September 6th, 2013
Warehouse owned by Mr. Bird
His name is Frank Castle.
He sits in a rusty Chevrolet, eyes trained through military grade binoculars at the warehouse opposite the parking lot where he sat, some twenty yards away. Through the binoculars, Castle's black eyes study the security of the aging warehouse, noting the habits of the guards. Eventually he sets the binoculars down and pinches the bridge of his nose, blinking. He's been here three days, watching, waiting, leaving only to shower and procure food.
But today, his surveillance paid off. Today was when he was finally "go." Stretching, he stepped out of the truck, revealing a black long sleeve shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his forearm, black gloves, a tactical belt with several holsters and ammo clip holders, including places for grenades, black tactical cargo pants with kneepads, and black military grade combat boots, the right of which held a combat knife. The finishing touch was his signature black bulletproof vest emblazoned with the white spray-painted skull.
Reaching in the duffel bag on the seat beside him, he pulled out two 1911 ACPs, checking them before sliding them into their respective holsters. Next he pulled out flashbang grenades, clipping them onto his belt, before taking out his final weapon: an assault rifle. Sleek and black, it was outfitted with a red dot sight and suppressor. Castle gave it a final look-over before checking his watch.
Bending his knees a bit to lower his center of gravity, he placed the rifle's stock against his shoulder, skulking slowly across the ill lit parking lot to the building beside it. From his surveillance, he knew there was a sniper team of three men with a sentry stationed on the roof opposite, guarding the only other way into the warehouse besides the front entrance, which was too heavily fortified for a head on assault. Of course, Castle could've brought along an M32 multiple grenade launcher, but it would've attracted too much attention. Ergo, the rooftop route.
Once he crossed the parking lot, Castle stood at a doorway, pressing his shoulder to it, hard. The frame gave way with a muted thud and Castle soldiered on, sprinting up the five flights of stairs as quietly as possible before reaching the rooftop access door, the hinges squeaking as it opened. The guard overlooking the warehouse roof was killing time by chewing on a cigarette.
Castle slew the rifle over his shoulder via its strap and unsheathed the knife on his boot. Abandoning silence for the moment, he sprinted towards the unaware guard, shoving the knife through his throat. The guard made a strangled sound as he choked on his own blood, unable to scream out or alert his fellow guards. A booted heel cause the corpse to fall to the warehouse roof, startling the sniper team. Moving the rifle back into shooting position, Castle fired a double tap into the first sniper before any of them could react. The one at the north corner drew his weapon, terrified.
He didn't have long to fear, however, as two bullets tore his throat to shreds. All that remained were two holes about a centimeter apart. The last sniper managed to fire his sidearm, but missed his target. Castle responded by leaping down to the warehouse roof-the distance was only about a foot of height and two feet apart- and getting up close. Castle pressed the barrel of the assault weapon to the other man's forehead, and unblinkingly, unhesitatingly, put him down like a particularly offending wild animal.
The criminals on the roof taken care of, Castle turned and made sure the roof was clear. That done, he stepped into the elevator, as it was the only point of ingress besides the docking port and front door; the others were too heavily guarded. As the elevator began to move, Castle set his rifle back on its strap and palmed two flashbang grenades from his belt.
No rest for the wicked.
Only Punishment.
-----------------------Meanwhile, across town----------------
Retired Staff Sergeant Rachel Cole-Alves walked the street hand in hand with her new husband, Dr. Daniel Alves, a trauma surgeon. She was dressed in a white long sleeve shirt and brown cargo pants, with her red hair flowing down her shoulders, ending at the midpoint of her back. They were on their honeymoon in New York, and Rachel was dragging Daniel to see the Statue of Liberty.
"C'mon, Rach. It's 10 PM, it's late. Let's just go back to the hotel room, and see it in the morning. Besides, I don't have a good feeling about this." Daniel said with a heave of his shoulders as he pulled his newlywed wife closer to him. She leaned into him almost on instinct but instantly pouted.
"You 'C'mon', Daniel. We've only been married for two days and already you're starting to argue."
Daniel sighed and kissed his wife, whom instantly blushed. It was not something that she was used to, PDA, and she wasn't very open to begin with.
"I am not arguing, Rach. I'm just saying it's getting late." He said, calm bepainting his features. She looked up at him, his watery brown eyes locking into her bluish gray. At 5'7" she stood slightly taller than her husband, a fact that she teased him on often.
Brushing a strand of hair out of the way, she huffed. "Fine. Let's head back to the hotel." Turning on her heel by habit of her Marine Corps training, she led him by the hand down an alley as a shortcut to the nearest subway. That's when it happened. A mugger, coming off of his latest fix, jumped them waving an MP5. The couple froze, unable to do anything. Daniel because of his fear, and Rachel because she knew what would happen.
There are many ways of disarming a man with a gun, but all of them have a risk of the gun going off, and with Daniel here, with her, she couldn't risk that. So she decided to play along in the hopes that he wouldn't become agitated and the gun wouldn't go off.
"G-gimme y-y-yer money, man! I ain't freakin' playin' man! Gimme yer money! Now!" The mugger shouted. Daniel nodded slowly, reaching for his wallet. Unfortunately, Daniel reached wrong, causing the mugger to think Daniel had a gun. Visibly agitated, the mugger shot Daniel eight times in a single burst before taking off running.
Rachel caught her husband as he fell to the pavement, sobbing as he bled out, muttering "no" over and over again. As the light left his eyes, Rachel screamed out in grief, tears streaming down her face.
After two days of marriage, Rachel Cole-Alves was a widow.
