C32: Solicit
Sure enough, the best way to calm down an irritable war veteran like Frank Castle was through combat.
The look of unease on Frank's scarred face showed clearly that, sometimes, fists and bullets spoke louder than philosophy.
Of course, that response was shaped by who Frank Castle was, the infamous Punisher, former Force Recon Marine and recipient of the Navy Cross, Silver Star, and Bronze Star. After watching his wife and children gunned down in Central Park, Castle turned his elite training into a one-man war on crime.
"First off, relax," Li Ran said, slowly lowering the muzzle of his heavily modified Glock 17 but not putting it away entirely. After all, he'd just seen Castle mow down an entire crew of gangbangers like they were paper. "I've got nothing to do with the Savage Gang. I'm not here to avenge them. I came because of you."
"Me?" Frank's expression didn't shift, but a faint twitch at the corner of his mouth showed a flicker of interest. "I don't see why a stranger would come looking for me."
"No, Frank."
Hearing his real name, Frank Castle, spoken so plainly startled him. He narrowed his eyes, but his calloused demeanor remained.
He didn't go out of his way to hide his identity, why would he? His mission was public. His purpose was vengeance. It was no secret to anyone who crossed his path that they had two options: leave crime or leave this world.
"You're special," Li Ran continued, his tone steady, face solemn, his eyes carrying the weight of someone who had seen the worst. "You're a force with a singular goal. You fight evil in your own way to save the innocent."
"We?" Frank echoed the word coldly. "Who's 'we'?"
Hooked. Li Ran could see the flicker of curiosity—buried beneath years of rage and grief, but still there.
"We are the Assassin Brotherhood," Li Ran said. His voice dropped to a whisper, carrying the cadence of legend.
> [Famousness from Frank Castle +20]
Frank hadn't heard of them. But he'd heard whispers in the past just like the Hand, or Hydra, or Checkmate in the DC Universe—about groups that operated in the shadows, changing the tide of history through blood and blade.
"So, what—you want me to join your cult?"
"Not a cult," Li Ran replied, unbothered. "The Brotherhood of Assassins doesn't induct blindly. Normally, initiates are chosen, trained through years of discipline like Talia al Ghul was under Ra's al Ghul in the League of Assassins. But you… you're already a master of death. I believe you could become one of our Creed Assassins. All you need to do is declare your allegiance and prove your worth."
"And I should thank you for that?" Frank sneered, gripping his M4 carbine tighter. "A great and secret order needs a broken soldier with a body count? That's not recruitment, that's desperation."
"Because assassination is only a tool," Li Ran said softly. "The real goal is salvation. And despite what you say, Frank—you've always tried to save people. Your family, those you couldn't save. That's why you punish."
"…"
The words, simple as they were, clearly hit something buried deep beneath Castle's battle-hardened shell. He was silent for a moment. His grip loosened.
"I don't save," he finally said. "I've already lost the ones I was supposed to protect."
A distant voice interrupted.
"I see him! That's the bastard—waste him!"
The Savage Gang. Survivors. Reinforcements. Armed and ready.
Li Ran glanced at Frank. "Need backup?"
Frank turned, chambered a round, and stepped into the open with deadly calm. "No. This is what I do."
And without waiting, the Punisher walked into a hail of bullets with zero hesitation, firing back with ruthless precision. His form was textbook. Li Ran recognized Delta training immediately, burst fire, cover use, sweep-clear tactics. Frank wasn't a thug with a grudge; he was a war machine.
"And if your Assassin Brotherhood has skeletons in its closet," Frank added mid-battle, gunning down two men with a double-tap, "I'll come for you too. Count on it."
"You're welcome to try," Li Ran muttered.
The Assassin Brotherhood was a fabrication—yet one with roots deep in the soil of myth. A shadow that could become real if given enough faith.
As a gang member lunged at him, Li Ran sidestepped with the grace of someone trained in multiple martial arts, blending Wing Chun with League of Shadows techniques—then struck with a palm strike that broke ribs.
He looked one last time at Frank, who was dispatching the last of the gang without mercy, then turned and melted into the shadows.
> [Famousness from Savage Gang Member +0.5]
[Famousness from Savage Gang Member +0.3]
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Meanwhile, uptown at the Corinthian Grand Hotel, the atmosphere couldn't have been more different.
Golden chandeliers. Black-tie elegance. Gotham elites mingled with New York's biggest names. At the center of it all: Wilson Fisk, the Kingpin of New York.
"Tony is dead," whispered Bullseye, his right hand man, disguised in a sleek black suit beside Fisk.
"Pardon me," Fisk excused himself from a group of high-society guests, politicians, judges, CEOs and stepped onto the balcony, the night skyline glittering before him.
He turned to Bullseye. "Explain."
"The Savage Gang got lit up like a war zone. Tony took three to the chest. Ballistics say military-grade hardware. Clean shots."
"Was it the Russians? The Serpent Society? I know those Latinos have been bold lately." Despite his dominance in the underworld, Fisk had enemies on all sides, not to mention caped crusaders like Spider-Man, Daredevil, and that damned Luke Cage in Harlem.
Bullseye shook his head. "Not a crew. One man. No mask. Called himself… the Punisher."
Fisk's cigar froze an inch from his lips. "…Frank Castle?"
"The very same."
"Hmph. So he's crawling out of Hell's Kitchen now. Someone's feeling bold."
Fisk didn't fear Castle. But he respected him—as one respects a loaded gun.
"Make sure this Punisher learns that Hell's Kitchen belongs to me," he growled. "And if he thinks he can make a name by killing one of my captains, I'll make sure his name is erased."
He turned and glanced back at the crowd. One man stood out: a former Stark Industries engineer with defense ties, sipping champagne. A potential pawn.
"Oh, and what of the Phantom Thief?"
"The NYPD's investigation hit a wall. But we know he had contact with Tony Stark. Beyond that, it's locked down. The NYPD's Internal Affairs Division is shielding some of the details."
"Stark?" Fisk's brow furrowed. Tony Stark, the billionaire playboy, Avenger, and technological god of the 21st century.
That was an entanglement Fisk didn't like.
"Stark Industries arms half the private military contractors in America. If that thief's linked to Tony, this could get complicated."
Bullseye nodded. "Shall I proceed with surveillance?"
Fisk crushed his cigar in the ashtray. "Find him. Trace every move. And if he is under Stark's protection, I want leverage. Blackmail, betrayal, a secret mistress—I don't care. If there's a thread, pull it."
Bullseye smirked. "Consider it done."
And somewhere in the shadows of New York, a war was beginning between legends and outlaws, assassins and vigilantes, liars and thieves.
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