2020-03-20 - Killing Spree Crossover


Thea and Frank exterminate an infestation

Log Info:

Storyteller: None
Date: Fri Mar 20 04:48:51 2020
Location: RP Room 1

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Theme Song



Castle hadn't meant for the firefight to start this early.

It was meant to be a stakeout, a broken down old bar converted to a lair for group of human traffickers. No cargo on hand at the moment, thankfully, just drunken and well-armed thugs waiting for their next shipment of flesh.

Still, Castle's timetable had been to wait until deep dark, make sure the streets were clean before he swepts the place. He had his combat shotgun and some gas grenades along with a mask and nightvision goggles to pick them off in the confusion.

But then they dragged a woman, a hooker off the corner and pulled her inside by the hair. She wouldn't last Frank waiting two more hours.

So he fires in the first gas grenade and pops out of the back of the van, shotgun at the ready. Time to do some cleaning.

Frank had not been the only one watching, just closer. Thea had rented out a horrid room with a view of the old bar, for a couple of months - cash- to have time to watch and make her move. But like someone else, it's when they drag an unwilling woman into the place, that she's done waiting.

She's jumping from level to level on the old fire escape, booted feet hitting cracked pavement even as Frank is firing in his gas grenade. She will see the man jumping out of the van, her glance taking him in with a split second's worth of precision. There's not even time for the recognition to hit, before she's already moving. A man with his training will likely be able to tell she's armed, though most may not at first blush. She will make a fist, and drop it low, as she moves towards the outer wall. She will walk bent low, avoiding windows to avoid any sort of wild firing from within. She will take up post next to the window - she needs to see inside to see the number of people within.

He isn't hard to recognize. The trademark skull emblem is front and center, drawing fire to his bulletproofing and putting the fear of God into the skells who see it.

"PUNISHER!" one of them yells in alarm only to take a blast of buckshot to the throat, staggering into the door and knocking it wide open as the gas begins to spread inside.

There are about ten men total inside, at least visible from where Thea peeks, a poker game in progress. Probably a few others in the building, up to their own business or standing guard, but the central group is there around the table, the prostitute tossed atop a pile of chips and cash. None of them are paying her much attention now, though, the gas starting to swallow them as they bark at one another in a mix of Spanish and English. A couple begin knocking out windows, trying to clear the glass to let the gas out and get a shot at the Punisher.

Of course, the first to try eats another shotgun blast to the face, falling back and screaming as he clutches at his wound.

Of course - it isn't the outfit or myth that Thea recognizes. She knows he's the guy in the cap from the bar. The one she doesn't have a name for, other than 'Mets'. Of course, if he takes a good look, she's not hiding her face, even if her hair is back in a snug braid this time rather than loose, and she's dressed in pretty unrelieved black. She certainly isn't flirting or smiling, at the moment.

She will wait a moment, before she will bring up her gun, and let out a shot into the bar. But even as she's doing that, the men inside will start to drop, clawing at their throats. Not dead… just having a real hard time breathing.

Frank Castle notes the girl, clocking her from his brief encounter with her before. She seems to be on the right side of history so he's not going to do much except stay out of her way, his eyes touching hers for a moment before he moves in.

He snaps on his mask and steps in, ducking low and firing again with the pump action, blasting one guy's legs out from under him before giving a rapid-pivot on one knee, rising up to fire again. He sees the guys clutching at their throats. A hero might just arrest them. Some crimefighters would surely give them mercy.

The Punisher unholsters the Glock on his hip and walks over them, putting them down with headshots like rabid dogs.

Thea will use her thick leather jacket to knock out the rest of the glass, and rolls in over the sill. She will land down in a crouch, eyes sweeping over the inside. She certainly doesn't make any sound of protest to him putting them down like dogs, in fact there's even a hint of a smirk.

The biokinetic moves to the table, a hand on the prostitute's arm. She will help the woman out of the effects of the gas - gas that doesn't seem to be bothering Thea herself, either. She will hurry her towards the door and out, before she's back with gun in hand. She will start prowling for where men might still be hidden, without a word or gesture towards Mets.

The room gets cleared pretty quickly. Then there's a yell and a big man charges out yelling, firing indiscriminately from a pair of pistols. One wings Frank in the arm, sending a gout of blood splattering, but he doesn't even hesitate in spite of the sudden wound. He brings up his gun and fires it right in the man's face, putting him down.

"Three more upstairs. Probably heading for the fire escapes. Take care of her," he says to Thea, apparently not minding assuming command as he rolls out of one of the knocked out windows and starts picking off the escaping scum.

Thea does tell the woman where to go - the room is rented, stocked, she says in a whisper. That way she's not sucking in tainted air. Then she's outside, and covering the woman's escape, and moving towards the fire escape on the side of the building.

"I'll flush them out… if there's anything left moving." She'll call back to him, a leap to catch the bottom rung of a cut short ladder before she's pulling herself up.

Frank Castle snorts a bit, impressed by the grit of the woman as he finds himself jumped from behind, Thea's powers helping to seal up the wound on his arm even as he takes another low in the guts, the shiv not much more than a sharpened screwdriver. The pain is excruciating, even making Frank inhale deeply for a moment, but it doesn't stop him.

Nothing ever does.

He takes the arm, the screwdriver sticking out of his back as he turns to his attacker, a skinny little scumbag with greasy hair. "Bad call," Frank says. He takes the arm and twists, using both arms to dislocate the guy's elbow with a scream, flinging him down as he draws the screwdriver out of his own back. "Your turn."

What Frank does to him is best left undescribed.

"Try not to get stabbed while I'm gone!" Thea calls out, and Mets will feel a low heat, a tingling, where he was winged - where the shiv went in - it goes deeper, more of a burn. Yes, she is a smartass - pretty much always. It's when she's not, that one should worry.

She'll slip in through a window, and Frank will hear another gunshot. But there's no one running - not down the stairs, and not out the fire escape. There's two more shots, before Thea is back out on the escape, and dropping down from one level to the next and then to the street. Her gun is already tucked away, gloves peeled off, and a hand is up to set her braid loose. "Come on. Time to clear, if you're ready." No use being anywhere the cops might even get a glimpse, after all.

Frank Castle is splattered with blood, rising from the body of the man who stabbed him with a bit of a grunt. He tosses aside the screwdriver and makes an impulse decision, "My van's around the corner," he says. He does go back into the building for a moment, grabbing a paper bag and rapidly scooping some cash from the poker table in it. Gotta fund the war somehow.

"Unlocked," he says, pressing a button on his belt and popping hte locks on the front of the van at least, slipping around to slide into the driver's seat as he unsnaps his mask.

There is a moment, just a faint widening of her eyes, that suggests her surprise at his mention of his van. But curiousity wins out over caution - probably a mistake to be sure - and she will move and climb in on the passenger side. She's far less splattered, but then again, she didn't get up close and personal while using a screwdriver.

She unzips her jacket, reaching into the lining to pull out a little zippered up kit that looks suspiciously like a makeup bag. "Here." She will hand him something like an oversized wet nap. "It will clean up surface spots of blood, until you can get to scrub." Her eyes flick over his face again, a hand pushing through her hair to finish loosening it from the braid. She's just watching him, for a moment.

Frank Castle nods, "I've got something similar," he says, nodding towards the dashboard. Still, he takes what she offers and just does a quick wipe of his face, making sure he at least isn't covered with gore on traffic cams. Not that it matters much. His face is no secret.

He pulls off with a quick T-turn, peeling out down the road and taking a pre-planned route to minimize the chance of encountering incoming lawdogs. "My shot and my stab are mostly healed up. Guess I got you to thank for that. So thanks," he says simply.

She will simply tuck the kit away, and sit back. She shrugs, a glance at his dashboard. "Well, not everyone is always so thoughtfully prepared." She will pull her gloves from her pocket, rolling them together into an inside out ball before she stashes them in a pocked again.

"That's my neat party trick, Mets. I recognized you from the bar because of it. I had no idea I was challenging the Punisher to go hand to hand." She sounds vaguely amused, glancing over him again, and there's some more heat where that screwdriver had gone in. "That thing was disgusting. Before you got it slammed into you. I'm just preventing infection, at this point."

Frank Castle nods, "I appreciate it, like I said," he says. "Seems like you can handle yourself pretty well. But I don't fight for fun," he says. He maneuvers the van carefully into a parking garage, popping the break in place. The floor is abandoned for renovation, although funds ran out for the project two years ago and it's just been sitting empty. He pops the back of the fan and starts to strip his combat gear.

"Kid probably had a dozen infections on him. He shouldn't have stepped to me," he says. "You in the war or this just a lark to you? Most superpowers I meet start to get their panties in a bunch by now."

"No worries. Seems at the very least a professional courtesy, at ths point." Blue eyes are nearly arctic as she looks at him. "Who said anything about fun? It's more practice and learning something new, for me." There's a roll of her shoulders, a glance around as she watches him slide out of his gear.

"Most people probably shouldn't step to you." Thea will say with dry sarcasm, before her brows lift. " I don't know about what war you're talking about. I take out scum that may not otherwise be neutralized. If that's your war, you know where I'm at." There's a snort. "I'm a mutant, not a superhero. I wasn't trained to be /nice/. "

If Thea's abrasive tone bothers him, Frank doesn't show it. He just nods, "Training's more than most of them have. God gives 'em a pair of fingers that shoot lasers and they think that means they're ready to fight. Most times they ain't."

"And yeah. That's the war. I call it that because it doesn't end and because I got drafted into it. I keep fighting until I go down dead, simple as that."

"Yes, well, my perfect parents couldn't have an uncontrolled mutant daughter making a scene and all." Thea's tone shifts, and her voice goes from common street to upper class rarified, along with a roll of her eyes. "So they told everyone they sent me to finishing school in Europe. What they really did is send me to a mad man who looked at me and saw money. Trained me a little too well, maybe. Since I left him in the desert and told him if I ever saw him again he'd choke on his own blood." There's a casual shrug.

"Bad news, Mets. It's going to be harder to die with me around."

Frank Castle frowns, "Never makes sense to me. If I still had my kids, I wouldn't give a damn what they were. Parents should be grateful, every day they get," he says.

"And that ain't bad news. I'm in no rush to die. I plan on sending as many of 'em to hell ahead of me as I can to keep me busy once I do," he says. "Finishing school, huh?" he says, pulling that Mets cap out and plopping it on his head, "You'll have to show me what the extra forks do. And you can call me Frank."

"Yes, well, you probably don't have much interest in the political sector. My father has /aspirations/." There's another roll of her eyes, though she's paying attention to him. She noticed the past tense and all.

"Here I thought you might be difficult. Some people get really bitchy about me healing them. Why, I have no idea. Saves time and money on first aid, right?" There's an attempt at a smile. "Shrimp or seafood, Salad, Dinner." She says casually. "I didn't actually /go/ to finishing school. But I do speak several languages, so most people assume I really did."

There's a hint of the grin he saw at the bar. "What, you don't like me calling you Mets?"

Frank Castle nods, "I speak a few, too. Usually cause it's easier to negotiate arms deals if you speak the seller's tongue," he says. "Sounds like a dumb thing to get pissed about. You ain't mind-controlling me or, if you are, I can't tell. Healing fast is a good thing. I've met a few bastards who did it on their own and it made them damn hard to kill," he says.

"And it doesn't bother me, but I do have a name. You want me to start callin' you Blondie or you wanna give a name of your own?"

"Agreed. It's easier to negotiate contracts that way, too. Or if you need to have a conversation you don't want other people wise to." There's a laugh. "You should know people are dumb about a lot of things. And no. I mean, I could make you feel good, like an endorphin high, but I'm not a telepath or whatever."

She looks at a strand of her hair. "It's currently strawberry blonde, thank you. And you learned my name at the bar, if you were listening. And I imagine you were. Thea. Do you prefer Frank, then?"

Frank Castle nods, "I was listening, although there was plenty of distraction going on. The bartenders there are pretty lively. I don't go there much, though. The guy who runs the place has a rep. Good guy, but I think he wouldn't take a likin' to me,' he says.

"Strawberry, huh? I do prefer Frank. Ain't much point usin' fake names most of the time. Unless you see me with on' o' them disguise mustaches."

"The bartenders are good sorts, most of the time. Luke? He… well, he probably wouldn't approve of this so much, no. Ran into a burning building with him once. Bunch of innocent folks inside, though, not scumbags."

"The hair color changes. Often. Unlike you, I have several… shall we say professional names. I don't use disguise mustaches, but I know enough with hair and makeup to look different enough to avoid someone looking for me." She'll nod. "Frank it is, then."

Frank Castle nods, "I have other names on IDs or undercover. Most of 'em Franks, though. Too easy to not recognize your fake first name," he says. "Most of 'em know me more as Castle or Punisher anyway."

He strips down to his bulletproof vest, reaching into a case and drawing out a Johnny Cash t-shirt and his military watch. He has a Marine Semper FI tattoo on his left bicep. "I like this color," he says of the hair.

"I grew up being called different names by different parts of my family. It's easy to mix it up and around and still answer to them." Thea says with a shrug. " Different cultures, languages, it all comes in handy like that."

She unzips her coat the rest of the way, stretching a bit before there's a smirk and a brow lifted at him. "I'll keep that in mind." She sure sounds amused, hand pushing through her hair. "It is naturally blonde, though."

Frank Castle locks up the van with a quick click. His hair is buzzed sharp on the sides, with just a darker shadodw of it across the top of his skull. He reaches into his pocket and draws out a pack of Marlboros, lighting one up. Benefit of not caring if you die is you don't worry too much about that sort of thing.

"Wanna get a beer? Ain't Luke's, but I know a dive around the corner with a decent tap. They even got cheese fries if you don't mind a puddle o' grease for 'em to swim in."

Thea just eyes the smoke, shaking her head. "You do know me messing with your lungs when you get cancer will hurt like a bitch, right?" She's just being honest. "I prefer a bourbon, but I can spot you a brew. And what's the point of bar food, if not grease? I got all the time in the light of the day to eat salad."

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