Needless to say, Wade had his own objective.
It was the little bag slung over Frank's shoulder. It held Aphrodite's drug money, and Wade had to get it back.
The old lady was Black and blind. He was just helping her out by buying things for her. That was a good deed, right?
Sure enough, no good deed went unpunished.
The Punisher would even steal a blind old Black woman's pension? Did he have no humanity? Was there no law?
Wade raised both pistols and aimed at the Punisher, who was firing at Hawkeye. His plan was to shoot through the bag's strap with his unerring marksmanship, then scoop up the money and run amid the chaos.
After all, a broken strap could be sewn back on at home. But if the hundred thousand dollars inside went missing, how long would it take to earn that back?
Especially with that damned job still hanging over his head. Freedom seemed nowhere in sight.
He was capable of killing people, but he hadn't taken a contract on any of them. Killing them now would be a waste. Better to wait until someone paid him to do it.
As far as Wade was concerned, these people running around New York were like radishes in his own field. He could pull one up whenever he felt like it. That made the most financial sense.
The evening wind carried exhaust fumes from the street, stirring them into a sweltering summer eddy. A wave of heat rolled across the rooftop toward Wade, but his mind stayed cool.
He focused, drawing on his years of experience as a child soldier to steady his breathing.
The next second, the world changed.
It was as though a million souls lost in the Rwandan Genocide had possessed him. He wasn't