Ok, so alternate universe bumped worm up a few years. This is Marvel Punisher, so I'll see how it goes.

Frank

March 20th 2013 22:00

Afghanistan desert

The desert chill pressed down on us like a weight, sucking the life from my bones. I'd been on edge since we left base, but there was something about this mission that wouldn't leave me alone. Call it instinct or paranoia, but the details didn't add up. Russo felt it too regardless of what he says, a shared unease we didn't need to voice. We'd all been in the game long enough to know when we were being used.

Colonel Schoonover and Mr. Orange briefed us with that same smug look he always wore, one that made my skin crawl. He was too casual, almost cavalier about sending us into this hellhole. He gave us coordinates, a vague outline about clearing insurgents from an occupied building, but nothing more. When we pressed for intel, he brushed us off with a smirk and a hand wave, like we were bothering him. My fears were disregarded; no backup, no extraction plan, just a flimsy map and a lot of false assurance. The kind that doesn't mean a damn thing once you're out there and bullets start flying.

I knew then what this was. Suicide missions weren't exactly new in this line of work, but this one felt different. The brass had their priorities, and we sure as hell weren't at the top of that list. We were the expendables, the pawns they'd move around without a second thought, so they could keep their hands clean. And somehow, we'd walked right into it, all because we'd been too loyal, or maybe too damn proud, to question orders when we should have.

As we moved closer to the drop site, I kept going over the details in my head, trying to figure out what we'd missed. The buildings were too quiet, our intel too vague, and we had this feeling in the pit of our guts that we were being led somewhere with a purpose we couldn't see yet. I kept looking over my shoulder, listening for the sounds that weren't there, but all I heard was the crunch of our boots in the sand and the shallow breathing of the men beside me.

A part of me wanted to call it off, but I knew I couldn't. This was the job, and we were too deep in to turn back now. Agent Orange knew that too. We were his dogs, strung along just enough to keep us moving, just enough to keep us believing we'd get out of this if we fought hard enough. But I couldn't shake the feeling that this time, no amount of skill or grit was going to make a difference. We were alone, isolated from the outside world, and walking straight into something designed to finish us off.

I glanced at the faces of my men, the ones I'd sweated, bled, and nearly died with. They trusted me, even though we were all fighting our own suspicions. If I was wrong, we'd make it out together, another close call to add to the list. Orange pointed now we were supposed to shoot, even Schoonover agreed; we were just dogs on their leash.

The first shot hit us from nowhere, a piercing crack that echoed across the empty street. Before I could react, another shot tore through the air, then another, until the silence was ripped apart by an onslaught of gunfire. Dust and debris exploded around us, and instinct kicked in. I dropped to the ground, cursing under my breath. I should have known. All that time spent overthinking, and now here we were, trapped like cornered animals.

"Cover! Get to cover!" I barked, scrambling to a wall that barely held against the bullets raining down on us. My men scattered, moving with the kind of precision that only comes from muscle memory. But it didn't matter. They'd positioned themselves too well. Every time someone moved, another bullet came slicing through the air, pinning us down.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Colonel Schoonover moving towards me, just as the crack of a high-powered rifle sliced through the air. One second, he was there, clutching his pistol, and then an explosion of blood and bone. His arm was gone. He screamed, stumbling back, clutching at the stump. "Castle!" he shouted, his voice raw, eyes wide with shock and fury.

"Hold on, Colonel! Just stay with me!" But even as I yelled, I knew the Colonel's fight was nearly over. There wasn't any real help coming. This was all on us, on him.

I turned back, scanning the chaos for Russo, who'd been right next to me a moment ago. "Russo!" I shouted, my voice barely being loud enough for me to hear. "Russo, where the hell are you?" But there was no answer, just the relentless crack of gunfire. Somewhere in the blur of noise and dust, he'd disappeared. He was the only man I trusted to cover me, and now he was gone.

The world was spinning, my heart pounding in my ears, drowning out the sounds of men screaming, the sickening thuds of bullets hitting flesh. I felt the weight of it, pressing in from all sides. The realization of just how bad this was sank in, an ugly truth clawing its way into my mind. We were done for. The men I'd sworn to protect, the ones who'd trusted me to get them through this, were being cut down one by one.

And then, something shifted inside me, a cold, dark clarity that washed over me, silencing everything else.

The sounds of gunfire and screaming narrowed into a dull hum. Everything else disappeared, and all that was left was my mission: protect the men, kill every threat. My hands moved on instinct, reloading, firing, moving from target to target, eliminating each with brutal precision. I didn't think. I didn't hesitate. I was beyond thought, beyond anything but the need to keep my squad alive.

But then I saw him, a bright, unnatural light cutting through the chaos, illuminating the bodies and debris littering the ground. A jet of flame roared over our position, and for a split second, I thought I was hallucinating. But there he was, in full view, a parahuman with flames pouring from his hands like he was some kind of living flamethrower. The heat rolled over us in waves, choking and blistering, scorching the ground with every blast.

I watched in horror as two of my men went down, engulfed in flames, their screams mixing with the crackling of burning flesh. This wasn't a normal soldier or even an insurgent hopped up on god knows what. This was a parahuman with a power I haven't yet seen, and he was tearing us apart.

I didn't have time to think, only to act. The rest of my men were ducked down, hiding behind whatever scraps of cover they could find, but it wouldn't last. If I didn't take this guy out, none of us were getting out of here alive. So I pushed forward, moving in a crouch from cover to cover, my eyes locked on the parahuman, my heartbeat pounding in my skull.

He was focused on my squad, raining down fire without mercy. I had to get close enough to make the shot count. The heat grew fiercer as I closed in, but the closer I got, the clearer I could see him: a man, mid-thirties maybe, with an expression twisted in a mix of focus and rage. Fire streamed from his hands like it was an extension of himself, as if the flames were just an expression of something deep and broken inside him.

I pressed closer, ducking under a hail of bullets and debris as another squad tried in vain to pin him down. I needed a clean shot, a kill shot, something that would stop him cold before he turned on me. The flames singed my skin, searing every exposed inch of flesh, but I didn't care. I kept moving, my senses locked onto him like a predator closing in on prey.

When I was close enough, I raised my weapon, steadying it in my hands.

The parahuman turned, catching sight of me just as I raised my rifle. His face twisted into a sneer, and he threw another stream of fire in my direction. I ducked and rolled, the heat searing past me, leaving the air thick with the smell of scorched earth. I didn't stop. I pushed through the blistering heat, coming up on one knee and firing a clean, controlled shot.

The bullet hit him square in the chest. His eyes went wide with shock, and the flames sputtered out, dying in an instant as he crumpled to the ground. The silence afterward was deafening. This wasn't the first parahuman I've killed, it will hopefully be the last. These freaks just keep killing good or bad, someone needs to clean them up.

I moved us toward a nearby building, shouting for everyone to regroup inside. We needed cover, a defensible position. The walls were cracked, riddled with holes, but it was better than nothing. The room was dark, lit only by the fading glow from outside, and my grip tightened on my rifle as I moved deeper inside.

Then, from nowhere, someone blindsided me. My weapon was ripped from my hands, clattering to the floor. I turned to see two insurgents rushing me, armed with knives, fists clenched tight, eyes filled with fury. Before I could reach for my sidearm, the first one acted, driving me back against the wall with a force that almost knocked the wind out of me.

Instinct took over. One man lunged with his knife, aiming for my throat. I sidestepped, grabbing his arm and twisting hard until I heard the snap. He screamed, but I didn't give him time to recover. I yanked the knife from his grip and drove it into his chest. He dropped, and I turned to the next man, blocking a punch and slamming my fist into his jaw. He staggered, and I used the opening to throw him to the ground, hitting him with every ounce of strength left in me.

The third guy came at me from behind, wrapping an arm around my neck, trying to choke me out. I reached back, grabbed his arm, and flipped him over my shoulder, pinning him to the ground. He struggled, but I drove my knee into his chest, cutting off his breath, until he stilled beneath me.

I stood, panting, blood pounding in my ears, and glanced around. The building was silent again, the only sounds were the faint groans of the men lying broken around me.

The quiet didn't last long. I'd barely caught my breath when I felt a sharp, burning pain tear into my back. The impact staggered me, sending me crashing to my knees. Another shot rang out, and then another, each one driving into me like a hammer. My vision blurred, and I felt warmth spreading across my chest, one must have made it through my body armor; my strength draining with every second. I collapsed, face down on the cold, cracked floor, tasting the grit and dust as blood pooled around me.

Footsteps echoed around me as they circled, checking their work. I could hear their voices, distant and muffled, almost like they were underwater. They thought it was over, that they'd taken me down for good. But before they walked away one leaned over and put one in my head, I could feel something still beating inside me a slow, insistent pulse that refused to let go.

Then, as I lay there bleeding out, memories began to rise, fragments surfacing from somewhere deep. Faces, voices, laughter that felt like a dream I'd long forgotten. Maria, her smile, soft and warm, her hands on my shoulders, steadying me. I could see her with perfect clarity, like she was right there with me. Our kids were beside her, Lisa and Francis, their laughter filling the air. Little things, small moments I'd buried deep inside because remembering hurt too much.

As the memories crashed over me, they sharpened into one agonizing truth: my family was gone because of them. I'd been a soldier, a protector, but I hadn't been there when Maria, Lisa, and Francis needed me most. I was halfway across the world on my second tour, trying to stay sane in a warzone, oblivious to what was happening back home in New York. And in the space of one night, one godforsaken moment, a powered thug, a parahuman who thought he was untouchable, had torn my family apart. He'd waltzed into my neighborhood, wreaked havoc in some gang feud, and left nothing but destruction behind.

He was just another face, another parahuman abusing the power he had over the rest of us, using people like tools, like things to be broken and tossed aside. I'd come home to a nightmare, and from that moment on, I was barely holding it together. Maria, my kids, gone because of a monster I couldn't touch, couldn't fight. The military had been my only salvation. I'd re-upped, demanded every deployment, every high-risk assignment they had. I needed an outlet, some place to bleed out my rage where no one would ask questions. I'd promised to protect them, to always keep them safe. I'd done everything I could, and yet they were gone.

Joining this team, heading back into the Middle East, it had been perfect, a distraction, something to dull the ache, to drown out the helplessness. Maybe, I'd thought, I'd find some kind of redemption in this endless fight. But no matter how many times I pulled the trigger, no matter how many enemies I took down, the hole inside me only grew. And here I was now, cut down by a bunch of cowards, all because they'd used me as another pawn.

But something was different now. That pain, that rage, it wasn't just buried anymore. It was like a storm inside me, something dark and powerful that refused to be ignored. I could feel it flooding every inch of me, sharpening my senses, numbing the agony, replacing it with a single, unbreakable purpose.

The parahumans. They were the reason my family was gone, and they'd pay. Every last one of them who thought they were above consequence, who thought they could kill without remorse or answer to anyone, would come to know my face. They thought they could get away with it. They thought men like me would just lie down and die.

I couldn't let that happen. A raw, burning fury clawed its way to the surface, a rage that had been building for years, simmering beneath everything I'd done. I could feel something change inside me, a surge of power so dark, so absolute, that it made everything else vanish. All the pain, all the grief, the memories, the loss. It didn't matter anymore.

The world narrowed into sharp, unforgiving clarity. My body felt like it was on fire, every nerve alive, every sense honed and vicious. I wasn't thinking. I wasn't feeling. I was something else entirely. I was beyond thought, beyond fear, beyond humanity.

I was going to make them pay. Every last one of them.

But none of that mattered now that I was lying here, bleeding out on the floor, just another body in a meaningless war. They'd taken everything from me. And here I was, about to give them one last victory.