Chapter 28: Punisher · Troublemaker · Frank
THWACK! CRACK! SLAM!
BOOM!
The underground hideout echoed with the sounds of combat as Ryan and Frank engaged in brutal hand-to-hand sparring.
Frank doubled over, clutching his ribs where Ryan's enhanced fist had connected. "Jesus Christ, you fight like a goddamn machine."
Ryan wasn't unscathed either. A black eye was already swelling shut, blood trickled from his split lip, and Frank's surprise kidney shot had him clenching his jaw against the pain radiating through his enhanced physiology.
Frank was a combat veteran with decades of experience—his martial arts skills honed to near-perfection through countless battles in Iraq, Afghanistan, and the streets of New York. Combined with his recent Captain America-level enhancement, he was a formidable opponent.
But Ryan possessed something Frank couldn't match: a body infused with Thanos's alien genetics and the Mad Titan's instinctual combat reflexes embedded in his very DNA.
However, instincts were just that—raw, unrefined impulses. Without proper training to channel his cosmic-level physical capabilities, Ryan could only access a fraction of his true potential.
Frank slumped against the concrete wall, breathing heavily as he studied his sparring partner. "Your body's stronger than mine—hell, stronger than Cap's probably—but your technique is amateur hour. You're fighting like you've got a normal human body instead of whatever alien-enhanced physiology you're packing."
The observation stung because it was accurate. Frank could see it clearly: when an untrained fighter throws a punch, they telegraph the movement, using only their arm strength and leaving themselves vulnerable during the windup. A professional boxer, however, generates power from their legs, through their core, into their shoulders—every muscle fiber working in perfect coordination for maximum impact.
Ryan had the physical capabilities of a cosmic-level entity, but he was using them like an enhanced human. Frank estimated his alien-enhanced partner was utilizing maybe twenty-five percent of his actual strength.
The most frustrating part? Even at a quarter power, Ryan could fight him to a standstill.
After catching his breath, Frank shook his head ruefully. "Ryan, why don't you enhance me to your level? This superhuman strength is wasted on you."
Ryan moved to their makeshift kitchen, pouring himself a glass of water from their filtered supply. After taking a long drink, he wiped blood from his lip. "Why the hell would I do that? We're not family, Castle. I've been helping you out of professional curiosity, but you haven't exactly been pulling your weight beyond grocery runs."
Frank grimaced at the harsh truth and pushed himself to his feet. "Fair enough."
After a quick shower to wash off the blood and sweat, Frank grabbed his jacket and headed for the exit.
"Frank," Ryan called out, "when you get a chance, bring David by. I'd like to meet him."
Frank paused at the reinforced door, suspicion creeping into his voice. "What do you want with him?"
Over the past few weeks, Frank had learned that beneath Ryan's scientific exterior lurked something far more dangerous. The way he'd manipulated Wilson Fisk—using the Kingpin while simultaneously keeping him on a leash—demonstrated a calculating mind that viewed people as resources to be exploited.
Without turning around, Ryan shrugged. "You said David's a computer genius. I'm just curious to meet another professional. Why so paranoid?"
Frank left without answering, but his instincts were screaming warnings.
Several days passed in relative quiet.
Ryan spent his time analyzing the enhanced blood samples from Wilson Fisk and Frank Castle, cross-referencing their genetic modifications with his own alien-hybrid physiology. The data provided crucial insights for his ongoing transformation—specifically, his planned third-stage genetic enhancement.
The Thanos genetic material in his system remained in a transitional state, slowly integrating with his human DNA. To fully unlock the Mad Titan's cosmic-level capabilities—or perhaps even evolve into something approaching an Eternal—Ryan needed to proceed carefully through measured upgrades.
After completing his latest batch of enhancement serum, Ryan habitually switched on their salvaged television to monitor outside developments.
The screen flickered to life, showing a familiar figure in a sharp suit standing at a podium surrounded by reporters and camera flashes.
"I am Iron Man."
The words hit Ryan like a physical blow.
Tony Stark had just revealed his secret identity to the world—a moment that would reshape the entire superhero landscape and kick off what historians would later call the "Age of Heroes."
"Damn shame I can't be there to witness history in the making," Ryan muttered, genuine regret in his voice.
Unfortunately, Stark Industries was based on the West Coast. Given Tony's personality and intellect, they probably could have been fascinating colleagues—or dangerous rivals.
He switched off the television, went through his evening routine, and settled into his cot for some much-needed rest.
Just as Ryan closed his eyes, rapid pounding on the reinforced door jolted him awake.
"Frank?" He checked the security monitor, confirming his partner's identity.
This was unusual. Frank rarely returned to the hideout at night, knowing Ryan preferred not to deal with the perpetual smell of gunpowder and violence that clung to the Punisher like cologne.
Confused, Ryan threw on a bathrobe and went to unlock the multiple security systems protecting their entrance.
The door swung open with a metallic clang. Frank stood several yards back, gesturing toward a nervous-looking man in a hooded sweatshirt who was struggling with an oversized duffel bag.
"What the hell, Frank? It's past midnight."
Frank pushed past Ryan into the hideout. "Didn't you say you wanted to meet David? Well, here he is."
The man looked up nervously, then raised his hand in an awkward wave. "Hi. I'm David Lieberman. Uh... nice to meet you?"
Ryan studied the former NSA analyst—pale, twitchy, with the soft look of someone who'd spent more time behind computer screens than in combat zones. "How nice?"
"I'm sorry?"
"Never mind. Bad joke." Ryan clapped David on the shoulder, then nodded toward the heavy bag. "You brought luggage? Planning to move in?"
Frank stepped forward and snatched the duffel from David's grip. The metallic clanking from inside made it clear this wasn't filled with clothes or toiletries.
Over the next several minutes, Frank and David made multiple trips, hauling in nearly a dozen similar bags plus one large wooden crate that looked suspiciously military in origin.
Curiosity getting the better of him, Ryan unzipped one of the duffels, revealing rows of pristine black firearms nestled in foam padding.
"Holy shit. Did you two rob a military base?"
Frank began methodically sorting the weapons with practiced efficiency. "More specifically, we liberated these from NSA black site storage. They won't be missed."
David helped organize the ammunition, separating different calibers and adding neat labels to each container—clearly bringing his anal-retentive analyst skills to their new criminal enterprise.
Ryan immediately regretted every decision that had led to this moment. Enhancing Frank Castle had been like giving a hand grenade to a toddler—the man was a walking disaster magnet who attracted trouble like a cosmic-level threat beacon.
"Jesus Christ!" Ryan hissed, stepping forward. "Frank, please tell me you didn't lead a trail of federal agents straight to my front door."
Frank didn't even look up from his weapon inspection. "Relax. The chances of them tracking us here are essentially zero."
BOOM!
The reinforced steel door leading to the basement level couldn't withstand the explosive breach charge and went flying across the room in twisted metal fragments.
Ryan slowly turned to stare at Frank, who was frozen mid-magazine check. "Is this your definition of 'essentially zero'?"
Click-click.
Frank loaded his assault rifle with practiced precision, grabbed two fully automatic weapons, and charged toward the stairwell leading to street level.
David dove behind the laboratory table, terror written across his face. Ryan shook his head and pulled an emergency kit from beneath his workstation, muttering, "Frank Castle is a goddamn jinx. Trouble follows him like he's got a cosmic target painted on his back."
He quickly secured his blood serum samples and genetic enhancement data in a reinforced case, stuffing his laptop containing irreplaceable research into a tactical backpack. Time to disappear—again.
Outside, the distinctive whine of S.H.I.E.L.D. Quinjet engines filled the night air.
End of Chapter 28
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