Chapter 404: Allen Encounters Uncle Punisher Again
Gunfire. Blood splatter. Screams. Roars…
It all lasted only a brief moment before the deafening barrage of gunshots finally came to a halt.
The air was thick with the stench of gunpowder, laced with the faint tang of blood.
Allen stood quietly, witnessing everything unfold.
He still couldn't figure out why both sides suddenly erupted into a violent shootout for seemingly no reason.
In the end, it was the assassins who held the numerical advantage. The hotel staff were all gunned down without exception.
The surviving assassins were all wounded to some extent.
They didn't linger. Helping one another, they quickly withdrew from the hotel.
After all, the Continental Hotel still housed janitors, repairmen, chefs—people who were without a doubt all assassins in disguise. If they came chasing, there'd be no time to even escape.
Pfft! Pfft! Pfft!
The moment they stepped outside, one by one, their heads were blown open.
Only then did it dawn on them—there was a sniper waiting outside the hotel.
Right now, on the rooftop opposite the Continental Hotel…
A burly, battle-hardened man manned a sniper rifle, watching the hotel entrance through the scope.
Ptui!
He spat out the cigar clamped between his lips and scoffed, "Criminals deserve to die, not to be shielded by the law."
"Tsk… Uncle Punisher, you really have no manners, flicking your cigar onto the ground like that."
Suddenly, the man whipped around and drew his handgun from his waist, aiming it at the direction of the voice.
Without him realizing, Allen had silently climbed up to the rooftop.
But instead of a threat, he saw a familiar face.
Under the moonlight, Allen recognized the white skull emblem on the man's chest—it was none other than the Punisher, good ol' Uncle Punisher.
Of course, the Punisher Allen knew in his own universe was the Cosmic Ghost Rider version. The Frank in front of him was still a regular human being.
Even so, he was a mortal man who could rival gods—an anti-hero with undeniable grit and skill.
"Who are you?" Frank asked in a deep, guarded voice.
He was certain he didn't know this person. The fact that he had appeared so silently beside him sent chills down his spine.
"I'm Allen. We knew each other in another universe," Allen replied with a cheeky grin. "So, what are you up to?"
"Don't come closer, or I'll shoot," Frank warned coldly.
He wasn't about to fall for some alternate-universe nonsense.
Someone capable of sneaking up on him undetected was clearly no ordinary person. Frank was always on high alert against such people—just like when he hunted mutant criminals. He always struck with ruthless decisiveness.
"I bet your gun's out of bullets," Allen said, narrowing his eyes.
Frank's heart skipped a beat. Was this some kind of mutant ability? Just as he instinctively glanced down to check, a hand suddenly appeared on his weapon.
Looking up sharply, he saw Allen standing ghost-like right in front of him.
"I surrender."
To Frank's surprise, Allen didn't press the attack but instead raised his hands and stepped back.
By the time Frank tried to raise his gun again, he was shocked to find the weapon warped and bent out of shape.
That much strength?!
This was a stainless-steel gun forged in one solid piece. Even Frank wouldn't dare try to bend it barehanded.
And yet Allen's face remained relaxed the entire time, showing no strain whatsoever.
Frank silently assessed the gap between their strength.
In short, Allen could crush him like an ant.
"What the hell do you want?" Frank's forehead beaded with sweat. The less he could read this guy, the more anxious he became.
Allen gave a helpless shrug, showing his empty hands to prove he carried no weapons. "Uncle Punisher, I'm not a bad guy. You don't need to be scared."
You sure don't look like a good guy either…
Of course, giving up was never in Frank's nature. His hand crept toward the dagger on his belt, ready to fight to the death.
"Uncle Punisher, why'd you blow the hotel manager's head off?"
In Allen's memory, Winston was basically the guy running the hotel.
"They were all scum who deserved no sympathy—just a bunch of murderous criminals," Frank stated bluntly.
The Punisher lived by a code of justice through violence. He never showed mercy to criminals. The only real solution was to erase them from existence.
From a movie-goer's perspective, Winston might've seemed like a positive character—after all, he helped the protagonist through several crises.
But if you looked at things realistically, even the protagonist deserved to be judged.
"Don't they deserve a chance to redeem themselves?" Allen asked, tilting his head earnestly.
"Did their innocent victims get a second chance?" Frank countered.
He had a point. Assassins didn't care how they achieved their goals, and often innocent civilians were caught in the crossfire. Their names might be forgotten, but their blood was real.
That's why Frank avenged the innocent with murder, stopping killers with killing—earning the genuine admiration of many.
Frank had done his homework on the High Table. He used the chaos of John's manhunt as a pretext to set his trap, hoping to make them tear each other apart.
"Uncle Punisher, you're way too extreme."
Allen grinned wickedly and added, "But I love it."
"…"
A chill ran down Frank's spine. His body went rigid with dread.
What if this guy's a total psycho—and I can't even fight back?
He glanced toward the edge of the rooftop.
At least ten stories up… Jumping means certain death.
What if even my corpse doesn't get spared…
Just the thought of it made Frank shudder.
"Uncle Punisher, did you catch a cold?" Allen asked, pretending to be concerned.
"I'm fine. Don't come any closer," Frank said, backing away and drawing his tactical knife, face set in a look of grim resolve.
"Let's talk business."
Allen spoke righteously. "How about we team up to punish evil and uphold justice?"
New to this universe and with no support system, he needed a long-term partner.
He had considered John Wick, but Frank seemed like a better fit now.
After all, his level-up requirements were getting more and more demanding—regular assassins barely gave any useful XP anymore.
Frank, on the other hand, might have a lot more to offer.
"Not interested."
Frank rejected him without hesitation. He wasn't the type to compromise easily—his tough-guy image wasn't just for show.
That instantly pissed Allen off. His friendly demeanor vanished as he demanded, "Didn't you just try to shoot me in the head?"
Soft persuasion didn't work? Time for a harder approach—and maybe a little guilt-tripping.
If the bullet hadn't hit his hat, Allen might be cosplaying Mephisto right now and heading to the underworld to cuddle with Hela.
Frank had to admit it was his mistake—he'd misjudged where Allen's skull was. Otherwise, there definitely would've been brains on the rooftop.
"If you don't agree to team up, I'm gonna heh-heh-heh…"
Allen's grin turned nastier by the second, shoulders bouncing with a creepy chuckle—pure unhinged energy radiating off him.
"Enough!" Frank raised a hand, finally giving in. "Fine. I agree."
He had no intention of dying a shameful death or facing his wife and daughter in the afterlife with that on his conscience.
Of course, it was all just a big misunderstanding on Frank's part.
Anyone familiar with Allen knew—he'd always been a total weirdo.
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