Noah moved quickly through the alley, putting distance between himself and the burning warehouse while trying not to think about the fact that he'd just eliminated twenty people in what was technically a single evening of entertainment.
Professional development through controlled explosions, he rationalized. It's like corporate team building, but with more permanent results.
The Russian mob's truck still sat parked on the street where they'd left it, but something was wrong. The guard they'd positioned outside the warehouse was nowhere to be seen.
THUD.
A body dropped from above, landing directly in Noah's path with the wet impact of meat hitting pavement.
Noah stopped and examined the corpse with clinical detachment. It was the missing guard, but he'd clearly experienced a very bad evening before his final career transition. Torture marks covered his body, thin wire cuts suggested he'd been suspended from something high, and the overall presentation screamed "professional interrogation techniques."
Someone else was hunting the same people I just killed, Noah realized. That's either really good timing or really bad timing.
Heavy footsteps echoed from the shadows, and a figure emerged that made Noah's enhanced survival instincts start calculating escape routes.
The man was built like a walking siege engine—six-foot-three, broad shoulders, and the kind of muscle mass that suggested violence was both his profession and his hobby. His face was carved from stone and bad decisions, with a prominent nose that had clearly been broken multiple times and eyes that held all the warmth of a morgue freezer.
But it was his outfit that really identified him: black tactical gear, kevlar vest, and painted across his chest in bone-white paint, the unmistakable skull symbol that had become synonymous with vigilante justice in its most brutal form.
Frank Castle. The Punisher. Oh, shit.
Noah had seen enough Marvel movies to know that running into Frank Castle was like encountering a natural disaster with military training and anger management issues. The man was a one-person war on crime, and his methods made Noah's briefcase-enhancement program look like community service.
"Kid," Frank said, his voice carrying the kind of gravitas that suggested he'd gargled with broken glass for decades, "you shouldn't be in this alley. Not tonight."
The Punisher moved closer, and Noah caught the metallic scent of blood mixed with cordite. Frank held a tactical knife that looked like it had recently been introduced to several people's circulatory systems.
At eighteen, I probably do look like a kid to him, Noah thought. Which might actually work in my favor if he thinks I'm some innocent bystander.
"Tell me what happened back there," Frank demanded, nodding toward the smoke rising from the warehouse district.
Noah considered his options. He could lie, but Frank Castle had a reputation for detecting deception the way sharks detected blood. He could run, but Frank probably had contingency plans for runners.
He decided on honesty. Sort of.
"Card game got out of hand," Noah said. "We were playing for pretty high stakes, and when I won with a particularly explosive combination, well..." He gestured at the smoking ruins. "You know how it is with poor sports."
Frank's expression didn't change, which was somehow more intimidating than if he'd started shouting.
Right. The Punisher doesn't have much of a sense of humor about criminal activity.
"I was tracking that operation for weeks," Frank said, studying Noah with the intensity of someone deciding whether he qualified as collateral damage. "Twenty-plus members of a Russian trafficking network, millions in drugs and cash, and you're telling me you blew it up over a card game?"
"Texas Hold 'Em can get pretty competitive," Noah replied. "Especially when everyone's armed and paranoid."
Frank stared at him for several long seconds. Noah could practically hear the gears turning as the Punisher tried to decide if this teenager was a threat, a witness, or just the luckiest amateur in criminal justice history.
Come on, Noah thought. I'm eighteen, I don't look dangerous, and I just solved your Russian mob problem for you. Surely even the Punisher can appreciate efficient problem-solving.
Frank wiped his knife clean and slid it back into its sheath. "You have any idea how many innocent people those animals hurt?"
"Had to be a lot, considering how enthusiastic they were about the whole criminal lifestyle," Noah said. "Though I'd say that's more of a past-tense concern now."
For the first time, something that might have been approval flickered across Frank's features. "Kid's got a point," he muttered.
Then his expression hardened again as the sound of approaching vehicles cut through the night air.
Three black SUVs roared around the corner, tires squealing as they formed a semicircle around the alley entrance. Doors flew open and armed figures poured out—more Russians, judging by their gear and the creative profanity they were shouting.
"Well," Noah said, stepping closer to Frank's considerable bulk, "looks like we've got company."
Frank glanced back at him with an expression that clearly conveyed: We? What's this 'we' business?
"They're probably here about the warehouse," Noah explained helpfully. "You know how criminal organizations get when their major operations spontaneously explode. Very poor sports about the whole thing."
"You brought Russian reinforcements to my position," Frank said, his voice carrying the kind of menace that suggested Noah had just made a very poor life choice.
"Think of it as target-rich environment," Noah countered. "I just provided you with additional criminals to punish. It's like a professional development opportunity."
The Russians were spreading out, clearly intending to surround the alley and ask pointed questions about their missing associates.
Frank pulled out a pistol that looked like it could stop a charging rhinoceros, then glanced at Noah. "Can you handle yourself in a firefight, kid?"
"I'm a quick study," Noah replied, which was technically true if you considered immortality a form of accelerated learning.
"Stay behind me and try not to get killed," Frank commanded. "And next time you decide to blow up a criminal enterprise, maybe check if someone else is working the same case."
Next time, Noah thought as Frank began moving toward the approaching Russians with predatory efficiency. He's assuming there's going to be a next time. That's either encouraging or terrifying.
As the first shots rang out and Frank Castle began doing what Frank Castle did best, Noah couldn't help but reflect on how his evening had evolved from simple assassination work to sharing a firefight with one of Marvel's most notorious vigilantes.
Welcome to the big leagues, he thought, where even your backup is legendary.
_________________________________________________________________________
💎 Power Stone Bonus! 💎
Drop some stones if you want extra chapters:
100 stones → 1 extra chapter
300 stones → 2 extra chapters
500 stones → 3 extra chapters
The more stones you drop, the more story you get.