The Punisher: Redemption
A fierce chill had descended on the wet, dark streets of New York. The aura of vulnerability was present as always and the wailing of sirens was never out of earshot. Among the assortment of opportunistic criminals and psychopaths wandering the night was a man dressed in a black trench coat who wasn't afraid, a man who wouldn't cross the street to avoid the thugs, a man of the most dangerous kind, the kind that has nothing to lose.
Frank Castle had his back against the wall and was peering around the corner. A short, stocky, bald headed man was standing outside an electronics store; he was visibly anxious. "Can't be just one" Castle murmured to himself. Not according to Inspector Ford anyway, He gave a humourless smile. That little interception had come in handy, he thought, those police radios are too often left unattended with valuable information blaring out of them. "All units we've got suspicious activity at Freeman's Electricals", It had said, "They have an Inspector Ford down there now but he's requested all units in the area to be on standby just in case, there's reports of a number of men at the location so be on guard." That last part had stuck in Castle's mind, "a number of men". The more the merrier. After what felt like a few minutes had passed, Castle decided to make a move for the parked car near the electrical store. Waiting until the man had turned his stare elsewhere; he darted from around the corner and charged for the edge of the black Chevrolet. He crouched down, and strained to stay still, fighting to regain control of his breathing pattern, wondering if he'd been seen. Quietly as possible, he slowly peered over the boot of the car to see where his man was. Still there. Before Castle had the chance to consider his next move he heard a faint grumble that seemed to be getting louder, he glanced behind him but saw nothing apart from a newspaper losing its pages to the wind. Glancing up over the car again he saw a headlight further up the wide empty street, Castle's eyes watered in the wind trying to determine the details, it looked like a black van and it was on its way. Taking out his custom M1911A1 handgun from the holster at his hip he watched as the van slowed to a halt outside the store, the bald headed man turned and went inside the front door. After a few moments he returned, this time with another man and about 6 Asians in tow, two men and four women, as far as Castle could tell. The women were crying and shivering, scantily clad and looked as though they'd seen some beatings; the men looked much the same, save for the crying. The bald man screeched at his companion. Castle's years of service had him encounter many different nationalities, and he had no doubt that these were Russian.