SAME NIGHT, ELSEWHERE

One hundred men.

That was the number of henchmen and mercenaries Frederico DeLeo Junior had on this estate.

One hundred men.

He'd bought this place through shell corporations and assumed names. He'd bribed or murdered or erased anyone or anything that could lead back to this place. A manor outside of The City bought back from some bankrupt rock star.

It was time for This Thing Of Ours to rise from the ashes of obscurity. After decades of the city being over-run with niggers, spics and gooks, it was time for some old-time mafiosos to make a comeback and bring back some order.

DeLeo was in an office in his compound, looking at a picture of his father. Killed by that Jap bitch. The same that kidnapped him and the kids of all the other bosses. None of the other kids wanted to be in the business and most of them even left town. Except two. Freddie Junior and Tommy Franco.

Who became a D.A. What a fucking joke. But his dad always told him, the Francos were arrogant cowards. They always thought they were better than everyone else.

A Franco as a D.A. Tommy's old man must be spinning in his grave. Then again, watching the Punisher gun down your father must really fuck with one's head.

The Punisher.

The guy that saved his life and wrecked it all at once. The one real threat that could bring DeLeo down. And the one guy that made his comeback possible by bringing down everyone else that could be in DeLeo's way.

Irony.

An explosion rocked the compound. Then another. Then another. DeLeo grabbed a walkie-talkie.

''What the fuck is going on?''

Another explosion. DeLeo hears a panicked voice on the other end.

''We're under attack!''

''No fuckin' shit! How is it!''

Another blast. Then, machine gun fire. Screams. More explosions.

''Someone fuckin' answer me, Goddamnit!''

Nothing. Nothing but sounds of war. Then he knew.

The Punisher. Here. It was the only explanation.

Explosions. Gunfire. Pain. Fear. It was all DeLeo could hear. For countless minutes or hours, it was chaos.

Then nothing. Silence.

It couldn't be over. Castle couldn't have killed his way through-

The solid oak doors exploded, sending a shockwave and splinters inside DeLeo's office.

And DeLeo saw him.

Nearly 6'6''. Large. Dressed in black leather. Black hair. Cold eyes. Holding an M-60 machine gun fitted with a 40MM Grenade Launcher.

''Freddie DeLeo Junior,'' a graveyard voice said.

''No…No…Goddamnit…''

''You should have known better. You know you can't hide from me. Nobody can.''

''Castle…''

''Castle is dead. I am the Punisher. You know that too.''

''Jesus Christ…''

The Punisher walked in. He let his machine gun hang on a sling.

''How…How did…'' DeLeo asked.

''It doesn't really matter, does it?''

The Punisher pulled out an impossibly long pistol. A modified Desert Eagle with a long compensator.

''Look…'' DeLeo said, ''We're really on the same side. I'm trying to bring some order. There's always gonna be gangsters and crime, might as well keep it controllable, no?''

''There's always going to be men like you, and I will always be there to kill them.''

Castle lifted his pistol.

''Fuck you, Castle,'' DeLeo spat angrily, refusing to beg, ''Fuck you and go the fuck to HELL!''

''I'm already in Hell. Men like you made sure of that.''

And a .357 Magnum bullet ended DeLeo's ambitions. And his life.

The Punisher let out a breath. And walked out.

THE NEXT DAY

LATE EVENING

Debbie Moore-Berkowitz was walking home after her Yoga class. She cut through the park as she always did despite the objections of her over-protective ex-cop husband and her son, currently a police detective. She always took this way home and absolutely nothing has happened to her. Not even a rainy day.

Over 20 years with Jake. And her baby boy, all grown up, who has found in Jake a better father than his biological one. He even took Jake's name after the adoption happened. It was a wonderful moment. Not a dry eye in the house. Jake cried the most. He was a tough and grumpy old man, but also a sweet and caring one.

It was chance to put Jake on her path when she was still a nurse, before she retired. He had already retired from the police and-

Something behind her. She felt a presence. Like she was being followed or watched. She refused to carry a gun, but she accepted a compromise. Pepper spray. She turned suddenly. Mace in hand. There was no-one there.

Maybe it was just paranoia. An overworked lizard brain.

She kept on walking home.

The Punisher stood over the three unconscious and crippled would be muggers.

The vigilante didn't have many friends. But Jake Berkowitz never stopped trying to help him. He never stopped watching on Jake and his family.

He owed him that much. Jake deserved his shot at happiness.

Speaking of friends, after getting rid of these muggers, he'd go visit another one.

The Punisher was standing over a grave.

He pulled a bottle from his jacket. It was fruit juice. He took a sip. At one time, it might have been scotch or whisky. But things changed.

His friend, Shake, a former actor who lost everything to his alcoholism. His disheveled demeanor and compulsion to speak in rhymes made him easy to underestimate. He was always on the street and was a precious informant. He stopped drinking years before his death. But the damage was done. Still, he was a good man. A good ally. A friend.

''Rest well, my friend.''

The Punisher set the bottle down. And he went back into the night.

There was always more work to do.

THE END

2019 is the 30th anniversary of the 1989 Dolph Lundgren Punisher movie. I enjoy it a great deal and this was an attempt to pay homage to that movie.