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DocTachyon
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Supermaxx
11:47 PM; July 3rd, 2018
A Derelict Warehouse; New York City
The lights within the derelict warehouse flickered every other second, the room going from well-lit to pitch black and back again over and over. He couldn't see a thing with the bag over his head save for the room going from light to dark, instead having to rely on his sense of sound. And when he heard the telltale sound of footsteps approaching him, Tony was practically pissing his pants.
"L-look, man, I dunno what the fuck this is about, i-if it's about that money I owe Donnie I can get it all together in another week!"
"Anthony Gognitti. Tony." The voice spat out his name as though it made him sick. "Works for Vincent 'Vinnie' De Luca, big crime lord. Bit in debt because of reckless gambling, but you've got a wealth of knowledge."
Tony heard what sounded like a bat being tapped against the floor. "Y-yeah, that's me, what's-it-to-ya?"
"I need some of that info. And you're going to give it to me."
"Look, I dunno who you got your info from, but I don't know jackshit! I m-mean, I used to, but not no more, Vinnie cut me off after I started gettin' into de-" *CRACK* "AAAAAGH!" Holy shit, that psycho just broke his leg!
"I didn't bring you here to be fed your bullshit, Gognitti. I want info. You have it." Tony felt the stranger lean in closer. "Now tell me... Where can I find Jimmy Rossi?"
"Who?"
*CRACK*
"JIMMY! ROSSI! WHERE! CAN! I! FIND HIM!?"
"H-he sticks around this f-fu-fuckin' club all the fuckin' time! The Stardust, it's owned by his boss! Y-you can fuckin' find him there! Just let me go!"
He heard the stranger's rushed and heavy breathing slow. "Thanks for the info."
The man approached once more, and Tony let out a sigh of relief. Sure, the fucker had broke his legs, but at least he would let him go.
He felt a sharp stab of pain in his chest. Then another. Maybe there was a few more. But by that point there was nothing.
And as Tony Gognitti breathed his last, Frank Castle watched the blood drain out of his body, releasing a last breath of his own; his last breath as a good man. There was no going back after this. He'd bring down the two bastards who killed his family and the son of a bitch they worked for, or he'd die trying. His quest for revenge, or justice, or sick joy, whatever his Goddamn motivation was at this point, started now. He knew where one of them hung out at. Now there was just the matter of going there and paying him a visit...
ISSUE #1
THE UNINVITED GUEST
THE UNINVITED GUEST
12:14 AM; July 4th, 2018
The Stardust Nightclub; New York City
Maybe he'd come to the wrong place.
What he was expecting was a seedy strip club where the girls conveniently forgot their IDs at home, or a rundown bar passing itself off as something it wasn't. Instead, when he arrived, he found that the Stardust was far fancier than it had any right to be, considering all the scum that called it their hangout. Two stories, a big red neon sign, and luxury cars parked out front. Everyone in there was probably just expecting a nice night on the town. Here's hoping they all brought along flak vests... Or had their wills in order.
The cop headed up the front steps and into the club proper, being greeted by electronic music blaring loud enough to cause hearing damage and robotic people doing the latest 'dance moves', if you could call them that. Frank spotted a bar and was tempted to have a drink before he went about his business, but he had booze at home and it was easier to aim when he wasn't shitfaced... Most of the time anyway.
He looked through the crowd for Rossi. The man was a little shorter than he was, athletically built, with the stereotypical Italian characteristics like black hair slicked back with grease and an accent that would make Joe Pesci say 'that's enough'. Frank didn't see the man through his first scan of his surroundings, but that didn't mean he wasn't around...
And speak of the devil: Frank could hear Rossi's voice from a mile away, the same voice that screamed "Die you gook fucks!" now crying out "Ey, somebody get me a drink!" Frank turned in the direction that he heard the voice, and spotted Rossi lounging around at a table, a few buddies on either side of him, all of them undoubtedly packing heat. That would just make this more fun.
Frank approached the group's table, staring down Rossi with intensity that would make any man piss himself. Rossi, however, was either too drunk or too dense to get that he was about to die, because the first thing out of his mouth was "Ey, zipperhead, ya mind gettin' the fuck outta my sight?" When Frank didn't respond, Rossi continued on, "Okay, seriously, I'm gettin' pissed here, why don't you's fuck off and go do someone's taxes or some shit?"
In response, Frank yanked out one of his Glocks and leveled it at Rossi. "Rot in Hell you piece of shit." Rossi only had a second to look shocked before he found himself being pumped full of lead. His friends were quicker to react, all of them rising up and pulling out guns of their own. Frank pulled out his other pistol, firing at two of them before leaping backwards and offing the remaining three whilst still in the air.
The guards, who looked more like mobsters themselves, were converging on Frank's position quickly. Considering this place was owned by Rossi's boss it was safe to say these guys were mobsters... So there was nothing wrong with killing a whole lot of them.
Frank took cover behind a pillar, the guards fast approaching with pistols drawn. Frank peeked out ever so slightly, noticing one just a few feet away. He stuck one of his pistols from behind cover, firing once, twice. The guard stumbled forward, falling onto his stomach right next to Frank, who put a shot in his head. Better safe than sorry.
The clubgoers were all fleeing at this point, which was good, because it meant he was less likely to injure or, even worse, kill a civvie. Even without the DJ, the music continued to play, transitioning into a new song even. He couldn't leave just yet. He needed to get deeper into the club and find an office or something, where he could hopefully dig up info on the owner of this place. Dave couldn't find a damn thing on who Rossi and Francesco, the other guy, were working for, though not for lack of trying.
Enough thinking. There was no more time for that. It was time to just act on instinct. Frank checked the clips of his guns. Seven rounds in one clip, eleven in the other. He brought along two extra clips, with seventeen rounds each. Here's hoping he could take down God knows how many mobsters with fifty-two bullets.
He took one last peek around cover, quickly counting nine guards, before taking a deep breath and leaping into action.
Frank rolled onto the neon dance floor, firing at two guards who fell flat on their faces, blood flying in an arc from their heads to the wall. The other guards fired at him, and, acting quickly, Frank leapt to the side and took out another two. Once he landed, he rolled back into cover, which took the form of a pillar on the other side of the room.
Four down, five to go. Three rounds in one clip, seven in the other. He could do this.
Frank rounded the corner of his cover, rolling to another pillar and peeking around the corner. The guards were coming closer. Frank blindfired, emptying the pistol with just three rounds left. He heard the thump of one guard falling to the ground. Four to go.
Taking in a deep breath, Frank decided it was time to do the stupidest thing of his career.
The cop-turned-vigilante crouched down to about half of his height and spun out of his cover, coming gun-to-face with one of the goons.
*BLAM!* *BLAM!*
Three guards, five rounds. He took the guard's corpse as a shield, finding himself facing down two guards hellbent on painting the walls with his brain.
*BLAM!* *BANG!* *BLAM!* *BLAM!* *BANG!*
One guard, one round. Frank dropped his shield.
*BANG!* *BLAM!* *BANG!*
He dove back into the cover the pillar provided at the sound of gunshots, noting that one of the guards was smart enough to also use a pillar as cover. As soon as he heard the guard rounding the corner to get a better shot...
*BLAM!*
Right in the gut. The guard was still standing, so Frank rounded the corner and ran, grabbing the guard's gun arm and slamming him into a pillar. The guard dropped his pistol and Frank hit him once in the face, then rammed a palm under the man's nose, sending the bone into his brain and making the man go limp as blood poured out of his nostrils.
Frank reloaded his two pistols uneasily, expecting an ambush at any moment. All was quiet, however. Now he just needed to head into the offices, and find any information on the owner. Know your enemy, and all that shit.
It didn't take long to locate the offices in the backstage area of the club. There were no guards to speak of, thank the lord, and it seemed like he was the only soul in the club. No doubt the cops would be coming after the gunfight that just took place, but maybe, just maybe, he could get some info and get out before they did.
Frank dug through filing cabinets and clicked through computer files, praying that he would find something, anything, could give him a lead. Then he found it. An email on one of the computers, two workers talking about the owner. They didn't mention a name, but they talked about some of his other businesses... The only one he recognized was a hotel by the name of the Royal Palace.
Well, it seemed that was where he had to go next. Or maybe he'd just have Dave look into it. Whatever the case, he got what he was after. Now it was time to get the hell out of dodge. Leaving through the front would be stupid, so he headed through the storage room and out the cargo door, heading off into the night.
There was no going back now.
