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"For real? That's crazy. It's such a small world! Don't just stand out here—come on in!"
Uncle Ben warmly opened the door. Peter was visibly thrilled too. He hadn't expected his uncle to already know Dan from years ago.
"Ben, you're back! Peter too. And who's this?"
A woman walked out from the living room. No need to guess—that had to be Aunt May.
"May, this is Peter's classmate. He used to live at Valentine Orphanage."
"Oh, come on in, sweetheart! I just baked some cookies—perfect timing."
The whole Parker family welcomed Dan with open arms. Being around them gave Dan a long-forgotten feeling—like being part of a real family. Sadly… he was just a guest.
"How old were you when you left Valentine?" Aunt May asked as she handed him a cup of hot tea.
"Thanks, Aunt May. I was six when my teacher adopted me. But I still visit Valentine every year."
The three of them chatted on and on. Uncle Ben and Aunt May were genuinely good people. They'd been into charity work since they were young—not just at Valentine, but anywhere help was needed. Now that they were older, they didn't have the energy to do as much, and Uncle Ben had recently been laid off. He was picking up odd jobs to make ends meet. Still, no matter how hard life got, their optimism never wavered.
"It's getting late. I should head home. Thank you, Uncle Ben, thank you, Aunt May. The cookies were amazing."
Dan bowed slightly in gratitude—not just for today, but for the warm memories they'd unknowingly given him back in his childhood.
"Bye, Peter. See you tomorrow."
"Bye, Dan!"
As Dan walked away and turned the corner, Uncle Ben sighed and said:
"What a polite young man. If all kids coming out of orphanages turned out like him, the world would be a better place."
"Come on, Ben, let's go back inside."
Dan glanced back at Peter's house one last time.
The wheel of fate was already turning. Someday, Peter would become Spider-Man. And Uncle Ben…
Dan clenched his fists.
"Don't worry, Uncle Ben. Now that I've stepped into your lives… I won't let that tragedy happen again."
Meanwhile, in a dim basement somewhere in New York, a battered wooden table was piled with weapons and ammo. Two black duffel bags sat on top—unzipped and stuffed full of cash.
From the shadows, a man emerged with a cigar in his mouth.
"I brought what you asked for. Cash, weapons, plenty of ammo. Where's my end of the deal?"
Across the table, a scarred hand grabbed one of the bags, yanked it open, and checked a stack of bills. Once satisfied, the guy nodded, and one of his men brought out a black box.
The man in the shadows took the box.
"Mind if I check the goods?"
"Go ahead. We in the Pocket Gang don't mess around."
The shadowy man smirked but didn't show it too much. He opened the box. Inside were neatly packed slabs of some kind of putty-like substance. He pulled out a small gadget, extended a needle from it, and jabbed it into the goods.
"Nice. Pure stuff. Solid batch. Pleasure doing business."
"Likewise."
The man in black shut the case and left.
As soon as he was gone, the Pocket Gang's grunts swarmed the table, snatching up money and weapons.
"Haha! Boss, we're rich!"
"Hell yeah! This'll keep us rolling for a while!"
"Haha! I'm hittin' the club tonight, and those girls better watch out!"
…
While everyone was celebrating, their boss slammed his hand on the table.
"Bunch of idiots. You're happy with this small-time score?"
"Boss?"
They froze—nobody expected him to blow up like that. Usually, he was the one who partied the hardest.
"Do you even know why I asked for extra weapons in this deal?"
They all shook their heads, clueless and intimidated.
The big guy slammed the table and said excitedly:
"That's because I've made up my mind—starting today, the Pocket Gang is going big! No more being some run-of-the-mill street gang. I'm gonna turn us into a real name in the underworld! If we're gonna do this, we're doing it big!"
The boss was full of ambition—he was determined to make a name for himself in the criminal world.
"Boss!"
All the underlings looked up at him with admiration in their eyes. For the first time, they felt like they were following someone truly impressive.
"Boss, I swear I'll follow you to the end."
"Same here, boss!"
"Me too! Me too!"
They all started pledging their loyalty, falling over themselves to prove their devotion in case they got left out of whatever big plans the boss had.
The big guy grinned, clearly pleased with the display.
"Don't worry—stick with me and give it your all, and one day you'll all be key members of the Pocket Gang."
"Long live the boss! Long live the boss!"
The room erupted in cheers.
Then suddenly—BANG!A single gunshot shattered the only light in the basement, plunging the room into darkness.
"Who the hell was that?! Watch it! Did your gun just go off?!"
Everyone started looking around, shining flashlights or pulling out phones to see what had happened—trying to figure out who the hell just misfired.
Suddenly, in the flickering light, a shadowy figure appeared at the door. On his chest: a white skull.
"You! Who the hell are you?! How'd you even find this place?!"
Frank Castle raised the SMG slung across his back and aimed at the group.
"Pocket Gang. Murder, robbery, drug dealing, trafficking, rape. You're all guilty. Time to burn in hell."
Without another word—he pulled the trigger.
Gunfire erupted. The basement was plunged into darkness once again. The only light came from the muzzle flashes, briefly illuminating the blood-soaked bodies now lying on the floor.
"....."