Chapter 204: The Punisher's Superpower

Frank hesitated for a moment, then asked, "Why should I drink this random substance? You even said it might turn me into a monster. And why come to me for this?"

Jon replied, "Yeah, there is a slight chance of that. But don't worry. I now have a plan. It might still fail at the end, but come on, what's life without a little risk?"

"As for why you..." Jon paused, deciding to be honest. "I mentioned earlier that there was a chance you'd turn into a monster, but I have a way to handle it if it happens. The thing is, this plan is going to hurt—a lot. And the only person I know who wouldn't care about the pain, whom I can trust implicitly, is you."

"So basically, I'm a guinea pig?" Frank said dryly.

"Oh, come on, don't put it like that! Scientists never care about their lab rats' well-being, but here I am, offering you a perfect safety net. I can guarantee you'll live, and if it works, which it most likely will, you'll get a superpower. Isn't that worth something?" Jon said with a grin.

Frank still looked doubtful, eyeing the vial of blue liquid in Jon's hand. It all sounded too ridiculous—that a simple drink could grant superpowers. He had idolized Captain America for years and knew how much pain and hardship Steve Rogers had endured to become who he was. And now, all he had to do was drink a small vial of glowing blue serum? It seemed too good to be true.

"Where did you get this?" Frank asked.

Jon was momentarily stumped by the question. It wasn't something he could explain easily, so he replied, "Well, let's just say I can't tell you, yet."

He couldn't very well say it came from an alternate universe. That explanation would only raise more questions than it answered.

Jon quickly added, "But I assure you, it's not from some shady deal with gangsters or anything like that. This stuff is legit."

That much was true—the Universal Emporium was undoubtedly the most legitimate source of transactions, despite its bizarre nature.

"Look, if you don't believe me, I'll drink another one right in front of you," Jon offered.

He had already consumed one dose of Compound V and gained powers, but a second dose shouldn't harm him—A-Train had taken Compound V repeatedly without immediate fatal side effects, and Jon figured a second dose wouldn't be much riskier.

"No need," Frank interrupted, taking the vial from Jon's hand. "I'll give it a shot."

Jon nodded. Frank unscrewed the cap and, after a moment of hesitation, drank the entire vial of Compound V.

After a moment of silence, Jon asked, "Well? How do you feel?"

"Weird taste," Frank replied.

"I'm not asking about the taste," Jon said, exasperated. "I'm asking if you feel anything—like you've awakened some kind of superpower."

Frank shook his head. "Nope. Nothing."

"What?" Jon frowned. "When I drank it, I passed out from the reaction—you haven't felt anything at all?"

"How would I know?" Frank replied.

Jon mulled it over. "Maybe it's because of differences between our physiology—different universes. But still, you should've felt something, even if it wasn't a power."

"You're sure there's nothing? No changes at all?" Jon asked.

"I'm sure. Nothing." Frank confirmed.

Jon looked at Frank thoughtfully, then sighed. "Well, at least you didn't turn into a monster. Alright, that's enough for tonight. I'm tired, need some rest. If you feel anything—anything at all—give me a call."

Frank nodded and turned, getting into his big black car and driving away. Jon used his magic to teleport back to his room.

Instead of going home, Frank made a detour to an amusement park. He sat on a bench, staring at the carousel, memories of his daughter swirling in his mind. Revenge was a straight road—a clear objective, albeit littered with thorns. But once the end was reached, it all became a forest. He had killed all those responsible for his family's death, and now needed another purpose—taking down all of New York's gangs, a seemingly endless target.

The path was tiring. Whenever he doubted himself, he would come here to remember what it had all been for—the good times with his family, the laughter and joy.

Frank leaned back, staring at the carousel. As fatigue weighed on him, he noticed something off. He turned to see a man sitting on the other bench, smiling at him.

"Nice night, isn't it?" the man said.

Frank stared without responding. The stranger opened his jacket, revealing a holstered pistol. "I'm not alone," he added.

Suddenly, a group of armed men surrounded Frank, moving in a slow, deliberate formation.

"You gonna come quietly?" the man asked, still smiling. "Or do we make a mess?"

Frank stood up, approaching the man. The stranger also rose, seemingly unconcerned.

Frank smiled back—and in a sudden move, grabbed the man, choking him while swiftly taking his gun.

The stranger's men immediately drew their weapons, but with their leader as a shield, they hesitated to fire. Frank, however, didn't share their reservations. He quickly shot several of them.

At that moment, Frank felt something off—a sudden danger from behind. Years of fighting had honed his instincts, but this time, he was just a fraction too slow.

He turned as he heard a gunshot. The bullet struck his forehead—but instead of piercing through, it flattened against his skin, which had turned pitch black where it hit. The bullet harmlessly fell to the ground.

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