Bang! Bang! Bang!
Boom!
Rory and Frank were sparring, hard punches flying, bones bruising, and grunts echoing through the underground lab.
Clutching his stomach, Frank winced.
"You're a damn psychopath…"
Rory didn't look much better. One eye swollen like a panda, a trickle of blood down his lip, and a sharp pain in his lower back where Frank had landed a sneaky punch.
Frank had years of combat experience, bordering on a master-level martial artist. Now with his enhanced physical abilities, he was even more lethal.
Rory, on the other hand, had a body even stronger than Frank's, with Thanos' battle instincts embedded deep within.
But instincts are not technique. Rory couldn't fully leverage his strength, which meant their fight was practically even.
Frank slumped against a wall and sat down, eyeing Rory.
"You've got a beast of a body, but your fighting skills suck. You've gotta learn how to use what you've got. Right now, you're holding yourself back."
It was a fair point. Imagine an amateur boxer fighting a pro, the amateur's punches would be all wind-up, telegraphed from a mile away.
Meanwhile, the pro would punch from the hips, legs, shoulders, all in one fluid motion, faster and stronger.
Rory might have Thanos-level physique, but his form was all over the place.
According to Frank's estimate, Rory was only using 25% of his full potential.
And that's what crushed him inside.
Even at a quarter strength, Rory could still go toe-to-toe with him.
That stung.
After catching his breath, Frank grumbled,
"Rory, why the hell didn't you juice me up like yourself? Giving you that body's a waste, man."
Rory sat at the table, poured himself a glass of water, and downed it.
"Why would I? We're not family. We're not even friends. I've done everything for you, helped you, fed you, strengthened you. Meanwhile, you bring me groceries. That's the extent of your contributions."
Frank muttered as he pushed himself off the floor,
"Damn. Honesty really does hurt."
He cleaned up, grabbed his jacket, and was about to head out when Rory called after him.
"Hey Frank, if you get the chance, bring that guy David over. The analyst."
Frank turned, squinting.
"What for?"
By now, Frank knew Rory wasn't just a scientist.
He was ruthless, a strategist. The way he played Wilson Fisk was proof enough. Rory didn't trust anyone; he only used them.
Rory didn't even look up.
"Didn't you say he's a computer genius? Just wanna make a new friend. Relax."
Frank didn't answer. He walked out without looking back.
A few days passed.
Rory buried himself in research, analyzing the enhanced blood samples from both Wilson Fisk and Frank.
Their cases had given him valuable new insights. Now, with these test results, he was more confident than ever about his third-stage genetic augmentation.
The Thanos DNA still wasn't fully activated, it was in the fusion phase. Rory knew that to reach the level of someone like Thanos, or to fully evolve into an Eternal, he'd need to build himself up step by step.
After finalizing his third-gen enhancement serum, he habitually turned on the TV to catch up on the outside world.
Right on cue…
"I am Iron Man."
Rory sat bolt upright.
"Damn… Missed witnessing history in person."
He sighed with a hint of regret.
Tony Stark lived on the West Coast. Had they met, Rory had a feeling they'd get along.
He shut off the TV, did some quick cleaning, then flopped onto the bed for a well-deserved nap.
But just as his eyes closed,
Knock knock knock!
The door shook with urgency.
"Frank?" Rory mumbled, checking the monitor.
Yup. It was Frank.
Strange. Frank rarely came back at night, he knew Rory complained about his body odor. Plus, Rory usually locked the steel basement door, so even if Frank had a key, he couldn't get in.
Still confused, Rory threw on a robe and opened the door.
Clang!
As soon as the door creaked open, Frank waved someone over.
A sketchy-looking guy in a hoodie, clutching a large duffel bag, scurried inside.
"What the hell, Frank?!"
Frank brushed past Rory.
"You said you wanted to meet David. Well, here he is."
The nervous hoodie guy gave a small wave.
"H-Hi. I'm David Lieberman. Nice to meet you…"
Rory gave him a once-over and deadpanned,
"How nice?"
"Uh…"
"Just messing with you," Rory smirked, patting David's shoulder. Then, pointing at the duffel bag, "You bringing luggage? Planning to move in?"
Frank snatched the bag from David before he could answer. It rattled, with a very metallic sound.
Not clothes.
And that was just the beginning.
Ten more duffels came through the door.
And a massive wooden crate.
Rory cracked one open.
Inside: black, cold, lethal-looking firearms.
"What the, did you rob a weapons dealer?!"
Frank casually replied,
"Technically, it was the Department of Homeland Security."
With military precision, Frank began sorting the guns by category.
David quietly followed, organizing ammunition, labeling calibers, and stacking crates.
Rory stood frozen, watching his quiet basement transform into a war zone.
He regretted everything.
Helping Frank.
Enhancing Frank.
Letting Frank in his life at all.
The man was a walking disaster.
"F**k me…" Rory cursed, shaking his head. He stomped over. "Frank! Please tell me you didn't lead federal agents right to my front door?"
Frank didn't even glance up.
"Probability of that happening is close to zero."
BOOM!
As if summoned by Murphy's Law itself, the reinforced basement door exploded inward with a deafening blast.
Rory turned slowly, blinked at Frank.
"Zero, huh?"
Click.
Frank cocked two automatic rifles and sprinted toward the upper floor without a word.
David dove behind a lab bench, shaking.
Rory muttered as he pulled out a secure storage case from under the desk.
"Frank Castle is cursed. The man carries bad luck like it's his cologne."
He moved quickly, retrieving blood samples and serums, sliding them into the case, and stuffing his laptop full of genetic research into his backpack.
Time to prepare for an emergency exit.
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