[center][img]https://img.roleplayerguild.com/prod/users/0199e627-1e23-7253-a48d-a5aff3ffc036.webp[/img][/center][indent][sub][color=gray][b]PUNISHER:[/b][/color][color=lightgray] WAR JOURNAL[/color][/sub][sup][right][b][color=gray]CHAPTER #3:[/color][/b] [url=https://open.spotify.com/track/6H3kDe7CGoWYBabAeVWGiD?si=07ab292810d04a2f][color=lightgray]Burning Rubber [/color][/url][/right][/sup][/indent][hr][indent][color=lightgray][sub][b]St. George, Staten Island[color=gray] ♦ [/color] New York City[/b][/sub][/color][/indent]
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[center][i][sup]Ooh, see the fire is sweepin'
Our very street today
Burns like a red coal carpet
Mad bull lost your way
[/sup][/i][/center]

I stumbled into the back alley where I'd left the van. Couldn't see shit through the sweat and blood dripping down my face, so I followed my memory. Fell over a pile of garbage bags, but I managed to find the door. Yanking it open, I knew there was a medkit under the driver side chair. Inside were six patches shaped like disks lying atop a layer of gauze. A plastic film covered each disk. I tore off the film, and placed the first disk flat against my forehead.

The tech whirred to life. Micro said it was some kind of StarLabs wonder gadget. Nanites or smart particles- one of those made up words smart people used to describe their newest bullshit. The thing worked, though. I could feel the skin in my forehead stiffen as the patch stitched the hole in my head closed. 

I used a discarded rag in the wheel well of the van to clean my face enough to actually fucking see. 

Made it easier to find which syringe would dull the pain and which would pump me full of adrenaline. After debating which I needed more, I settled on both. Fatigue smacked me like a freight train. My brain dropped down into my throat, and everything went dark for a moment. Then it lit up like a Christmas tree as the stimulant hit. Every part of my body shook for a good few minutes before settling into the routine numb of chemically-aided satisfaction I'd come to expect.

Bring my right foot up, I started to climb into the van. 

"Micro, gimme an update on those clowns. How far have they- AAGHH! Shit!" I sunk my teeth into my tongue as I fell backward, slamming my back into a nearby dumpster. Pain shot through my leg like I couldn't believe. Only then did I remember: oh, yeah, I got shot, didn't I?

Micro's frantic voice buzzed in my ear. "Frank? Frank, are you okay? What happened?"

"Shut up." I batted away with concern. Didn't need a nanny looking out for me. I needed intel. Plus, if I'm honest? I was a little embarrassed. Didn't need Lieberman knowing I was actually a certified dumbass. "Just tell me where Bruno went."

After carefully applying a second patch to the hole in my thigh, I climbed up into the van. The laptop mounted on the center console clicked on, showcasing a map of Staten Island. A smattering of red dots representing tracked phones were flying down side streets southward into Tompkinsville. They were all traveling in a line and they were moving quick, but the further away they got, the slower they started moving. Go too fast and they'd be stopped by the cops, and they'd be hard pressed to explain all the gunshot wounds and bullet holes in their cars.

The van's engine roared to life. I swerved out of the alley and accelerated down the road. If I burned rubber and Micro kept the streets clear I might be able to catch up to these bozos. My guardian angel made sure every light I passed turned green, and my query was plagued by every demon of the traffic world he could summon.

Lieberman sure did make my job easier. I never told him how much I appreciated having my very own wizard on speed dial. I should have. He was the only friend I had after...after Central Park. He knew what happened to Maria and the kids. He knew, and he dedicated all he had to helping me kill the bastards responsible. And I never gave him so much as a thank you.

"They're leaving Tompkinsville on Van Duzer. I think they're going for the interstate, Frank."

"Which means they could end up anywhere in New York." I grunted. "Great."

"No need to rush. I have their license plates and every traffic camera in the city. Even if they dump their phones, I can find them again."

The van rumbled along at a snail's pace. His armored behemoth had never been intended for car chases. It was a fortress on wheels- a battering ram I could drive straight through a building without stopping. My fingers tightened around the steering wheel until my knuckles turned bone white. Try as I did to slow my breathing, I couldn't. The drugs were making my foot bounce. Tightened the muscles in my arms into coiled snakes.

I couldn't let these bastards get away. The Costa family were a festering wound in this city's underbelly. Their drugs tore apart families. Filled rehab centers with broken dreams and regret. Put kids into the morgue. Not to mention all the people they disappeared to keep business booming. 

This started because of the G-Men, but the warpath had many branches. There were monsters down every road. Nobody did a damn thing to stop them, either. The cops and the DA's office were either apathetic or in on the joke, I didn't know which. And it didn't matter. I'd do the job none of them could.

Every body I put in the ground was just a drop on the rainstorm, but it was a drop that wouldn't fall on anyone's head ever again.

"I see them."

They were far ahead of me. I could barely make out the color and make of the rear vehicle in their convoy, but the GPS confirmed it. There they were. Peddle to the metal, I veered into oncoming traffic like an idiot possessed. It let me shoot past the civilians driving ahead of me. The driver in the left lane slammed on their breaks and pulled over onto the sidewalk. They hit a light post, but the damage looked minimal. I was lucky nobody died.

Now I was coming up on the Lincoln Continental. It was Scotti's. I could see his red curls in the back seat.

"They're looking at you, too-" Micro warned a second before Matthew Skinner leaned out of the driver side window with a MAC-10 in his hand. He fired a wild burst into the front of the van, barely scratching the paint. Nothing these guys had would even damage my front windshield. I kept accelerating. Once I was close enough, I could run the scumbags off the road.

"Careful!" Micro yelled, his microphone peaking. "Those are houses on either side of the street, man. You don't want a shootout here."

"I know what I'm doing." I gritted my teeth, too stubborn to listen. I thought I knew better. I'd been to war. Been fighting my entire life. I thought I could keep control over the situation.

I pulled up until my bumper rammed into the back of the continental's. Rolled the window down, even as bullets pinged off right past my ear. I unholstered the sidearm on my hip, waiting for Skinner to stop shooting.

"Take a nap, Skinner!" I yelled over the roar of the wind. I leaned out long enough to put a single bullet behind his ear. The hollow point round expanded as it broke Skinner's skull open. Blood and brain matter followed the bullet out through the front of the driver's face. His lifeless body collapsed against the steering wheel, sending the car careening to the left.

Fast as I could, I got up next to the out of control car, and shoved the corner of my front bumper into the continental's rear. It started to spin. The van's massive, armored hide absorbed the hit and kept the car from tearing into oncoming traffic. Instead, it rolled to the right. It went top over bottom three times before smashing into a car parked in front of a two story duplex. Metal screamed as both frames crunched together into a broken mass of glass and steel.

"Frank..." Micro didn't deliver the lecture I expected. He only sighed.

"Get a drone on that car. If Scotti's alive and attempts to flee, I wanna know." I ordered, then I pressed on. My real target had kept his flight when Skinner and Scotti went down. Bruno's limousine trundled along even slower than my battle van, but he had a solid head start. His limo charged through a gas station parking lot, knocking over a bystander and nearly killing him as it exited off Richmond and onto the interstate.

"Contacting EMS." Lieberman mumbled.

"They'll send cops."

"The dude just got hit and run, man. He needs paramedics."

"I..." I swallowed my pride and let it go. "Fine. Just downplay the details and divert patrol officers."

I followed Bruno onto the on-ramp, swerving past a minivan to catch up to him. His gaudy, cream-colored Cadillac looked like something a president should've ridden in. Two other cars flanked the limo, and a third led the way. No one had started shooting at him yet.

Since I had a moment, I checked my surroundings on the approach. Limited number of civilian vehicles in the area. Given the time of night and the obvious aggression of Bruno's entourage, people were cautious. Slowing down. Good. Meant less chance of crossfire when this came down to a firefight. No sign of the red and blues yet either. Police response time in New York City averaged around fifteen minutes. Specifics varied on the borough and the severity of the crime.

The van thundered on. It pulled up right behind the limo. The two escorts collapsed back, matching me on either side. Passengers with machine pistols and shotguns popped out of their windows. They unleashed a hail of led against the the van, but I paid them no mind. I just rolled my window up. It was six inches of Ballistic glass and Aluminium oxynitride. Nothing short of a .50 was getting through that.

With the flick of a switch, the bull bar on the front of the van folded open. I took a few seconds to align the center of the van with one of the limo's rear tires, then flicked a second switch. A nylon net shot out of the front of the bumper, wrapping itself around the tire. I slammed the breaks. Tires screeched as the weight of the van fought to suspend the speed of the Cadillac. Smoke billowed as the two vehicles fought for control. The limo gave way first. Its axle snapped in two, and the car leapt forward another ten yards, tireles rear scrapping against the asphalt before it came to a halt.

The Maggia security detail whipped their cars around to form a barricade around Bruno's broken ride. They dismounted, stacking up behind the engine blocks of their vehicles for cover. None of them were wielding revolvers anymore. In their fists they held automatic weapons, machine pistols and shotguns. A cold wind blew over the highway. It carried the stench of burnt rubber and gasoline.

Civilian cars screeched to a stop as they approached and noticed the chaos. Those that didn't backup quick enough were greeted by a spray of automatic fire from Costa's men.

My hand hovered over the console. Every switch had a different label: Turret. Flamethrower. Grenades. Spike traps. I passed over those to the last in the line, and flicked it.

Through the windshield, I watched a pair of grenade launchers pop out of hidden compartments on the hood. They launched canisters into the road between the van and Bruno's soldiers. A low hiss sounded as smoke poured out over the roadway, filling it like a passing fog.

I stood from the driver seat. Made my way to the back of the van where I stored all my goodies. I had an armory here, years in the making. Every weapon I could ever want sat in cages mounted on the walls. My eyes darted to an old M240. A Catholic cross and rosary wrapped around the end of the barrel.

[center][i][sup]War, children, it's just a shot away
Just a shot away
Just a shot away[/sup][/i][/center]
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