"Shall I make you an offer you can't refuse?
When Frank heard these words, his first instinct was to scoff at the man standing before him, maybe even teach him a lesson with the butt of his gun. Fury or no Fury, no one talked to him like that.
As a hardened anti-hero who had taken down countless villains, Frank knew the promises criminals made when begging for their lives: wealth, secrets, whatever it took. But he'd never been one to promise anything in return. Just hours earlier, the so-called kingpin of New York's underworld had knelt before him, desperate for mercy.
To be honest, Frank understood why the Kingpin—a man who prided himself on his honor—had begged. The crime boss wasn't pleading for himself; he was pleading for his wife, Vanessa. She was a regular person, suffering from depression, and without Kingpin, she would be left helpless in a world on the brink of collapse. That's why he'd given up his pride, hoping to trade his life for hers.
Frank had only smirked, shot the man dead, and walked away. To the Punisher, no amount of begging or bribery could shake him from his mission.
But when Ethan presented his offer, Frank's heart skipped a beat. This wasn't just another hollow promise or desperate plea. Ethan had offered him something he thought was beyond reach:
"A world where your wife and children are still alive."
Without hesitation, Frank agreed. He even stepped forward to help Ethan with his bags, showing a rare willingness to cooperate.
---
On the deck, a Quinjet was prepped and ready, engines roaring as its tail shook. Fury stood waiting. His attention was suddenly drawn to a towering figure striding confidently toward him—Ethan. Behind him, like a loyal guard, was the Punisher, carrying the luggage.
Fury blinked in disbelief, tilting his eyepatch as if to refocus his vision. Punisher, known for his fierce independence and mistrust of anyone, was following Ethan? Fury rubbed his eyes, certain he was seeing things, but the sight remained unchanged. It was an unexpected alliance, one he never could have imagined.
As Punisher loaded the gear onto the Quinjet, Fury leaned in toward Ethan, whispering, "Can you tell me how you managed to get him on your side?"
Meanwhile, Maria Hill, who was nearby, also looked stunned. This was a man who had once gone head-to-head with S.H.I.E.L.D itself. Yet, here he was, working alongside Ethan, not just out of convenience but as though he were truly dedicated to the mission.
Ethan just smiled, patted Fury's shoulder, and stepped onto the Quinjet.
Inside the cabin, Ethan found Quicksilver and Wanda seated, Thor casually downing his way through two cases of beer, and Frank sitting silently in the corner. Across from them was Susan, who had red-rimmed eyes and looked visibly upset. Ethan nodded. It was clear Fury had selected this specific team for the mission.
Notably, one member was missing. Johnny Storm—the Human Torch—wasn't on board. Ethan understood immediately. Fury, a strategist to the core, wouldn't let everyone go at once. Having someone like Johnny as a "strategic" hostage meant Susan had added incentive to stay loyal, should Doom betray them.
As the Quinjet took off, Ethan looked back at the shrinking Helicarrier below, shaking his head. Fury was confident he could hold Doom in check with such a scheme, but Ethan knew better.
As the Quinjet ascended, sunlight streamed through the windows, illuminating the cabin. Ethan took in the view, watching as dark clouds gathered on the horizon, swallowing the light. Soon, they were engulfed in thick clouds, the cabin lights flickering on as darkness overtook them.
"Crunch!" The sound of a beer can opening broke the silence. Ethan turned to find Thor smiling at him, offering a can.
"Ethan, care for one?" Thor asked, his voice lighthearted.
Ethan raised an eyebrow, then accepted the can. He opened it, the smell of beer filling the air, and clinked his can against Thor's.
"Cheers," Ethan said, a note of determination in his voice.
They drank together, Thor's eyes gleaming with anticipation for the battle ahead.
The beer left only a slight burn on Ethan's tongue. No ordinary drink, he thought—likely an Asgardian mead, designed just for Thor's tolerance. For a regular person, even a small amount would be deadly.
After a few rounds, The Thing couldn't resist asking for his own share, and the cabin's atmosphere turned lively. Taking advantage of the moment, Ethan leaned over to Thor, who was crushing another can, and asked:
"You, Son of Odin and God of Thunder, never thought to ask your father for a solution to this crisis?"
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