A few minutes later

As Reese was approaching the address, a four storey apartment building, he saw an explosion. A chunk of wall and a window was blown out. He thought he saw two bodies fly out with the debris. That was from the second floor.

"This is it, Finch," Reese said.

Reese heard nothing.

"Finch? Can you hear me?"

Reese looked at his phone: "No signal."

He was on his own.

He noticed six men stationed in front of the building's main entrance. With four parked black SUVs. A similar group was probably covering the back door.

They were taking their work seriously. But then, so did Reese.

It was an old tenement building. Probably abandoned. They were in a part of a neighborhood composed mostly of warehouses. Perfect place to have someone killed. He could hear automatic gunfire and screams. It was war.

Reese parked out of sight. He stepped out of his car and went to the trunk.

The trunk was filled with weapons, ammunition, body armor and different types of grenades.

Reese opened the trunk. He took off his suit coat.

Moments later, he was wearing a Level III ballistic vest. He was holding a KRISS Vector short barreled 30 round .45 ACP submachine gun in his right hand and a Milkor MGL 6 round 40 mm grenade launcher in his left hand. He had extra ammunition for all of his weapons. No time to plan or to be clever.

Reese had to storm an unknown number of adversaries to save a stranger. A stranger who just might blow his head off.

He closed in on the building. He had no cover. No dumpsters. Nothing. He came in, jogging, in a vacant lot, closing in on professional killers. He extended his left arm and fired a 40 mm High Explosive at one of the four parked SUVs. A cataclysmic explosion resounded, sending debris, fire and two screaming armed henchmen in the air. The flaming hunk of metal was giving some cover, thanks to the smoke from the burning fuel. Reese slung the Milkor on his back, holding the Kriss Vector with both hands, folded stock against his shoulder, and came in, crouching. He was closing in on the other operators.

He took a quick mental picture: body armor, ballistic vests and ballistic masks as well. HK MP-5 submachine guns. These guys didn't come cheap. He was only about thirty feet away when the recovered from their daze and saw him coming. They recovered quickly.

But not quickly enough.

Reese fired two long bursts. He emptied his mag. He didn't like burning ammo, but there was little time for finesse. The first burst sent high velocity .45 ACP rounds stitched at the four of them at chest level. That stunned them and knocked them back, but also shattered shoulders and elbows. The second ruined four pairs of kneecaps, breaking more flesh and bone. The men collapsed. Crippled. But alive.

There might have been a time when Reese would have gone specifically for the kill. He was no longer that guy. He was trying not to be that guy anymore, anyway.

Reese reloaded the Vector.

He heard vehicles closing in. Screeching tires. The back door detail.

He switched to the Milkor. He put his back to a wall next to the main door. Waited. He could smell the burning fuel from the exploded truck. He could hear more sounds of battle from inside the building.

The SUV zoomed by on his right. Reese fired a HE round. The projectile hit the left front wheel. The truck was lifted and it flipped over several times.

Reese switched back to the Vector and went inside the building. He saw the damaged elevator. He started climbing the stairs. He had to go in blind. No time to plan. No time for recon.

The fighting had stopped. No more gunfire. A reprieve? The more he went up the stairs, the more he saw bodies. Vests, masks, HK MP-5 submachine guns. He had to creep around them on the stairs. He cleared the first floor. Each apartment. There were more corpses in the hallways. Similarly armed and armored.

All in all, Reese counted seven bodies. The number knew how to handle himself. There was still silence. It was eerie after the chaos from earlier.

On the second floor, there were two more bodies. Reese cleared the apartments on the second floor. He then moved on. Another dead hit man on the stairs on the way to the third floor. Same gear as the others.

Noise on the third floor. More than one. Barely audible. Reese went up the stairs trying to match their steps so they couldn't hear him. If somehow they knew about their colleagues outside being taken down, they might expect him. He had to be more than careful. His breathing was controlled. He was calm. In the zone. In the moment.

When he reached the third floor, covered by a door way, he saw them. Three men, their backs to him. About 20 feet away. Very quiet and professional.

Now what, Reese thought. Take them out and give away my position, or proceed to the next floor to keep trying to find the number, but risk them jumping me from behind along with whatever I run into upstairs?

Reese took another glance at them.

Murphy's Law took the decision out of his hands as one of the hitters turned around at that exact moment and spotted him.

"Contact!" The masked man shouted. He was about to fire.

Reese jumped out of the doorway. The enemy got a burst out that took chunks out the doorway. Reese landed in a prone position and fired. Full auto. They crouched, trying to make smaller targets.

But Reese wasn't aiming for center of mass.

Some of his .45 ACP rounds found a pair of kneecaps. And an ankle. All of which belonged the man who'd spotted Reese. That man screamed and dropped to the ground.

One down. Reese went back to the doorway for cover as the other two returned fire.

No more element of surprise. It was down to skill and luck.

Reese put earplugs in his ears and switched to the Milkor. He fired a HE round at one of them. The 40 mm bomb bounced off a wall and landed on the floor harmlessly. There wasn't enough distance, so it didn't detonate.

The other guys didn't waste time mocking him and just returned fire. He again jumped out of the door frame and fired. Once. At his unexploded HE round.

The explosion was incredibly loud in the hallway. The shockwave sucked the air out. Debris from the walls, ceilings, doors and floor along with smoke and dust filled the air. Reese coughed, gagging from all that. He removed the ear plugs.

He heard a noise behind him and jumped aside, a burst of automatic fire barely missing him. But it hit the Kriss Vector and knocked it out of his hands. On the stairs leading to the fourth floor, he saw two members of the hit squad, MP-5 submachine guns aimed at him.

Here it comes, Reese thought, calm and at peace with his fate. He tried to do some good in the end. Hopefully, it had been enough. He had time to think of Finch and thanked him mentally.

The sound of automatic fire and its impacts on flesh interrupted his final thoughts.

But he was still alive. The hitters had just gotten...hit.

Then Reese knew. It was the number. A lone man came down the stairs, a smoking M-4 carbine fitted with a 40 mm grenade launcher aimed at him. The man Reese had come in to rescue. No mistake: a White man, 6'3, over 200 pounds, black hair, blue eyes, around 60 years old. Full combat gear, including body armor. And a large white skull painted on it. Reese could understand why even the most hardened criminals feared this man.

"Who are you?" The Punisher asked John Reese.

"I'm a friendly, Captain," Reese answered.

Reese hoped to reach out to the Punisher, hence why he was using his rank. Before becoming the vigilante known as the Punisher, Frank Castle had once been a Marine in Vietnam. Long ago. Before everyone and everything he cared about was taken from him one day, in Central Park. Reese went on:

"I'm not the enemy, Captain. I'm here for an extraction."

"You came to help me."

"Yes, sir."

"Why?"

Reese couldn't stop the smile: "That's a long story. Short version: I had Intel revealing a threat on your life. And I didn't want you to die."

Castle's ice cold gaze meet Reese's. It was like Castle wanted to search in his eyes for deception. Betrayal. Reese couldn't read the Punisher's eyes.

"Let's get outta here," Castle said, "You first. Make a move I don't like, you die."

"Understood," Reese said.

Soon, they were outside. Castle saw the damaged trucks and the wounded henchmen.

"You did this?" Castle asked. Reese thought he heard something like respect in that graveyard voice.

"Yeah."

"Those guys," Castle said, pointing his chin at the men Reese had shot in the arms and kneecaps, "They're still alive."

"They're neutralized."

"You could have finished them. Easily."

"I didn't need to."

Castle said nothing for a second. He looked at Reese for another second. Then he put his weapon on safe. Reese saw something is Castle's eyes. It was almost like...recognition. He felt the bigger man relax, somewhat. As relaxed as the Punisher could get.

"You're that guy," Castle said, "The Man In A Suit."

"That's me. How did you know?"

"The M.O. Show up unexpected. Bad guys get wounded or beat up. Sometimes, killed. Then, you disappear."

"That's pretty much it."

Castle paused again. Looked him over and said:

"And there is the way you dress."

"There's that."

There was a pause. And then, Castle said:

"You're probably not gonna stop following me until this specific threat is dealt with."

"Right again," Reese said, with a smile.

"You work alone?"

"No. I have a friend who's good with computers. He handles the Intel. I use it."

"I'm gonna give an address. It's in Brooklyn. Meet me there. Don't follow me."

"Understood."

Castle gave him the address and left.

Reese went over to one of the downed assassins, removed the mask and took a picture with his phone. He did that with two more and went back to his car. He let out a small breath. That went about as smoothly as expected.

"Mr. Reese?" John heard in his ear.

"Finch," Reese said, relieved to hear his ally's voice.

"Are you alright?"

"I'm fine, Finch. Thanks. What happened with comms earlier?"

"Something was jamming the signal. Whoever our mystery assailants are, they probably used some sort of device to do so."

"That explains the absence of first responders. Plus it's pretty isolated here."

"And it's possible that our friends have had a deal with HR to keep police away."

HR was an organized group of corrupt members of the NYPD. High reaching. Powerful. A constant thorn in Reese and Finch's sides.

"I have managed to circumvent the jammed signal problem by...I won't bore your with that."

"Thanks."

"Did you find our number?"

"He found me. He knew who I was."

"That's not surprising, considering his reputation."

"Well deserved. He barely needed me. I'm supposed to meet him later at his safe house."

"You plan on going?"

"A guy like that doesn't give trust lightly. I'm going. I'm sending you pictures. Three members of the hit squad."

"It shouldn't be too long. I'll be able to identify them shortly."

"Also, call 911 and send them over here. Plenty of wounded that need medical attention."

"I'm on it."