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In the dim basement, Frank stepped over the bodies of the criminals, searching them for something. He rifled through their pockets and checked the room, but came up empty-handed.
"Taken already?"
He moved to a corner, crouched down, and touched the floor. His fingertips came back stained with dirt—a slightly different color than the rest.
Hell's Kitchen—one of the roughest neighborhoods in New York.
A man in a suit sprinted down a filthy alley, panting heavily, glancing behind him as if something—or someone—was chasing him.
"Shit! I never should've worked with those useless punks. Dammit! Now the Punisher's on my tail just 'cause of a few street thugs. What the hell did Kingpin see in those losers?!"
He cursed as he ran, hoping venting might somehow make him feel better.
But just as he rounded a corner—
RATATATATAT!
Gunshots rang out. He stumbled backward in a panic—bullets zipped past, barely missing his heart and head.
"Punisher?!"
He stared in shock at the man standing ahead—wearing a bulletproof vest with a white skull emblazoned across the chest, holding an SMG.
Frank glared at him, voice cold and emotionless.
"Illegal arms deals. Counterfeit money. You're guilty. Go to hell."
He pulled the trigger without hesitation. Bullets poured out.
The man dodged desperately.
"Punisher! You won't get away with this! One day you'll pay for what you've done!"
Frank didn't even blink. He emptied the clip, swapped mags in seconds, and kept up the pressure—giving the guy no chance to escape.
The man dove behind a concrete pipe, narrowly dodging another barrage.
Dust kicked up as bullets slammed into the pipe.
"Goddamn it, Punisher…"
Cold sweat soaked his shirt. His heart was hammering in terror.
The gunfire kept coming, growing louder and closer—like death itself was stomping toward him.
Grinding his teeth, he grabbed a briefcase he'd gotten from the Pocket Gang. Flipping it open, he brushed aside a layer of drugs and revealed a black USB stick, about two fingers wide, covered in strange engravings.
"Shit… If the boss finds out I used this thing without permission, I'm screwed. But I'm not dying here!"
Without hesitation, he grabbed the USB drive—
[Masquerade]
—and pressed it against his neck. The second it touched his skin, a strange port-like mark appeared—like it had been there all along. The USB fused with it and disappeared into his flesh.
Frank stopped firing and started approaching the pipe slowly.
Then—suddenly—a figure wearing a black hood leapt out from behind the pipe, charging straight at him.
Frank didn't flinch. He aimed and fired.
RATATATATAT!
Bullets slammed into the figure—only to bounce off, throwing up sparks on impact.
"…What the hell?!"
Frank was stunned—but didn't stop firing. He aimed for the head and squeezed the trigger again.
BANG BANG BANG!
The shots knocked the guy down—but somehow, he didn't stay down. He started getting up again.
"Okay, this is getting weird."
Frank had seen a lot over the years, but someone tanking that many SMG rounds? That was new. He'd heard whispers that some new black market tech could enhance human bodies—maybe this was it?
Whatever it was, bullets weren't doing the trick.
Frank kept the trigger down, not letting up for a second.
The black muzzle kept spitting fire. Every shot hit, but the guy just kept coming.
When the mag ran dry, Frank quickly swapped it—but just as he did, the guy lunged at him.
No time to think—Frank swung the gun like a bat and smashed it into the man's head. The guy stumbled but kept coming, reaching for Frank's throat.
Frank shifted tactics—he caught the guy's arm using the SMG like a lever, yanked a grenade from his belt, popped the pin, and shoved it into the guy's suit. Then he shoved him hard and dove behind the concrete pipe.
BOOM!
The explosion rocked the alley, smoke and debris filling the air.
Frank dusted himself off and got up.
"Heh… Looks like he can't survive a grenade."
The guy was laid out on the ground. His suit was in tatters, exposing a body covered in some strange black substance. His lower torso was shredded—gone. The black stuff quickly receded, pulling back to his neck. A USB popped out and shattered on the ground.
"So that's what was making him so tough…"
Frank stepped forward and picked up the broken pieces.
He didn't know what it was—but whatever it was, he kept it all.
Thanks to the protection from that strange thing, the guy's other belongings were intact. Frank found a business card in his jacket.
"Eust Realty?"
With the card in hand, Frank disappeared from the scene before the cops could surround the place.
Meanwhile, at Stark Industries…
Tony Stark was still struggling with his latest suit design, completely stumped by how Dan had pulled off his tech.
"Sir, I've found something you may want to see," JARVIS said, bringing up a window.
"What is it?"
Tony put down the parts and walked to the screen.
"It's info on the real estate company that acquired the Valentine Orphanage. 'Eust Realty' is just a subsidiary—the parent company is this one."
Tony narrowed his eyes at the screen.
"Alanka Group?"
The group itself didn't seem like much—but its CEO? That was a different story. Back when Tony was investigating the Blood Lake incident, there'd been a bunch of wealthy people who underwent ascension rituals—and Niroka Alanka, the CEO of this group, was one of them.
In other words, the Alanka Group was already under vampire control.
"A vampire-owned company bought the orphanage Dan grew up in? Is that just a coincidence… or something more?"
Tony stroked his goatee, feeling like this whole thing just got a lot more interesting.
"...."