Superpowers in the Marvel World

Brooklyn, New York.

Brooklyn, the most populous borough in New York City, is second only to Manhattan in economic vibrancy, boasting its own central business district. With a richly diverse population, vibrant social and ethnic tapestry, independent arts scene, and architectural heritage, its rapid economic growth and rising population have made it a hotbed of opportunity—and conflict.

However, this same prosperity has turned Brooklyn into a prized target for criminal organizations. With its relatively straightforward environment compared to Manhattan's complexities, Brooklyn has become a "fat lamb" in the eyes of these groups—a plump prey ready for slaughter.

Many criminal organizations have set up shop in Brooklyn, earning substantial monthly profits. However, their greed for even greater riches has turned the borough into a battleground, with violent skirmishes breaking out almost daily.

It was within such a volatile environment that Wilson Fisk (better known as Kingpin) and Howard Saint chose to meet. Their rendezvous was set in an unassuming, ordinary factory, far from prying eyes.

Howard Saint, one of America's most powerful businessmen, wielded immense influence in both legitimate and underground circles. Kingpin, on the other hand, was the undisputed king of America's underworld. Nearly every dismantled drug lab, thwarted smuggling operation, or arrested gang member could be traced back to his shadowy empire. According to statistics, Kingpin was behind nearly 80% of criminal activities in the United States.

For these two titans to meet was no trivial matter.

Inside the factory, in its safest corner, the two men discussed their plans. Surrounding them were their respective henchmen, who had divided themselves into two distinct factions, guarding the facility with near-military precision.

Among their subordinates, four individuals stood out—each exuding a restrained yet palpable air of menace. These four were the elites: two hired by Saint at great expense and two selected from Kingpin's personal ranks.

All four were masters of their craft—experts in combat, firearms, and covert operations. The number of CIA and FBI agents who had fallen to them was no less than a hundred combined. Their strength was unquestionable.

Outside, an army of armed guards patrolled the perimeter. Adding to this were the ace assassins Saint and Kingpin had brought as trump cards. Any would-be intruder without exceptional abilities would be riddled with bullets long before reaching the main players.

The four elites engaged in casual conversation, their relaxed demeanor betraying their confidence. Their words carried an air of arrogance, as though they viewed the world beneath them.

"Saint's boss sure is extravagant. Hiring us and all these guards just to deal with a measly soldier? Isn't that a bit wasteful?" one of the mercenaries said disdainfully.

"Boss does seem overly cautious! If Castle dares show up, I'll take him down with a single shot!" another mercenary sneered. "Still, his paranoia is our payday. I almost feel like taking him out myself to steal his fortune!" He laughed crudely, his words dripping with sarcasm.

The other mercenary chuckled knowingly, while Kingpin's two elites merely shrugged, unfazed by the banter.

Such was the nature of their world—a realm of death and betrayal. Loyalty and kindness were luxuries they couldn't afford. Those who clung to such ideals wouldn't last long.

In truth, if not for Kingpin's unmatched cunning and the unwavering loyalty of individuals like Bullseye, he would have long been overthrown by his subordinates.

"Castle might be unimpressive, but we shouldn't underestimate him. Who knows if he has any skilled allies this time?" one of Kingpin's men interjected cautiously.

The others paused, their expressions turning serious as they recalled their last encounter with Frank Castle, aka The Punisher. Just when they had Castle cornered, a foul-mouthed, gun-toting girl had appeared out of nowhere, swiftly killing over a dozen of their men. Both Saint and Kingpin had scolded them for their failure, leaving a bitter taste in their mouths.

"This time, if Castle dares show his face, he won't leave alive!" one of them growled, their confidence returning.

The group exchanged smirks, their eyes gleaming with anticipation.

"As long as Castle shows up, it's a race to see who gets the glory!" one of Kingpin's men declared.

"Agreed!"

"Ha! I can't wait to relive the thrill of taking down those idiot FBI agents!"

"CIA agents are even dumber," someone added with a grin.

"They think their badges make them invincible heroes. What a joke! Their screams of despair always make my day."

Laughter erupted among the four as they reminisced about their kills, their camaraderie disturbingly casual.

Suddenly, a panicked voice crackled through one of their earpieces.

"Boss! Boss! Someone's attacking the gate—ahhh!"

The transmission was abruptly cut off, replaced by the sharp crack of gunfire, the screech of bullets against metal, and the agonized cries of the dying.

"What the hell?!"

The four elites froze, their expressions darkening. Years of battle-hardened experience told them all they needed to know—someone had breached their defenses, and it wasn't just any intruder.

"Damn it! It must be Castle!" one mercenary snarled, his eyes glinting with malice. He drew two pistols, spinning them theatrically before aiming them. "Time to remind that bastard who's boss!"

Without waiting, the other mercenary stormed toward the commotion, his murderous intent palpable. "Tonight, I'll shove Castle's head where it belongs—up his own ass!"

Kingpin's men exchanged knowing grins, their weapons already drawn.

"Let's go. This time, Castle's not leaving here alive."

In their eyes, Frank Castle, the infamous Punisher, was nothing more than a dead man walking.

Meanwhile, outside the factory, the sound of chaos continued to grow, each gunshot and scream heralding the arrival of a deadly force. The intruders were relentless, cutting down the guards with terrifying efficiency.

Unfazed, the four elites stepped into the fray, eager to prove their dominance. For them, this was more than a battle—it was a chance to cement their reputations as the best in the business.

But as they would soon learn, the Punisher never played by their rules.

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