The subway tunnels had plenty of maintenance shafts and side passages.
With limited manpower and a labyrinthine layout, S.H.I.E.L.D. agents couldn't track Rory down.
By the time the tranquilizers wore off, three hours had passed.
Rory's first instinct upon waking was to check the briefcase containing the serums. Intact. Good.
He stood slowly from the damp ground, bones aching, and began navigating forward through the pitch-dark tunnel.
Meanwhile…
"Still no sign of him?"
Peggy Carter stood at the center of the tracks, voice tight with frustration.
An agent shook his head.
"The repair routes are like a maze. Without blueprints, it's nearly impossible to sweep the whole network."
Peggy sighed, glancing at her watch.
"We can't keep disrupting train service. Pull out, for now."
She had expected this might happen. Back in 1970, even Steve hadn't been able to capture Rory.
What stung more than the failure was the knowledge that Rory might disappear again.
Still, she wasn't worried.
He had no more Pym Particles. No way to time-travel again. And as long as he was still in this world, she'd find him, eventually.
The agents pulled out.
Back at S.H.I.E.L.D. HQ, Peggy entered her office. Steve Rogers followed a few moments later.
"Peggy… are you okay?" he asked softly.
She forced a smile and shook her head.
"I'm fine. You should get some rest."
Steve hesitated. He'd expected their long-lost love to reignite instantly. But after two weeks, it was obvious:
Peggy was keeping her distance.
She didn't tell him the real reason.
Steve assumed the long years apart had changed things, that maybe she'd moved on.
Heart aching, he buried his feelings in silence.
The door closed behind him.
Seconds later, Maria Hill entered, holding out a tablet.
"Director, you should see this."
Peggy took the tablet, tapped a few times, then frowned deeply.
The grainy nighttime footage showed a humanoid figure blazing through the air, flames trailing from their feet, clearly some kind of high-tech armored suit.
"Captured near Malibu, California," Hill explained.
"Looks like a prototype manned exosuit. Straight out of the movies."
Peggy returned the tablet.
"Have Nick Fury look into it. And get in touch with Natasha and Barton, I want them back immediately."
Steve wasn't enough. Not against someone like Rory.
Peggy would form a dedicated team of elite agents to handle the next attempt.
"Understood. I'll notify them now."
Hill turned to leave, then paused.
"One more thing, Director. Agent Coulson's been searching Rory's lab. So far, no results except for a few common chemical compounds."
"Got it. Get back to work."
That night, Rory clawed his way out of a sewer manhole and staggered into the back alleys.
He stuck to the shadows, avoiding cameras where he could.
As he rounded a corner, a police cruiser appeared at the end of the street. Rory ducked deeper into the alley, looking for another exit.
He passed by two shadowy figures loitering near a restaurant's back door, smoking.
Didn't think much of them, until he heard it.
Click.
A round chambered.
Rory froze and turned.
One of the men had a pistol pointed right at his head.
"Yo, what's in the case, tough guy? Open it."
It was a sleek, silver briefcase, obviously expensive. Around here in Hell's Kitchen, that made it a target.
This punk had probably only ever seen something like it when his boss used one for cash runs.
Rory didn't reply. Instead, he gave the guy a quick once-over, sizing him up.
"What, you deaf?" the thug snapped, jabbing Rory in the temple with the gun.
The next second, Rory had the pistol in his own hand.
"S-shit… easy, man… chill out…"
The thug folded instantly. Smart move.
Then, a volley of gunfire exploded from inside the building. Screams, chaos, bedlam.
Boom!
The back door burst open. A hulking man stormed out, gun in hand. Without hesitation, he blew the second thug's head off.
Then he turned the muzzle on Rory.
Bang!
Rory reacted fast, yanking the surviving thug in front of him. Blood splattered across his clothes.
The shooter adjusted his aim, only to find Rory charging at him.
In that same moment, the corpse Rory had just used as a shield crashed into the gunman, launched like a missile.
The big man dodged and spun away.
When he turned back, Rory was already in his face.
SMACK.
One open-palm strike sent the gun flying.
The man retaliated with a punch.
Thud.
Rory didn't flinch.
The man recoiled in pain, clutching his knuckles.
Still defiant, he threw a kick, only for Rory to catch it midair.
"What's wrong with you?" Rory asked calmly.
The man's expression didn't change. Cold. Numb.
"Kill me or let me go. Doesn't matter. Nothing left for me in this world."
Rory was baffled.
You kill a bunch of people and now claim your life's meaningless? What kind of twisted logic…?
"If you're so done with life," Rory said, "why not just off yourself? Way cleaner than this mess."
The man's eyes flickered.
"No. I'm not finished. I still have one more bastard to kill, for my wife and daughter."
Emotion cracked through his voice. He yanked against Rory's grip, desperate to break free.
Crackle.
A spark arced from the wires overhead, lighting the alley for a brief moment, and Rory finally saw the man's face clearly.
The Punisher.
Frank Castle.
Ex-Marine. Weapons expert. Close combat specialist. Master interrogator and tactician.
No powers, but the highest confirmed body count of any so-called hero.
His wife and child had been gunned down during a family outing, collateral damage for witnessing something they weren't supposed to.
Frank survived, but the justice system failed him.
So he took justice into his own hands.
Ever since, Frank Castle had become a one-man war on crime.
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