When Frank opened his eyes, he found himself handcuffed to a chair, unable to move...
The room was pitch-black and silent, with only a metal table and a single lit desk lamp in front of him.
"Interrogation?"
As a former Marine, Frank was no stranger to this scenario. He'd been captured, and what came next was inevitable... torture.
Did he really expect mercy from the man who had killed Kingpin and Bullseye, then seized control of New York's underworld?
A cold laugh echoed in his mind. He had endured the worst pain imaginable, no amount of suffering would break him. If his captor thought he could pry any information out of him, he was in for a disappointment.
*Tap.. Tap..*
Footsteps approached.
The door creaked open, and a figure stepped inside and pulled out the chair opposite him.
The man's face remained shrouded in darkness.
"Hello, Mr. Frank Castle," the voice greeted casually, "Now we can finally have a proper conversation. Honestly, you're not the most cooperative talker. I had to resort to this just to get you to sit still."
"Who are you?" the Punisher growled.
"Tch. Such a cliché question." The man chuckled, "I'm the one who killed Kingpin. The reason you got framed. The real owner of the Hellfire Club. And, of course, a law-abiding citizen of New York."
"Murder. Running a crime syndicate. Some 'law-abiding citizen' you are," Frank sneered, unafraid to provoke his captor.
To his surprise, the man didn't rise to the bait. Instead, he let out an amused hum, "And what moral high ground are you standing on, Mr. Castle?.."
"...Kingpin's nature needs no explanation. So why is it that when you slaughter criminals in the most brutal ways, you get to call yourself a hero, but when I remove a crime lord from the equation, I'm the villain? Frank, Hell's Kitchen calls you the 'Punisher', yet the blood on your hands far outweighs mine." The mocking tone hung in the air.
Frank had no retort... Truthfully, beyond killing Kingpin, this man had no known criminal record.
"What do you want from me?" Frank finally gritted out, shifting the subject.
Fingers drummed against the table in thought.
"Honestly? Nothing." The man leaned back, "You were the one who barged into my club like a thug, beat up my men, then threatened Wesley. I only fought you to keep my assistant alive. And now you have the nerve to ask what I want from you?"
He paused to let his words sink in. Then, he dryly said, "Frank Castle, does insanity run in your family?"
The Punisher's face burned crimson. Veins bulged along his corded arms as fury roared through him.
"Alright, I'll take that last bit back." The man's tone shifted, turning serious, "Let's talk properly, Punisher..."
"...I know your story... Frank Castle, a former elite Marine. You came home to find your family slaughtered by mobsters. You then declared war on Hell's Kitchen's underworld. You later clashed with Daredevil, got arrested, and Matt Murdock, the Daredevil himself, defended you in court. Though you still got locked up..."
"You broke out soon after. There's no way a man like you would rot in a cell while your family's killers walked free. You killed twenty-four inmates, all of whom were hired goons that were sent to finish you... They underestimated you and paid with their lives. Then, you dug deeper and finally found the real mastermind behind your family's murder..."
"...It turned out, the drug lord 'The Blacksmith' was your old C.O... Colonel Ray Schoonover. His dirtiest secret? He'd been running narcotics all along. You blew his brains out and took up the mantle of the Punisher. Then you started your 'holy war' against crime. Did I miss anything?" Frank sat in silence as the man recounted his past...
The pain, and the rage... it all flooded back. The Punisher wasn't just a name. It was the mark of a man who'd lost everything, one who could only find solace in making criminals pay.
"Who the hell are you?" Frank's voice cut through the dark like a blade..
"You can call me 'King'..." The man's tone was eerily calm, "Because soon enough, I'll be Hell's Kitchen's new ruler."
Frank's brow furrowed, "You wanna be the next Kingpin?" If that was the plan, the streets would drown in blood again.
The man scoffed, "Kingpin was a failure... Rule built on fear and violence never lasts." The shadowed figure leaned forward, "Hell's Kitchen is a cesspool... drugs, whores, killers, and gangs. No law. No justice. You really think street-level vigilantes like you can fix that?.."
"...Violence can't rebuild a system. It's a dead-end road. A man named Bruce Wayne learned that the hard way."
Then, he smoothly shifted gears:
"Let's talk about the Hand. Wesley mentioned you've been digging into them?"
Frank had planned to stay silent. But something in the man's demeanor (the sheer contempt he held for the underworld) made him reconsider.
Slowly, he shared what he knew...
"Sounds like the Hand is planning something big..." The man's chuckle was cryptic.
The Hand could be useful... a perfect way to lure Hell's Kitchen's heroes into one place. It'll be easier to 'hunt' them that way...
"Good talk, Frank." The chair scraped back as the man stood, "A pleasure doing business."
The door shut...
The room plunged back into silence, leaving only Frank's heavy breathing.
Outside, Wesley waited, "What's the plan, boss?" He eyed the steel door, "Keep him locked up? Or perhaps cement shoes into the Hudson?"
Sean sighed.
He clapped Wesley's shoulder like a disappointed teacher, "Wesley, Wesley... Must you always default to Kingpin's playbook? So uncivilized." He tsked...
"...We are upstanding citizens. Killing the Punisher gains us nothing. Let him rot in there. He'll escape eventually anyway."
Killing the Punisher would ruin the hunt...
Sean's eyes glinted coldly. He knew the Hand's plans. He also knew they'd clash with Hell's Kitchen's vigilantes soon.
All he had to do was wait...
A good hunter knew that timing was everything...