Ruins of an abandoned Oscorp satellite facility.
Gunfire echoed through the crumbling halls. Muffled screams. Ricochets. The scent of blood and smoke in the air.
Frank Castle limped forward shoulders squared, rifle slung tight against his chest.
His trench coat flared behind him, dust swirling in his wake.
He was a walking wall of grit and vengeance.
"COME AT ME, YOU FREAKS!!"
He roared as he turned a corner—
BLAM BLAM BLAM!!
Three guards dropped. One got a bullet to the throat—choked on his own breath.
Another tried to pull a sidearm—Frank shot his knee, then his eye.
(Keep moving. They'll box you in. They always do.)
But just as he stepped into the server room hallway—
BANG!!
A bullet slammed into his thigh.
"AUGH—SHIT!"
Frank staggered, slammed back into the wall, breath hitching.
Across from him, a mercenary in black armor reloaded fast, smirking.
"Gotcha now, you washed-up ghost."
Frank raised his pistol shot twice.
One grazed the guy's vest. The other hit a pipe.
Steam hissed. More enemies closed in.
He ducked low, dragging himself behind a fallen console, breathing heavy.
(Too many. I'm boxed. I ain't getting outta this one… not alive.)
Bullets tore into the wall beside him.
"LIGHT HIM UP!!"
Ten men maybe more closing in. Their rifles were steady. Trained.
Frank's eyes narrowed, hand reaching for his last frag grenade.
(One last bang. Let's take a few with me—)
Suddenly—
A voice.
From somewhere above.
"CLOSE YOUR EYES!"
Frank blinked.
(…What?)
"DO IT!!"
He obeyed.
FLASH—BOOM!!!
A blinding burst erupted from above.
Screams. Shouts. Curses.
Frank opened his eyes just as the squad was clutching their faces, blinded.
"MY EYES—!!"
"WHERE—WHERE IS HE?!"
"I CAN'T SEE!!"
From the ceiling vents, someone dropped like a shadow.
A blur of movement young, fast, precise.
A boy maybe nineteen landed beside Frank.
Not a mask. Not a suit. Just bruised knuckles, a makeshift vest, and eyes that had seen too much too young.
He extended a hand.
"Come on! Up!"
Frank stared at him for a beat, confused.
"Who the hell are you, kid?"
The boy grunted, grabbing Frank's collar and yanking him up.
"I'm Peter Parker."
Frank's eyes widened.
(This kid. Such a young kid who been through a lot)
Peter ducked behind him, pulled Frank's arm over his shoulder, and helped him limp through the corridor.
..
Then Peter Parker hit the ground in a low crouch, the momentum of his fall pushing him forward.
He rolled into a sprint, dirt and dust flying from his hoodie.
One of the guards turned. Peter pivoted on his heel—
CRACK!
A quick side-kick snapped the rifle out of the blinded soldier's hands.
Peter spun elbowed the next attacker clean across the face.
"GAAARGH—!"
Teeth flew.
A third guard raised his gun.
Peter snapped his wrist sideways—click—and pulled the trigger on a stolen stun pistol.
ZAP!!
The bolt struck the man in the gut—he collapsed, convulsing violently on the floor.
Frank watched all this from the ground, stunned.
"You're just a kid," he growled, dragging himself upright.
Peter didn't even look back. Just smirked.
"A lot of people say that. Makes moving through hell easier."
(No hesitation… this kid fights like he's done this a hundred times. Who the hell is he?)
…
…
..
..
Reaching the Bay Doors
They burst through a sliding metal door Peter slamming the override panel with his elbow.
Alarms blared overhead. A turret on the ceiling buzzed to life, targeting both of them.
Peter spotted it immediately.
"GET DOWN!"
He shoved Frank hard, Frank grunted as he hit the deck.
Peter reached into his belt pouch—pulled out a fist-sized gadget taped together with wires, broken motherboard scraps, and foil.
(Come on… come on… don't fail me now—)
He hurled it.
THUNK—FLASH!!
The makeshift EMP detonated mid-air. The turret sparked violently—shrieking sparks and smoke before dying.
Frank coughed, rolling to his back.
"You're not military…"
Peter knelt beside him, tearing a piece of cloth from his own shirt to wrap Frank's bleeding leg.
"I don't need to be."
…
Rooftop – After the Escape
They climbed an old, rusted maintenance ladder on the side of the building.
Frank groaned with every step Peter pushed from below to keep him steady.
Finally, they emerged onto a rooftop overlooking the devastated city.
Ash-gray clouds swallowed the sky. Helicopters far off. Distant sirens wailed like ghosts.
Frank sat against a rusted AC unit, one hand on his ribs. His breaths were ragged.
Peter stood, arms crossed, wind tugging at his hoodie.
"What were you even doing here?"
Frank spat blood to the side.
"Looking for files. Evidence on the drones. Octavius's labs. Names. Leads."
Peter nodded slowly.
"…Then we're chasing the same monsters."
Frank studied him in silence.
Bruised. Bloody. Wearing goggles and ripped gloves.
But his eyes?
(This kid... he's a soldier. The war took his innocence and left him fire.)
"You fight like a soldier."
Peter shrugged.
"War made me one."
They both looked at the skyline.
Smoke. Rubble. Broken towers.
Silence.
For once, Frank Castle didn't feel like a ghost walking alone.
(This kid… he's got the heart. And the weight. Just like I did once.)
Frank stood slowly, gritting through the pain.
"You ever need someone shot… you find me."
Peter raised a brow, smirked.
"And if you ever need someone to save your ass again…"
He tossed Frank a battered communicator old tech, but patched up.
"Call me first."
Frank looked at it. Then at Peter.
A ghost of a grin formed behind the pain.
"…Kid's got balls."
They turned, parting ways one back into the fire, the other into the shadows.
That was the night they became allies.
That was the night the Punisher met Peter Parker.