall and his eyes shot open in shock. His mouth may have moved to speak, but there was no way to be completely sure.

'They're just scum.'

The building exploded.

Rahey was not phased by the explosion which alit the night air with plumes of smoke, fire, and debris. The rainfall seemed to dissolve for seconds at a time before the explosions died down, leaving behind only the reminiscent fires that burned through the blasted out windows and doors, spilling smoke out into the street.

Through the illumination of the flames, Rahey picked up a sole figure standing, watching in the luminance as the building burned to the ground. The figure turned his head, his cold, blue eyes staring right back at the Irishman through the windshield of his car. For a moment or two the pairs of eyes locked and fought, and as quickly as the look had come, the figure turned his head slowly and walked away, disappearing into the shadows.

Sean Rahey smiled.