Chapter 14: Thorough Exposure
"Peter, codename 'K,' born in 1977 on 32nd Street in Queens. He went missing for fifteen years and suddenly reappeared in New York. Only Peter can explain those lost years, but what could possibly be going on in that head of his?!"
"Do you think he's some sort of extremist?!"
He only kills bad guys or those who evade legal punishment, people oppressed who pay what they can, allowing Peter to step in and eliminate their targets. Good people don't need to pay any penalties; of course, the guilt on a soul level still lingers. However, after years of suffering, that guilt can be easily overlooked.
For instance, if a family has been harmed and the perpetrators escape justice, should one dedicate their entire life to fighting back? Even if you could prevail, what would become of you? Regret and pain. Peter's existence seems to skip those two steps entirely. Hiring a killer might be morally dubious, but it depends on the situation and the people involved...
"Fury, do you know what I saw in his eyes?!"
"?"
Fury chuckled at the thought, while Natasha interjected. Fury shook his head, recalling their last encounter. Peter's gaze reminded him of himself, but while Fury was trained as a spy, Peter had likely been trained as a killer. After the Cold War, many secret organizations emerged in the Middle East, specializing in training assassins.
"A disregard for life. He kills simply because it's necessary, not for the sake of right or wrong. It's like stepping on an ant; you do it simply because you can. If you don't want to, even if the ant is beneath your foot, you'd lift it and let it go."
"…"
Fury's silence hinted at deeper contemplation. Natasha recognized this expression; it mirrored the one Fury wore when he had faced Hawkeye and subsequently sent her to make contact. It seemed Fury was about to employ the same strategy again...
"You're not thinking of trying to recruit him, are you?"
"You and Hawkeye both came from backgrounds like that. You were both once irredeemable. If Peter has potential for rehabilitation, why not bring such a person into our fold?"
S.H.I.E.L.D. was in dire need of strong operatives, especially evident during the operation to locate Tony Stark in the Middle East. They aimed to consolidate their agents to form an effective task force, absorbing individuals from various backgrounds to strengthen their ranks against terrorism and protect the country and the world. Peter, with his skill set, could be an asset; he wasn't inherently evil.
"Do you think you can convince him not to kill?"
"Then I'll have to speak with him directly."
"Director!"
Suddenly, the office door swung open, and Phil rushed in, his expression frantic. Fury frowned at the sight.
"Frank has gone missing!"
---
**Inside the Fireball Bar**
"Frank, it's been a while! You seem much better!"
Inside the Fireball Bar, Frank Castle, with his hands disabled, sat without any supporting aids. On the table lay a pink backpack that, if Peter guessed correctly, belonged to Frank's daughter. Peter had been working tirelessly for a month and had just returned to New York when he received Frank's call, indicating he had reached a critical decision.
"You're not planning to blow me up, are you? David might be watching you!"
Peter joked as he sat across from Frank, who wore a serious expression tinged with nostalgia and sadness. However, he no longer exuded the lifelessness from their previous encounter; instead, he seemed to exude a newfound vitality.
"This was my daughter's favorite backpack. She never got to use it; she planned to show it off at the opening ceremony that year. David had one too. His was blue and white, representing…"
Frank trailed off, nudging the backpack forward. The gesture seemed clumsy and somewhat rude, but with his hands gone, he had no other means of pushing it.
"Fifty thousand dollars. I want to know who the mastermind is, and then I want you to kill him in front of my wife and children's graves!"
Ding…
A bell chimed in Peter's mind, and without looking, he opened a packet filled with stacks of cash, varying in size and amount. This money clearly wasn't withdrawn from a bank; it was pieced together from various sources. With his system granting him fifty points, this was already a success, as he had achieved his goal.
"Billy Russo, a leader of a criminal organization. He's been clashing with Kingpin over territory. During one of those skirmishes, he spotted you and deemed you valuable. This is just my guess, but he ordered the hit on your wife and kids, which led you to Kingpin seeking revenge."
"…"
"In three days, I'll give you a call. At that time, please tell me the location of your wife and children, and I'll bring Billy Russo to you."
"Thank you!"
Without counting the money in the backpack, Frank quickly shared the identity of his family's killer. After a moment of silence, he stood up. Glee spread across Frank's weathered face as if he had found a sense of relief. Peter watched him impassively, delivering the kind of words the Punisher would never say, as Frank walked away from the bar, seemingly lost.
"That was your target from earlier, right? How did he suddenly show up here?!"
Morse Griskar approached Peter, collecting the cash and tossing it onto the bar counter before taking a seat. Peter shrugged and smiled, as if boasting.
"I found this business on my own. I happened to know the person who killed his family, so I volunteered to help him. He's a disabled man now, and I'm far more capable—at least when it comes to killing!"
An expert… a killing expert. Peter's confidence was palpable. Morse, with over forty years in the gray market, had encountered countless talented killers. Some had risen like comets, only to burn out just as quickly. No one was as cold-blooded and skilled as Peter, and if anyone deserved the title of expert, it was him.
"You promised Kingpin you'd cut that kid's hands off, and now you've uncovered who's really behind this. Finding that kid is a profitable venture for you. Peter, you would make a great businessman!"
Earning fifty thousand had been effortless; it only required him to pull the trigger. A single Desert Eagle bullet costs seven dollars, and with his handgun supplied by the system, the bullets were essentially free. This was a classic case of pulling off a heist with no risk. After all, the old man would organize the money and deposit it in the bank. Now, it was time to track down Billy Russo.
"I think so too."
---
**At a Breakfast Diner**
Sitting in a diner, Peter scratched his head, looking weary. He had spent all night investigating the gang but hadn't managed to find any leads on Billy Russo's whereabouts. He hadn't even located his base of operations, which left him feeling embarrassed. To make matters worse, that bastard Kingpin was demanding money from him.
Since he couldn't locate Billy Russo, he had no choice but to enlist Kingpin's help. Yet, the son of a gun wanted ten thousand dollars just to provide him with Russo's exact whereabouts. Kingpin knew the reason for Peter's request; while he was unsure who had paid for Billy Russo's death, he was already plotting how to swallow Russo's territory whole, not forgetting to demand money from Peter.
"He'll be at this bar tonight at seven o'clock to collect this year's accounts."
Just as the waitress placed a slice of apple pie on the table, a seductive woman sauntered over, taking a seat beside Peter and sliding an envelope in front of him. The ten thousand dollars envelope followed, which she retrieved from her own pocket. After explaining, she placed it in front of Peter. The woman, exuding a Latin vibe, blew him a kiss, pulled out a business card, and left.
Beautiful women always attracted swarms of admirers, but Peter wasn't among them. Despite the envious glares directed at him, his focus remained on the business card. Holding the envelope without even reaching for the card, he wasn't interested in becoming a gigolo or engaging in fleeting pleasures with women at that moment.