Escanor(Marvel)

A small crowd had gathered in front of the stage, waiting for the representative of the protest to speak. New York had allocated funds, but the money had gone toward infrastructure restoring roads, power grids, and water supply. Meanwhile, those who had lost their homes were left to fend for themselves. The victims who had suffered injuries received no compensation.

"I believe we need a fair and honest mayor, not the one we have now! That's why I want to introduce you to a man who has personally allocated a significant portion of his resources to recovery efforts and helping the victims. Let's give him a warm welcome!" the speaker announced.

Loud applause erupted as a middle-aged man stepped onto the stage. Tall, composed, dressed in a perfectly white suit. His head was meticulously shaved, giving him a dangerous yet confident appearance. But it was his eyes that captured everyone's attention cold, piercing, carrying an unspoken threat.

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"Mr. Fisk, philanthropist and public figure. He has already been actively helping the victims," the host continued.

"Thank you for such a warm welcome," Wilson Fisk began as he ascended the stage. His voice was deep, resonant, sending shivers down the spine. "More than anyone, I understand your grief… your pain! I grew up in Hell's Kitchen myself. We were treated like society's outcasts unwanted, despised. But as I grew older, I realized something important. Blind anger changes nothing. What we must do is take action that will bring prosperity to all."

He paused, sweeping his gaze over the crowd with a sharp intensity.

"That is why I am running for mayor, and I hope for your support. Under my leadership, New York will flourish like never before!"

His powerful voice echoed across the square, mesmerizing the audience. It was as if his words carried an undeniable force, sinking into the hearts of everyone present.

As soon as he finished, a few scattered claps broke the silence, then suddenly, the square erupted into thunderous applause. People stood up, cheering, their approval roaring through the air. The applause seemed to last forever.

Wilson Fisk smiled, as if savoring the crowd's submission. But hidden within his gaze and that smile was something cruel, something unsettling.

At the edge of the crowd stood Matt Murdock. His expression remained grim, his hands gripping his cane tightly. He listened to the future mayor's speech, feeling how the situation was beginning to spiral out of control.

*********************

POV Escanor

I still hadn't managed to track down the gang. I had scoured nearly every inch of Hell's Kitchen, searching through the darkest and most dangerous corners of the neighborhood. But it was all in vain. It was as if they had vanished disappeared from New York altogether. My only hope was that they had simply gone underground and that their absence was temporary.

Meanwhile, the growing news and rumors about mutants were becoming more and more unsettling. Videos of people displaying superhuman abilities leaving destruction in their wake were surfacing online with increasing frequency. Footage of the Hulk and Abomination was being broadcast almost constantly. There were even recordings of me and Juggernaut. It all seemed like a carefully orchestrated campaign to instill fear in people's hearts. Perhaps someone was deliberately stirring up chaos.

I kept thinking about reaching out to the X-Men, checking if they were doing okay. But something always held me back. Maybe it was fear. Maybe it was doubt doubt that my call would make any difference. But right now, that wasn't my primary concern.

When I wasn't searching for leads, I spent all my time restoring the bar. The interior was almost cleared of debris, but there were still large chunks that required a jackhammer to break them down into smaller pieces. Fortunately, the patrons helped. Many brought tools, and some even came from other districts just to lend a hand.

Now, I was sitting on the rooftop of a building where I was supposed to meet the Punisher. But I wasn't sure if he would show up. After all, he didn't owe me anything.

Gazing at the bright moon, I found myself wondering what do I want besides revenge? You can't live solely for it. That much is obvious. Otherwise, there's nothing left of a person just emptiness and mindless aggression.

*********************

Several hours passed. I noticed it was already five in the morning. There was no point in waiting any longer I had already been here for six hours. Just as I was about to climb down, a voice rang out.

"You lasted longer than I expected," a rough, gravelly voice came from the shadows. The Punisher stepped forward. "Consider this a test of your resolve."

"They're gone. I couldn't find them anywhere," I replied, disappointed.

"No surprise. Rats are always the first to flee. Do you have any intel on them? Hand over everything you've got. I have a few contacts who might be able to dig something up," he said, eyeing me intently.

Silently, I handed him a bag filled with documents. The Punisher unzipped it, pulled out a folder, and started flipping through the photos. His expression became serious, focused.

"Alright. Follow me," he said without looking up from the papers.

I followed him.

Thirty minutes later...

"Well, kid, how does it feel?" the biker sneered, splitting my lip and breaking my nose. Blood streamed down my face, blurring my vision.

We had stormed the garage, and everything immediately went to hell. The Punisher was too direct he gave them an ultimatum: either they told us everything they knew, or he would beat the shit out of them.

He took on most of the enemies, but one of them was left for me. This brute was insanely strong, and I had been struggling to stay on my feet for several minutes now. More than once, I had nearly collapsed, but somehow, I managed to keep going.

"You're going to regret saying that," I muttered, pushing myself up.

The brute swung at me again, but I dodged in time and landed a punch to his gut. He barely reacted. It was as if the extra fat on his body absorbed the impact like a cushion.

"Little shit," he growled, grabbing me by the jacket and hurling me into the wall.

I hit the ground, every inch of my body screaming in pain. Luckily, my gaze landed on a wrench lying nearby. Regaining my focus, I quickly grabbed it and hid it behind my back before he could notice.

"You fat pig. Bet you haven't seen your dick in years," I taunted, trying to provoke him.

"You little bastard!" he roared, charging at me.

I endured a few more hits, waiting for my moment. The second he let his guard down, I swung the wrench with all my strength, smashing it against his temple.

The brute staggered, took a few unsteady steps back, clutched his head, and collapsed onto his back.

I stood there, breathing heavily, adrenaline surging through my veins. My heart was pounding so hard it felt like it would burst from my chest. Lifting the hem of my shirt, I wiped the blood from my face and scanned the garage.

The Punisher sat on one of the bikes, watching me. A cigarette smoldered between his fingers, blood staining his knuckles. He had taken down five guys on his own.

"Not bad for a rookie," he said calmly, exhaling a puff of smoke.

"Why didn't you help me?" I asked, barely hiding my irritation.

"If you can't handle one guy, you can forget about revenge. You'll be dead before you even get close." His tone was cold, indifferent.

He flicked the cigarette away, crushed it under his boot, and walked over to a pile of scrap metal. Picking up a heavy chain, he approached one of the unconscious bikers. Like a merciless executioner, he wrapped the chain around the man's neck and secured it to a metal pole.

"What makes you think they know anything important?" I asked, watching him work.

"You think these assholes just ride around for fun?" He smirked without looking up. "They keep tabs on everything who's moving where, what gangs have what resources. They've got a lot of eyes and ears."

Before I could respond, the Punisher grabbed the biker by the throat, pressing on a specific spot. The man let out a choked scream of pain.

"Shut up. You've got a simple choice: tell me what I want to know, or take the less pleasant option."

As he spoke, he pulled out a blowtorch I hadn't even noticed when he grabbed it.

A flick of the lighter, and a bluish flame illuminated his face.

"Go to hell, you son of a bitch!" the prisoner spat, thrashing against the chains. "You think you'll walk away from this? You're already a dead man!"

"Never pick the worse option," the Punisher whispered.

He brought the flame to the biker's arm. The fire first scorched the leather of his jacket before searing into his skin. The air filled with the stench of burning fabric and flesh.

"A-AAAH! You sick fuck! STOP!" the biker howled, writhing in agony. "We'll kill all of you, you piece of NO, NO, WAIT! WAIT! I'LL TALK! I'LL TALK!"

The Punisher shut off the torch, but his gaze remained ice-cold. A deep burn now marred the man's arm.

"I need to know where the members of 'Dicto' disappeared to." His voice was calm, yet laced with unmistakable menace as he held up a photograph.

The prisoner just chuckled weakly. Summoning the last of his strength, he spat in the Punisher's face.

"You can shove that picture up your ass."

The reaction was instant. A brutal punch to the face sent the biker choking on his own breath. He barely stayed conscious, but the Punisher didn't give him a chance to recover.

"You still don't get how serious this is," he muttered, wiping his face.

He walked over to a metal gasoline canister, calmly opened it, and began pouring its contents over the prisoner. The sharp stench of gasoline filled the air. The biker's clothes were instantly soaked, and his face twisted in panic.

"What the hell are you doing?!" he shouted, his voice trembling with fear.

The Punisher pulled out a lighter and flicked it open, igniting a small flame. The prisoner immediately fell silent. His eyes darted between the fire and the gasoline soaking his body.

"This is your last chance," the Punisher said, bringing the flame closer to the man's hand.

"Alright, alright! I'll talk!" the biker screamed, choking on his terror. "They went behind Tin! Moved to the outskirts of New York, near the old hypermarket. It's safer there. Hell's Kitchen is too hot right now human trafficking draws too much attention."

The Punisher pocketed the lighter, his face remaining expressionless. Then, without hesitation, he pulled out his gun and fired a single shot into the biker's head.

"Let's go," he said shortly, turning toward the exit. But instead of leading the way, he stepped aside, letting me go first.

Yet, as I turned back, I saw him casually toss the lit lighter onto the gasoline-soaked corpse.

Flames erupted instantly, and the room filled with the acrid stench of burning flesh.

"Why did you do that?" I asked, struggling to understand the need for such brutality.

The Punisher halted but didn't turn around.

"Don't overthink it. They've done far worse. Once, one of these bastards tied a man to his bike and dragged him down the road at eighty kilometers per hour. They don't deserve mercy."

The agonized screams soon faded, leaving only the crackling of fire consuming the garage. The glow of the flames bathed the street in flickering light, casting long shadows. It was ruthless.

"Having second thoughts?" came the Punisher's voice. He didn't even look back. "I'm not a good man. I'm worse than any monster in your nightmares. But I do what's necessary to make sure there are fewer scumbags like them."

He climbed into the van, leaving the door open giving me a choice. Step inside or turn back.

I looked at the fire once more. Inhaling deeply, I forced myself to take a step forward.

Inside, the Punisher unfolded a map on a small collapsible table and pulled out a marker, studying it intently.

"Why not use GPS?" I asked, trying to fill the silence.

"Those things are garbage," he replied without looking up. "Completely unreliable. Old-school methods work better assuming you're not an idiot who can't read a map."

He circled a location on the map.

"They're here. No other possibilities. Tonight, we have to move fast. If, like you said, someone is backing them, we need to clear out their base before they can relocate. We can't let intel slip through, and we need to find out who's pulling the strings. It has to be quick. We won't finish it in one night, but we can't count on them staying put either."

The Punisher looked at me, his gaze sharp and heavy.

"Everyone knows my face, so you're doing the surveillance. Take the truck and park somewhere nearby."

"Got it," I agreed, fully aware I didn't really have a choice.

"Then let's move." He folded the map.

I gave him a surprised look.

"Didn't you just say everyone knows you?"

He smirked, but there wasn't even a hint of amusement in his eyes.

"I just need to get a glimpse of the place to figure out the best way to storm it. While you stay close, I'll scout nearby vantage points mark the best angles for an assault. Going in blind is stupid."

He got behind the wheel, his expression unreadable.

The engine roared to life, and we drove out of the city.

At last, we arrived at the designated spot. The Punisher pulled over in the shadows of the trees nearby.

"You're on your own now. Don't screw this up. You do know how to drive, right?" he asked, throwing me a scrutinizing look.

"I've practiced," I answered honestly. My father had taught me how to drive when I was a kid.

He nodded, saying nothing more, and silently disappeared into the darkness.

I was alone now. Taking a deep breath, I slid into the driver's seat. My fingers brushed over the controls as I muttered under my breath:

"Alright… first gear… slowly release the clutch, give it some gas…"

The car rolled forward almost smoothly.

I parked across the street from the warehouse, making sure not to stand out. Several other vehicles were around, and I hoped mine blended in. Cutting the engine, I climbed into the back seat, grabbed my binoculars, and positioned myself where I wouldn't be seen.

Through the lenses, I carefully scanned the building, looking for anything unusual. Everything seemed quiet.

The moment I settled into position, exhaustion hit me like a wave. My eyes grew heavy, my body craved rest. I nearly drifted off, but at the last second, I forced myself awake.

That's when I saw them. Faces I recognized. Familiar ones.

The bikers hadn't lied. They really were here.

I stayed like that all night, fighting off sleep, watching as the city slowly came to life.

Then a ringtone.

The sudden noise jolted me awake. My eyes snapped open as I scrambled to get my bearings.

Shit, I dozed off!

Fumbling for my phone, I glanced at the screen. Ten in the morning. I had passed out around seven, and it showed my head felt heavy, my thoughts sluggish.

The number on the screen was familiar.

I put the phone to my ear.

"Hey," I said, trying to sound alert.

"You've been gone for four days! What happened?" The concern in her voice was evident. "Yeah, I saw your message saying you couldn't come by, but you could've at least explained a little more."

I took a deep breath, choosing my words carefully.

"The bar I worked at got wrecked. Needs rebuilding. Sorry, no time for training right now."

She was silent for a few moments before replying, her tone carrying a hint of disappointment:

"Guess I'll have to find a new janitor." Then, more seriously, "I'm sorry. Losing something familiar is hard. It makes you feel like the ground's been ripped out from under you."

"Yeah… I guess," I muttered, not sure what else to say.

I absently raised the binoculars again, scanning the warehouse. Nothing had changed no one was moving in or out. That let me relax. Just a little.

"I won't keep bothering you," Colleen continued. "I know you'll come back when you're ready. Just… don't disappear forever, alright?"

"Thanks. I won't," I promised. But if I was being honest, I wasn't sure of anything anymore. The future felt uncertain, and I had no real plan.

"Then, see you around," she said, and after the call ended, I set my phone on the dashboard and turned my focus back to the binoculars.

When you walk the path of self-destruction, at first, it's emotions that drive you. You're willing to do anything to reach your goal be it revenge or something else. But when the emotions burn out, you reach a crossroads.

Going back is impossible you've come too far. Stepping off the path? That's foolish. As if everything you've done up to this point was for nothing.

I was almost burned out. My emotions had dulled to embers. Nights were no longer for sleeping just surviving. No home. No family. Alone on my path.

Screw these temporary struggles. I just needed to finish what I started.

And after that…

Maybe there wouldn't be anything left.