When Frank opened his eyes, he found both hands cuffed to a chair, his body completely unable to move. The surroundings were pitch-black and silent. Before him stood only a metal table and a lit desk lamp.
"An interrogation?" As a former United States Marine Corps member, Frank was no stranger to this situation. He had been captured by an enemy, and torture would naturally come next.
A man who had killed Kingpin and Bullseye, seizing all the assets of New York's underworld boss—could he really expect the other party to be decent people?
Frank sneered inwardly. He had endured the most despairing pain in the world; how could he possibly yield under torture? If they thought they could get any information or intelligence out of him, that was truly laughable!
The click-clack of footsteps rang out. Someone pushed open the door, pulled out a chair, and sat down. The man's face was hidden in the heavy darkness, making his features impossible to see.
"Hello, Mr. Frank Castle." The visitor greeted him, then continued, "At last, we can sit down and have a proper talk. To be honest, your temper is rather bad. We had to use this method before we could communicate normally."
"Who are you?" the burly man known as the Punisher asked.
"Heh, such a clichéd question... I'm the man who killed Kingpin, the culprit who made you take the blame, the owner behind the Hellfire Club, and a law-abiding citizen of New York."
"Murders, controlling gangs... You really are such a law-abiding 'good citizen,' aren't you?" A trace of mocking amusement appeared on Frank's face. He was not at all afraid of provoking the other man.
To Frank's surprise, the other party did not seem angered. Instead, he laughed softly. "From what position are you saying that, Mr. Frank?"
"What kind of person Kingpin was hardly needs explaining. Why is it that when you wipe out gangs through cruel and bloody means, you can call yourself a hero who fights criminals and punishes evil, while I become a murderer simply for getting rid of a gang boss for the citizens of New York? Mr. Frank, the blood on your hands, as the Punisher of Hell's Kitchen, is probably far greater than mine!"
The man sitting in the darkness spoke with faint mockery in his voice. Yet Frank was left speechless, unable to find a rebuttal. In truth, aside from killing Kingpin, the other man did not seem to have any other crimes to his name.
"What do you want from me?" Frank could only change the subject.
The other man tapped his fingers against the table as though thinking. After a long while, he said, "Actually, I don't want anything from you at all, Mr. Frank. You were the one who stormed into my club like a thug, injured my people, and then threatened Wesley... I only fought you because I didn't want to lose a capable assistant."
"And now you're questioning what I want from you? Frank Castle, does your family have a history of mental illness?"
The Punisher, always decisive and ruthless, flushed red. Veins bulged across his thick arms, and the fury in his heart blazed like a roaring fire!
"All right, I take back what I just said. Now, let's have a proper talk, Mr. Punisher!"
The man shed his flippant, teasing tone and turned serious. "I know everything about you, Frank Castle. An elite former United States Marine Corps soldier, you witnessed your family being brutally slaughtered by gangsters after your retirement. That was why you began taking revenge against Hell's Kitchen's criminal forces. During that time, you clashed with Daredevil, then were arrested by the police. Matt Murdock, who was Daredevil, served as your defense attorney, but you were still sent to prison."
"Not long afterward, you escaped from prison. Carrying your family's blood feud, of course you could not resign yourself to being trapped behind bars... You killed twenty-four people. They were all scum bribed by the gangs, sent to end your life in prison. Because they had misjudged how dangerous you were, they paid with their lives. After relentless investigation, you discovered the true culprit behind your family's tragic murder."
"The Blacksmith, Hell's Kitchen's drug kingpin, was also your former commanding officer in the United States Marine Corps. This nazi officer, Ray Schoonover, had secretly been involved in drug trafficking and smuggling all along. He was responsible for your family's deaths. After blowing this officer's head apart with a single shot, you called yourself the Punisher and began the great undertaking of fighting criminals and eliminating evil... Anything to add, Mr. Frank?"
Hearing the other man recount his experiences one by one, Frank fell silent. Those painful, bloody memories flooded back into his mind. Behind the title of Punisher hid a tormented soul that could find no release. Only by continuously eliminating those gang forces and making villains and thugs receive the punishment they deserved could Frank, who had lost all hope in life, find a sliver of comfort in his heart.
"Who exactly are you?" Frank's gaze was like a sharp sword, trying to pierce the darkness and glimpse the man's true face.
"You can call me King, because before long, I'll become Hell's Kitchen's new king." The man's calm voice was filled with confidence, as if he were merely stating a simple fact.
"You want to become a second Kingpin?" Frank frowned. If that was the man's aim, then Hell's Kitchen would once again be plunged into a bloody storm.
"Heh heh, Kingpin was merely a failure. A rule built on violence and fear can never last." Sitting in the darkness, the man's lips curled into a faint smile. "Hell's Kitchen is filled with drugs, prostitutes, criminals, and gangs. There is no law or justice here. Can street heroes like you eradicate the source from which evil grows?"
"Using violence to uphold law and order can only treat the symptoms, not the cause. It is destined to be a road with no end in sight. There's a man named Bruce Wayne who learned that lesson through personal experience."
"All right, let's talk about The Hand first. Wesley said you were investigating The Hand?" Sean did not intend to dwell further on violence and vigilantes, instead turning to ask about The Hand.
Frank, who had initially planned to reveal nothing, considered it for a moment before telling him the intelligence he knew. The other man did not seem to be the evil criminal Frank had expected. Rather, his words carried a certain contemptuous disdain for those gang forces.
"Looks like The Hand is about to make some big moves."
The man in the darkness let out an inscrutable laugh. It seemed he could use The Hand to gather Hell's Kitchen's street heroes together. That would make farming points easier, saving him the trouble of tracking them down one by one.
"Goodbye, Mr. Frank. This conversation was quite pleasant." Sean stood and pushed open the door to leave. The dark space returned to silence, leaving only Frank's heavy breathing.
"Boss, what are we doing?" Wesley, who had been waiting outside, glanced at the iron door to the room. "Keep him locked up, or pour him into a cement pillar and dump him at the bottom of the Hudson River?"
Sean, having finished the interrogation, was speechless inside. He patted his subordinate on the shoulder and said earnestly, "Wesley, don't bring Kingpin's methods here. All that killing and fighting—how unpleasant! We're all law-abiding citizens of New York. What good would killing the Punisher do us? Keep him locked up. With his abilities, he should break out on his own before long anyway."
If he killed the Punisher, who would gather Hell's Kitchen's street heroes for him!?
A cold gleam flashed in Sean's eyes. He knew The Hand's plan perfectly well. In the future, he would inevitably clash with those street heroes. It seemed another grand hunt was on the way.
All he needed to do was wait patiently. Knowing how to seize the right moment and ensuring nothing could go wrong before making a move—those were the qualities an excellent hunter should possess.
P.S. A friendly recommendation for a new author's book, "Director of the Myriad Worlds." Esteemed readers who enjoy wild ideas can give it a try. (￣▽￣)／
Also, the usual request for votes~
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