Time and Punishment (Punisher & Spider-Man 2099-Closed)

[Rift]

New York City, Just after Midnight

Miguel O'Hara frowned beneath his mask as relied on his web-like cape to slow his descent, snagging the air just enough to allow him to not knock himself unconscious as he landed atop a roof. It was not the first time he had forgotten his surroundings and almost gone splat thanks to running out of buildings.

Every shocking time! he thought. I mean sure, there is no place better for web-slinging, but this is Old New York. The tallest skyscraper still pales in comparison to home.

Home for Miguel was Nueva York, a city of towering structures that reached into the clouds and neon lights as far as the eye could see. All of it was built over the top of New York City of course, but that was the norm in the year 2099 where mega-corporations ran the world and O'Hara operated as Spider-Man. It was years away and leaps and bounds beyond the technology of the current day he found himself stuck in. It was that technology that had Miguel suiting up and going on patrol.

For some time now he had been finding evidence of someone tampering with the timeline. He had thought that it would end with the defeat of the Alchemax CEO, the strange and twisted alternate future version of Peter Parker he, Flipside, and Deadpool had defeated. It hadn't. In fact things only seemed to get worse.

Weapons far beyond even the most advanced technology of the day were finding their way into the hands of street gangs and mobsters. Designer gene modification drugs were popping up among the elite socialite crowd. Hyper intelligent, near sentient artificial intelligence was being sold through back channels to companies and third world militaries alike. All of it meant the timeline was in danger, that alterations threatened to destroy his home before he could ever even hope to return. If he wanted to save the world, both the current and that from which he came, he had to find the source.

"Lyla, show me the signal again," he ordered his A.I. assistant.

Projecting from his wrist device Lyla appeared briefly, her appearance very similar to the late actress Marilyn Monroe. She gave a mock salute before the image being projected showed a blip, moving through a three dimensional image of the city. Unlike Peter Parker, the current day Spider-Man, O'Hara didn't have a precognitive spider-sense or trackers attuned to it. What he did have was the wherewithal to realize his knowledge of tech could come in useful and so during downtime at the Alchemex office he had developed a few tracking devices linked to Lyla. On a previous patrol and he had slipped one into the vehicle of a man attempting to sell some 2099-based laser weapons. Tonight, it seemed he was on the move again.

Swinging a few block over he landed in the shadows cast by a satellite dish and a rooftop water tank. Below the vehicle he had tagged pulled up to a restaurant and bar that seemed closed off to the public for the evening.

"Okay Lyla, cross reference with the data I had you seize from the NYPD's system. Who do the buyers seem to be tonight?"

"The establishment is a well known front for an Armenian gang thought to have ties to a larger Mafia family. They operate out of this sector with the permission of the Kingpin, kicking up a percentage to him in exchange for being allowed to operate. They mostly specialize in human trafficking but have been known to dabble in drugs from time to time!" she answered, far too cheerful for the subject being discussed.

"Jammit," Miguel cursed. "That means if they are willing to buy weapons they are either planning on a power grab thinking the advanced firepower will let them tackle this Kingpin or worse, they plan to barter them to Fisk in exchange for a larger cut and more influence. Either way a whole lot of people are going to get killed."

Lyla altered her voice to sound like the star of an old vid she must have scanned before their trip to the present. "We could always call the coppers see? Put 'em in the slammer!"

"No. Depending on what kind of weapons they have down there, things could get messy. The NYPD won't have a clue what they are walking into. Only someone out of their shocking mind would willingly go in there."

And it looks like I'm the one crazy enough to do it! he thought.

[Ysmir]

"I am a monster... but I don't feel a thing. It's my job."

---

"Dispatch, this is Unit oh-four-two, we're all clear on 67th. Just a noise complaint."

Castle sat back in the driver's seat. He tapped his finger on the dash. He watched, he waited.

Lots of waiting, more than you might think. A solid seventy percent of the shit that spewed from the police scanner was nothing but domestic disputes and obscene traffic violations. Nothing worth the Punisher's time.

But he waited because he knew, eventually, there'd be something that was.

"Dispatch, Unit five-five-two has a problem! Send backup, I repeat, backup!"

Frank sat up. He waited.

"Dispatch, Unit five-five-two is in trouble, we've got armed robbers using... I--I don't know what! Just send backup n--!"

Frank shifted into drive and peeled out. Showtime.

---

That was three weeks ago. When Frank arrived on the scene he was greeted with piles of ash and melted steel on the squad cars gathered. Common robbers managed to take down three units of New York's finest without so much as a single casualty. Frank knew his crooks; they weren't that good. So he did some digging.

Weapons, but not just any kind. Every paper trail he followed went up in smoke, but he picked up enough breadcrumbs to piece together some kind of picture of what was going on. The local arms dealers weren't just peddling imported AKs and AT-4s. The hardware they sold was off the market, something entirely different from anything even the military had access to; certified energy weaponry, powered by self-sustaining batteries and capable of cutting through body armor like a hot knife through butter. Fully equiped V.I. suites that could run complex military simulations while playing Solitaire and chess against grandmasters in the background. Frank liked his crooks dumb and poorly equipped. He'd have to put a stop this.

Luckily, he had his first solid lead in days in the form of an Armenian gang he had been keeping tabs on for many months. Turns out, they operated under the graceful hand of Fisk; all the more reason to set them up in his sights. Word on the street (and from the mouth of the poor f**k he beat half-to-death) was that they were planning on their biggest haul of the year on this very day at this very time. Lucky him.

Frank was as prepared as he could be; electromagnetic pulsar mines in case he ran into anything wholly unpleasant. Maximum strength tear gas canisters deployed via pneumatic grenade launcher for crowd control. Dual Jericho 941 compact models chambered in .40 S&W semi-wadcutter for optimal penetration and tissue disruption. SPAS-12 streetsweeper filled to the brim with hand-loaded .12 gauge Dragons Breath shells. Slung across his body armor was an FN SCAR-H with full SOPMOD suite chambered in 7.62mm FMJ.

Bulky, but he'd need it; he had little idea what exactly he might be walking into. But he didn't care.

Frank pulled his gasmask down over his face. Exit Castle -- enter Punisher. He watched as the van pulled up to the restaurant he had posted up outside of across the street. Must be the buyer.

Once the individual had exited and entered the seemingly closed establishment, Frank moved quickly. He exited from the war van with his armaments and crossed the street far from the glare of the overhead street lights, his all-black attire making him something of a ghost in the night. He rounded the back of the restaurant through a nearby alleyway, where he had a scoped out a back entrance. Frank returned earlier in the day to cut the deadbolt lock mechanism pre-emptively allowing him easy and silent access into the establishment.

Frank stepped quietly behind the bar in a low crouch. He heard muffled voices from the foyer; a mixture of English and Armenian, which he only knew partially. There was a break where the talking was silent. Then, he heard the click of some kind of case opening up. It was time to strike.

Lifting the grenade launcher, Frank pulled the trigger. The pneumatic pump fired the canister from the chamber with a THUNK.

TING, TING

HISSSSSSSS

Several thugs coughed and wheezed into their arms, reduced to gibbering messes by the tear gas. Some were smart enough to cover their faces, or even wore face protection themselves. Those ones dove to cover.

That's when the bullets started flying.

[Rift]

Miguel had been trying to figure out how best to approach the restaurant, whether he should stroll right through the front or find a way in through the rear of the building, when all hell broke loose. Screams of pain mixed with angry shouts and threats issued in broken English were drowned out by gunfire and the sound of shattering glass. It had only taken mere moments but the entire scene had gone from quiet and laid back to an absolute war zone. That meant the authorities would be arriving eventually and likely bringing in many, many officers. Their safety aside it would mean he'd lose the chance to find out where the seller had received his merchandise. That would put him back at square one and let whoever the lunatic was threatening to alter time continue to change things costing lives in the present and possibly his entire future. That was something he just couldn't risk.

Should have known this wouldn't go easy. I wonder if the buyers are trying to rip off the seller or...

Leaping from the roof he rocketed downwards like a missile, firing off a webline at the last moment, and swinging through the front window and delivering a powerful kick to the back of a gunman. The scene inside was chaos as bodies fell limp and bleeding, innards hanging on the outside. Others were jumping and sliding for cover behind overturned chairs and tables. One man was pinned beneath the body of a rather rotund thug, still trying to aim his pistol towards the bar. Thus far all the weapons being discharged seemed to be appropriate for the day and age, even if they were high end or even military grade. Hopping to the ceiling he took in the scene, relying on his enhanced vision to pick out details in the darkened interior. In the corner, cowering behind a booth he spotted the seller and an associate he'd brought along. The man's ally was inching slowly towards a shiny chrome and black case, the symbol printed on it a familiar one.

Public Eye! There could be any number of weapons in there. Laser pistols, Grenazers, sonic weapons. All of it would be...  

His worries were interrupted when a shot from below and behind him struck the ceiling just left of him, the resulting hole piercing all the way through to reveal a trickle of moonlight.

Okay, so clearly there are some Stark-Fujikawa Street Pacifiers already out of the boxes, he thought.

Dropping to the floor and spinning on his heels he snared the gunman who had fired at him and pulled him in close, jumping to have his knee connect with the man's jaw. One satisfying crunch and a flip to a far wall later and he examined the weapon he'd relieved the thug of. It was indeed a Pacifier, a .48 Caliber model popular among street gangs and as personal protection devices of the elite in the year 2099. They fired ammunition not unlike current weapons, but did so far harder and faster thanks to their design, something akin to being miniature handheld rail guns.  

Glancing towards the direction most of the mobsters were firing in, he caught a glimpse of a figure in a coat and body armor. For just a moment he thought he saw a familiar bone white emblem.

"Jake?" he shouted, despite knowing it couldn't possibly be the man he knew as the Punisher.

Whether the vigilante had heard him or not he didn't know, but the seller's associate had somehow managed to reach the container. A snap-hiss sounded as he opened it and came up aiming a weapon far more destructive than any of the things Miguel had feared: a Plasma Gas Cannon.

If the criminal managed to get it loaded and fired, the entire back portion of the building was likely going to disintegrate in a ball of flame and burnt ozone, the enclosed space making it likely the backlash would roast everyone in the building...

[Ysmir]

"I am a monster... but I don't feel a thing. It's my job."

---

There was a certain serenity in the few beats of time between when everyone knew a shootout would start, and when the shootout actually started. It was a stark silence, the kind where you'd be able to hear a pin drop to the ground in a room full of people. Anticipation, anxiety, maybe even a bit of genuine fear.

But not for Castle. He thrived on the fear.

A few potshots over the top of the bar after he dispersed the tear gas was all it took to down three of the Armenian crooks before they could even scramble blindly for their firearms. Frank knew his target; the seller in the green blazer, who darted for cover behind a booth alongside an associate that he didn't know. Fisk's cronies were expendable, so he'd take them down before going in for the capture.

Frank drew their fire to where they'd think he would be before moving with practiced precision across the face of the bar, crouched low as to avoid being seen. Once he reached the other end, he holstered his Jerichos and hoisted up his SCAR.

Ch-chik.

He swung around the outside of the bar.

POOMPOOMPOOM

The FMJ rounds pierced through whatever aftermarket body armor the thugs had managed to find for themselves. Two rounds to the chest, one to the neck. The guy was probably dead before he hit the ground. Frank turned to the other side of the bar, firing through the slowly dissipating gas.

POOM. POOM.

Two shots, measured, a short beat between each one -- these two were aimed at heads and required the slightest more focus. They hit true to their marks, and another duo of armed gangsters fell flat against the far wall, streaks of crimson trailing down their face and over their lifeless eyes where the bullets had hit.

Frank was not by any means a graceful man, but the calm and collected manner with which he moved through a warzone was nothing short of a ballet. He rolled across the open space between a bar and a far booth, taking cover behind the thick wood and polymer seat that would provide a reasonable amount of protection from--

FWIP

Frank's head turned. A bullet hole the size of his eyeball had been punched through the booth seat, right next to his head. What the f**k?

This place wasn't safe. Frank stood and backpedaled, returning suppressive fire at the thugs who still stood and moving into a back hallway where he'd have a better line of sight. Amidst all the shooting, he heard something in a much clearer English accent.

"Jake?"

His eyes darted toward the source of the noise, and in a rare moment, the Punisher was left completely confused. Webhead? Here? Who the Hell is Jake?

No time. Ask after. Frank dropped three more of the Armenian gangsters before he noticed a blur of movement from his right side. The seller's associated had dashed toward the futuristic and high-tech briefcase. What he hoisted from within was something that gave even Frank Castle brief pause, a massive device of seemingly alien origin with capabilities the Punisher couldn't even conceive of.

Thinking quickly, he tossed his SCAR around his back and reached into his trench coat. There was a beep of confirmation when his thumb pressed into the center of a metallic disk, and Frank crouched. He sent the disc sliding along the floor of the bar -- an EMP pulsar. It found itself directly below the associate just as he was about the pull the trigger.

KROOoooommm

The pulse activated, scrambling the electronics in the plasma weapon and rendering it incapable of firing, leaving the associate and last few standing thugs at Spider-Man's (?) mercy...

[Rift]

In the half-breath it took for Miguel to realize how stupid it was for him to assume Jake Galloway, the Punisher of 2099 had somehow made it back to the present, the man he realized had to be this era's Punisher had not only dropped a number of the thugs, but also saved both of their backsides by launching something at the seller's associate. Recognizing it as an early EMP device, he quickly switched Lyla off just before it went off. Primitive compared to what he was use to, the disc-shaped device still got the job done, the would-be gunman blinking in confusion as the plasma cannon failed to do anything. Several pulls of the trigger merely caused a tinging sound as the stunned criminal tried in vain to get the now useless metal weapon to do anything.

Taking advantage of the confusion Miguel closed the distance with a flip, a webline fire while he was upside down in the air snagging the now empty weapon case and sending it crashing into the back of the associate's head, knocking him unconscious. Landing in a crouch he grasped an overturned chair and threw it at a still standing mobster, stopping him from sliding another magazine into his weapon. Springing off his hands he kicked the stunned man hard enough to launch him through the front door, splintering wood and shattering glass as he went. Dual weblines brought an already damaged ceiling fan crashing down on the head of a thug taking refuge behind an overturned table. Considering the guy had already caught a round from Punisher, chances were good unconsciousness was a relief.

Better hurry, before my only lead ends up eating a couple rounds too, he thought. IF this really is the original Punisher, he's bound to be even more intense than Galloway. After all it was his War Journal that inspired him to pick up where he left off.

Walking over to the the man he had been tracking he lashed out, grabbing the barrel of his sidearm and pulling in such a way that the wrist snapped. Tossing it aside he hoisted the man up by the collar and flipping him over onto the table between the booth he'd been hiding behind.

"Look at me!" he snarled, demanding the man's attention.

With one hand on his throat he raised the other and extended the talons from his fingertips, holding his hand still enough to make sure the thug could see them. Slowly he lowered them until they were hovering just shy of his bare neck.

"I'm going to make this simple on you. I want to know where you got the guns. We both know they are not the normal hardware you peddle to this crowd. I'm guessing you don't have a shocking clue what they really are, but you are going to tell me who supplied you. Every time you lie or refuse to answer, I'm going to slice and seeing as of where I climb walls with these I don't think you are going to get too many wrong answers before you bleed out. Understand?"

The thug curled a lip and spat at the futuristic hero. "Bull! We all know you don't kill Spider-Man! You don't scare me! I tell you nothing!"

While it was true he didn't like killing and tried to avoid it whenever possible, the man was gravely mistaken if he thought he had the exact same moral compass as Peter Parker. Of course whenever Miguel had ended up killing, it was always in self-defense and as a last resort, never a pre-planned decision used against an already subdued foe. That was a level too far for him and even if he could somehow bring himself to do it, there was no telling what the ramifications would be. Whether it was ruining the reputation of Spider-Man (who he was clearly being mistaken for) or messing with the timeline in ways he couldn't foresee, it was too risky.

Spider-Man wouldn't do it, but I'm guessing he knows who would, O'Hara thought.

"You know what? You're right. But considering that man over there already killed most of your friends I can always just leave you for him. I mean a gunrunner like you has to of heard of the Punisher right? You won't talk to me, I can just let him have a crack at it."

The seller's eyes bulged as he struggled to look through the shadows to find where Castle lurked.

"N-n-no! You can't"

"Then tell me where the shock you got the weapons!" Miguel snarled.

Shaking in his grasp the man nodded. "There's a new player in town! We don't know who he is! Nobody does! He operates out of the old abandoned cannery down by the docks! We are met outside by his people. They load the crates into our vehicles!"

"And how much do you pay? How much kickback does this mystery man get?" Miguel asked, angry. No matter the era money made the world go around and there was no end to what men would do to get rich. It was like the mega-corporations from back home all over again.

"N-Nothing! He gives it to us for free. He gives the rifles and handguns it to dealers like me, gives weird glowing drugs of some sort to different pushers willing to cross their suppliers, even saw some hooker walking out of there with a grenade! I swear! It makes no sense but he gave what's left of those bikers, the Angels, the ones Punisher hit? Tossed some of them fancy laser guns their way and told 'em to go nuts! He even gave some punks crates of these crazy bomb things like that goblin guy uses, but these ones were all digitized and glowing! I hear even the Watchdogs are interested!"

Miguel frowned. Months ago when he encountered Flipside he had shut down a group of gangbangers that had been sporting Pumpkin Bombs identical to the ones the used by a freaker goblin from 2099. He had thought he knew where they had come from, but now realized they too must have been provided by the mysterious supplier.

Pulling the man upwards he slammed him back down hard enough to crack the table, sending him drifting into unconsciousness.

"Take it you heard all that?" he asked Punisher, slowly turning in his direction.

He had read a lot about Frank Castle, but never thought he'd end up meeting him. He had to be cautious as word was the guy was jumpy and more than willing to put costumed heroes as a lead diet if they interfered with his work. The Devil of Hell's Kitchen had clashed with him more than once and he was pretty sure Parker had as well.

Here's hoping he's willing to at least hear me out. Jake and I didn't always see eye-to-eye but we did work together when the situation called for it. Maybe this Punisher will be willing to do the same.

[Ysmir]

"I am a monster... but I don't feel a thing. It's my job."

---

The tear gas cleared, the dust settled, and everything was quiet. For now.

The cape had taken down the rest of the thugs. Whoever wasn't unconscious or bleeding out was lying in a heap on the ground, covered in their own blood and no longer drawing breath. All in all, Castle counted fifteen more notches to add to his war journal. Not bad, he thought idly as he dropped the magazine from his SCAR and popped another in, just in case. He swung the battle rifle around on its strap so that it hung loosely on his back before he walked to the corner on the bar. He posted up next to it and leaned casually onto his elbow, watching the other arrival go to work on the seller.

Now that Frank had a moment to take a closer look at the spandex-clad Webhead -- his mannerisms, his voice, his actions -- it all started becoming clearer. This wasn't his Webhead, but another. Similar, but different. Interesting.

"I mean a gunrunner like you has to of heard of the Punisher right?"

In the shadows of the bar, the masked Castle stood, with only the neon white skull peeking out from underneath his black trench coat shining brightly in whatever small amount of light there was. As if for added effect to Spider-Man's questioning, he pulled free from his waist sheath a KA-BAR combat knife with a schwing! Holding it, he gently ran his thumb along the sharpened serrated edge for the thug to see.

This Spidey's candid approach coupled with Frank's mere presence seemed to get the weasel spilling his guts. Frank listened, and the more he spoke, the more things started to make sense. No two-bit gangbanger would have the funds to get their hands on the kind of tech he'd been encountering on the streets. It made sense that they'd be getting the tech for free, but Frank couldn't wrap his head around why someone would hand this shit out like candy. The only logical conclusion was that someone was trying to sow seeds of discourse, mask their movements behind a trail of carnage that the NYPD would be forced to allocate all of their resources toward quelling. It was just a hypothesis, but something to go off, at least.

CRACK

One slam, and it was lights out. This guy was definitely no imposter. Castle stepped out of the shadows and toward the table, reaching up to pull the gas mask free from his face. He set it down next to the unconscious seller as he looked "Spider-Man" up and down.

"I did," he said, taking a brief look around at the destruction they'd caused. "Today's your lucky day, Sticky. For once, it seems like you and I have the same idea."

In a shockingly quick motion for a regular human, Frank lifted his hand and drove the KA-BAR down into the unconscious seller's chest. Right between the fifth and sixth rib, mainline to the aortic valve. Good old Spidey might not have wanted to kill him, but Castle couldn't risk the perp getting back to his men and warning them. Leaving the KA-BAR jutting out of the man's chest as he sputtered his final breaths, Frank looked to the wall-crawler. His brazen display of violence was as much necessary as it was a test.

"Who the Hell are you, anyway?", he asked, crossing his arms. "You're not the Webhead I know. He doesn't have the stomach for this, and I've never seen that outfit."

[Rift]

Miguel tensed as Castle drove the knife into the man. Killing was not something he'd ever be comfortable with even if he had used lethal force himself a time or two. The thing was he never went into a situation planning to kill anyone, but sometimes it was unavoidable and even necessary. Whether it was right or wrong he knew on some level that it was coming. It wouldn't surprise him if the Punisher put a round or two into the men he had merely rendered unconscious before he left the restaurant. If he moved to stop him there was a damn good chance he'd be added to the body count and even if he did manage to stop Frank he'd be making both an enemy he didn't need and giving more time to whoever was giving out the weapons.

This isn't your time Miguel. Chances are these men were going to die anyway. If not future weapons than modern ones may have drawn Punisher here. He could have been tracking them anyway. Interfering could mean inadvertently changing the timeline and isn't that exactly what you are trying to prevent? he thought, trying to rationalize his inaction.

For just a split second he considered trying to lie, to tell him anything other than the truth. After all even if he believed him about being from the future he may not get behind the idea of shutting this operation down. Sure he may slaughter those involved, but the weapons? A guy like the Punisher may just want them for himself. That kind of fire power in the hands of a vigilante would be as bad as in the hands of criminals. Who knew what kind of damage that would do to the timeline. Maybe with 2099 weapons Castle would kill some big time super villain who for whatever reason was supposed to survive longer. Perhaps he'd grow tired of their interference in his mission and take out a few Avengers along the way or get the better of Daredevil once and for all.

Those concerns were secondary though. He had read the Punisher's War Journal. It had been stored in Alchemex's archives, guarded by the Public Eye security boys. That was how Jake Galloway had found it, been inspired by it, and eventually taken up the mantle of the Punisher himself. Point was Frank was one of the most dangerous men alive, didn't trust anyone, and didn't seem to need much provocation to decide someone met his criteria for switching to a lead diet. Lying to a guy like was not a smart play at all. So instead he decided to do something he'd been reluctant to do with every other person he met outside of Parker. He told him the truth.

"I'm Spider-Man, but you're right, I'm not the one you know. Look this'll probably sound crazy to you, but I'm from the future. The year 2099 to be exact," he explained, pointing to the massive plasma canon. "And so are those."

Trying not to look at the knife still sticking out of the man he had been questioning moments before, he fired off a webline and pulled the massive device to him.

"Someone is trying to change my future by messing with your present. Even inactive something like this could jump weapons technology ahead dramatically and in the hands of someone like Wilson Fisk? That could ruin everything. For everyone. I intend to find and destroy all the weapons. And when I get my hands on whoever it is doing this I'm either going to have to make sure they are sent back to 2099 or that they are stopped permanently."

Truth was he had no idea how to get home himself, so short of letting SHIELD or someone like Reed Richards find a way to lock up the one responsible, he may very well have to use tactics Castle would approve of.

"I take it I didn't lie to that shocking lowlife? You're the Punisher right?" he asked, already knowing the answer.

He wasn't going to bring up the fact someone had taken up his mission in the future. The less he said about what was to be, the less chance of that knowledge changing something. Still, he had mistaken him for Jake. Maybe he didn't catch that.

Yeah, because that's how your luck works, O'Hara mused.

[Ysmir]

"I am a monster... but I don't feel a thing. It's my job."

---

It was difficult to tell how he reacted to the murder -- mask, and all that. But unlike his Spidey, who'd chew his ear off about ethics and morality and all these abstract concepts that didn't mean shit in the long run, he silently bore it all. Maybe he was cut from a different cloth. Maybe he could help.

Maybe.

"Look this'll probably sound crazy to you, but I'm from the future. The year 2099 to be exact."

Castle's brows furrowed. Great, he thought, shaking his head, look what you went and got yourself into now, Castle.

The seller coughed and gargled on the blood and bile seeping up from deep within his chest cavity. The world went blurry as Frank and this new Spider-Man spoke, and soon, he stopped breathing altogether. The moment the light left his eyes, Frank reached out and pulled the KA-BAR free, wiping each flat side of the blade against his leather coat to remove the blood. He sheathed it across his waist and turned back to face the Wall-crawler once more.

Frank got a closer look at the thing he'd been tracking all this time, and it made a great deal of sense just why the NYPD had such a difficult time dealing with two-bit gangsters. He had little idea what a device like that cannon was capable of, but he was fairly certain that if he didn't disable it in the nick of time, he might not be standing here to have this conversation at all.

Frank scoffed. The slightest hint of a smirk was on his face as he meandered around the bar, prodding each body with his foot. "Believe you me, Webhead, I've heard crazier shit. I might not have believed it if I didn't see it with my own eyes. But I did," he answered, looking back at Spider-Man.

It was, against his desires, the truth; he'd come to accept the insane world he lived in a long time ago. Besides, it wasn't the most outlandish claim. One thing he'd come to understand is that the lowest of the low were capable of anything to try and get themselves ahead of the curve. If it meant altering the timeline to suit their own needs, then so be it. Castle, for his part, didn't give two shits about the Wall-crawler's own home. But so long as their goals aligned, he supposed it didn't quite matter how he felt. These devices needed to go, along with the one responsible.

At his question, he merely nodded. "That's what they call me, so that's what I am. But listen--" he went to say, but his words were cut off by the flashing of red and blue screaming from down the street. Their scuffle hadn't go unnoticed; law enforcement was on its way.

Castle cursed and spun around. Drawing his dual handguns, the Punisher let loose six meticulously well-placed shots in rapid succession to put down every unconscious body Spider-Man had left behind; no witnesses. He turned to the Wall-crawler.

"My van's in the alley across the street. Follow me after I get to it. We're not done here," Castle stated. Wasting no more time, he bolted across the corpse-strewn bar to the back entrance that he came in through earlier.

-----

The Punisher made it to his van before the police realized he was even there. Assuming the webslinger was somewhere unseen, he pulled away silently from the site of their battle and put distance between himself and the boys in blue. Frank drove through the back streets of the city for a few solid minutes to ensure he was well outside the range of any potential sweep that they conducted. The route he took led him to an abandoned leatherworks facility on the outskirts of the neighborhood. Pulling into the gated parking lot, he killed the engine and stepped outside.

When his masked "friend" arrived on scene, Frank took a quick glance around to ensure they were truly alone. He regarded Spider-Man with a curious gaze and a raised brow. "So how's it that some hero from the future knows me? I've got a lot of fight in me, but 2099's a bit outside my life expectancy I'd wager."

[Rift]

Miguel had taken the hint, vanishing into the darkness as he crawled out of the building and onto a nearby rooftop, but not before he gathered up what weaponry he could. Once outside he stopped for just a moment, glancing back at the arriving authorities. As the red and blue lights flickered he sighed. Getting gone before they saw him was only smart, after all even villains that had fought Parker for years mistook him for the original Spidey in a different suit. There was no need to complicate Pete's life more than it already was by having the cops think he was tied up in some kind of partnership with the Punisher. Still, the whole thing made him nauseous. Criminals or not those had been people, men with lives and relatives outside of the dark deeds they committed on behalf of the mob.

Pull it together O'Hara. Frank's actions are not your fault. You try to stop him and you could end up just as dead as the men below. Even if you don't, it may count as meddling in the course of events. Don't want to be responsible for the destruction of 2099 because of your newfound respect for life. After all I managed to ignore plenty of injustices that Alchemax was responsible for and it isn't like I haven't killed when I had no other choice. Nobody is an angel in this or any other timeline. he thought.

After stashing the futuristic weapons in a web sack he secured atop of an adjacent building, he quickly made his way towards his newfound ally. Swinging off in the direction of the Punisher's van he wondered just how much he should tell the man. In some ways, a lot of ways he was similar to Jake. But in others? He may very well be that much more hardcore, more dedicated to his war on crime. He'd no doubt want answers, but knowledge of the future may mean he changes something, that he wouldn't keep his war journal.

And then what? Would Jake Gallows ever pick up the mantle if he didn't read it in the archives of Alchemax? Would he not become the Punisher or would the holo vids be enough? And if he doesn't, would that really be a bad thing? he wondered. Of course much as you may not like his methods, truth is he has helped you out. Saved your shocking backside more than once. Son of a Glitch I hate this time travel junk.

Crawling down a wall and flipping to the ground below, he stood a few feet away from Castle, taking in what he had asked.

"Not sure I'm much of a hero," he answered. "But you do leave an impression. Even after most superhumans are gone people whisper about you. A boogeyman used to scare kids into staying on the right side of things."

Okay Miguel, bare minimum only. Might want to keep the whole Doctor Doom becomes leader of America part out. Still have to hope he isn't too bothered by someone taking up the name.

"Information regarding this time, the Age of Heroes is largely suppressed. Mega Corporations replaced governments, private security teams act as law enforcement. Plenty of the agents of these teams look at you as some sort of patron saint even though most of them are the very sort you'd be paying a visit to. One of them though, a good guy among the trash, he...he lost people. Everyone important to him wiped out because some psycho with too much power, too much money, and who thought he was untouchable decided to teach him a lesson. Well this guy survives and while searching for answers he finds something, a journal that you kept chronicling your...uh...missions," the futuristic Spider-Man explained. "He dons your symbol and starts making sure that people like the one who killed his family don't get away with it just because a megacorporation has their back."

He paused and then with a shrug added, "Not sure I'd call us friends exactly, but we have worked together a time or two. He saves a lot of lives, mine included, even if he does take a lot more to get it done. For what it is worth, your work as distasteful as it is, has meaning. Doesn't matter if it is the here and now or 2099, but the world needs a Punisher even if they turn their nose up and say they don't"

Miguel didn't think Castle was one much for jokes and he wasn't in the mood to make any, but to cut the tension a little he added "Some of the gear back there? He uses similar and better. That's just the tip of the iceberg though. I've seen some experimental stuff in the hands of bangers that can barely work the pieces they carry from this time."

[Ysmir]

"I am a monster... but I don't feel a thing. It's my job."

---

"Not sure I'm much of a hero."

Pretty simple phrase, but to Frank, it held a lot more wisdom than this Spider-Man of the future probably knew. Not that Frank would claim to be a wise man by any measure; he abandoned sense and reason around the same time he abandoned his sense of morality. Even still, he thought anyone who claimed to be a "hero" was fooling themselves into a dangerous state of mind.

While the Webhead told the specifics of his tale, Frank walked around the outside of his van to the back. With a click, he pulled open the back doors and revealed to the shadows an armory of Biblical proportions. Battle rifles, ARs, tactical shotguns with custom grips and tuned sights, AT-4 with precision correction system, more explosives than you could shake a stick at.

Frank undid the clasp of his SCAR-H and set it down on the bed of the van. He continued this process with every other armament he wore; he planned on assaulting the cannery at the docks that the seller had mentioned. Frank knew the place, and knew he'd need a slightly different armament. Tight corners and low visibility meant a close-quarters weapon and advanced optics would be a must. Whilst listening to the story, he ticked through the possibilities in his head.

Then, he paused. Frank turned his head ever so slightly and looked at Spider-Man over his shoulder.

Dons my symbol... Frank shook his head. Every time someone tried to walk the path he did, they ended up dead, or worse. Frank had maintained for over a decade now that his was his burden, and his alone. But I guess the dead can't tell anyone the rules, he quipped to himself.

At the conclusion of his story, Frank stood in silence for a moment with his palms resting flat against the bed of his van. He sighed.

"Well, Spider-Man, I'll be honest," he began, pushing himself up to look over at the costumed wall-crawler directly, "the idea of someone continuing my work bothers me a lot less than dealing with petty thugs packing energy weaponry. I don't care about the future, only the present. So as long as you're willing to get your hands dirty, and don't ask too many questions, I'll work with you. For now."

He turned toward him fully. The almost neon white skull on his chest reflected the moonlight. "Or, you can grow a conscience, and see where that gets you. Either way, I'm getting to the bottom of this, with or without you. So what's it gonna be?"

[Rift]

Miguel resisted the urge to whistle over the sheer number of weapons Castle had on hand.

Wow. Even by future standards he has enough of an arsenal to takeover a third world country if he wanted. I don't think the guy has ever met a boom stick he didn't like, O'Hara thought.

As Frank spoke it donned on him that this Punisher was far different from the man who would take his name in the future. Jake was still hurting. His battle was still one of vengeance. Tyler Stone wasn't enough, his anger stretched to the whole of Alchemax and all like them. They would feel the pain he did. Castle though was something else. This was a mission, a purpose, his reason for being. If it had started as a mission of vengeance it had since become a crusade, a war that would never end because no matter how many bad guys he killed there would always be another. It was eternal and unending. While he had only known what he read and had only known Frank for a few moments he got the impression that the man was utterly committed but made no excuses. He knew what he was and what he did and yet he knew that what worked for him was not for everyone. He did what he did and did not expect or care if others understood or condemned it.

"Trust me, if you had known me before I was spinning webs then this? This is me growing a conscience. I couldn't stand by and let what happens in my future happen without intervening and there is no shocking way I'm letting it happen early. And I get it. You've met the current Spider-Man. He has a code, his whole great power and responsibility motto. But I'm not him. I may not take your approach and do in every henchman, hired gun, and drug dealer out there but my soul isn't untarnished. Assuming you believe in that kind of thing. Can't say I do, but well, you get my meaning. Some things are so bad they only way to stop them is permanently," he explained.

Saying it out loud he realized how very different from the original wallcrawler he really was.

But I can live with that.

"And I can appreciate your apathy about the future. It doesn't mean a thing to you. Chances are you are gonna be dead sooner rather than later so only the here and now matter. But it is my home which means I have to make sure this stops. At all costs. Because it isn't just me. Changes to now could erase millions of people. And it could make a situation that already sucks a million times worse. So I'm in. You do things your way and you'll not catch any flak from me even if it isn't my way. Far as I am concerned you and everyone else alive right now has long been dust to me. And if it wasn't future weapons it would be something more like what you are packing. These guys have it coming and you'd work your way around to them eventually anyway. Only line I draw is if some other so-called hero shows up. Killing a Captain America or an Iron Man could be just as detrimental as what these guys are doing. So long as that's not a problem I guess we can consider ourselves Teamed-Up."

[Ysmir]

"I am a monster... but I don't feel a thing. It's my job."

---

Good choice.

The thought was a commendation to himself, and not to Spider-Man. He withdrew from the side wall a Benelli M4 semi-automatic shotgun, chambered in 12 Gauge 3-inch buckshot. It was the kind of round that could punch a hole through iron at close range and kicked like a mule. Leveled at the unprotected chest of a street thug with no prior training, and it'd drop them with one well-placed shot. A side rail shell holder ensured ease of reloading when the time came. The long tube allowed the M4 to hold up to twelve shells max, ten when using heavy slugs. It had a holographic reflex sight and a carbide tooth muzzle brake for breaching locked doors and jabbing bogies in the shoulder if they got too close. Just what he needed.

As for Spider-Man, Frank finally turned his attentions back to the masked hero. It might not have seemed like Frank was listening, but unlike many, he was capable of multi-tasking when the situation called for it. He placed the M4 down on the bed.

It was comforting (if that was the right word) to the Punisher to hear that this mystery man-out-of-time didn't consider himself a kindred spirit with the other wall crawler. Too many times, Frank's mission has been impeded because of the webhead's bleeding heart and horribly misguided ideas of morality and honor. Too many times, truly despicable and evil men have walked away without facing true judgement for the atrocities they've committed. Ryker's Island was the best prison on the Eastern Seaboard, and guess what? It was a joke. If they weren't escaping two months into their life sentence, the Kingpin was pulling strings and filling pockets to keep the clientele on a quick rotation in and out.

No. The only "prison" the night terrors of New York deserved was six feet underground. No breaking out of a coffin.

And he was right; Frank wasn't all too well-versed in this psuedo-scientific nonsense, but he'd seen his fair share of the weird and wacky. The smallest ripples had far reaching consequences. The Punisher knew that all too well. If their goals were mutually beneficial, then there was no reason not to work together while it stayed that way.

"Alright, Spider-Man. You've got yourself a deal," Frank said with a curt nod. He slid the M4 forward. "Follow me. Let's go over what we know."

Frank walked around the van to the driver's side door. He opened it and climbed in, leaning back in his seat so that Spider-Man could get an unobstructed view to his on-board computer system. It was like a police computer -- on steroids. Seismic sensors, radar scanners, and 3D holographic GPS interfaces were displayed on the multi-monitored set up. Pressing his thumb to the scanner to allow access to his sensitive files, Frank pulled up city database information on the cannery the weapons dealer mentioned.

"This isn't the first time I've heard about these particular shipments coming in from the docks. I just never knew exactly where it was being dropped off," Frank said. He pulled up several CCTV feeds of the exterior of the cannery, which looked relatively unassuming save for the several unmarked vans parked out front. "It's a big place. Outside is wide open, not many avenues to approach unseen -- but you've got the webs. I'm assuming that won't be much of a problem for you. Inside? Well, I've never been inside, so I have no idea. But if its architecture is similar to other warehouses and business along the docks of the fishing district, then it's gonna be cramped."

Turning from the computer screen, Frank rested his forearm on his knee. He looked at Spidey. "Any input?"

[Rift]

Miguel allowed himself to just breathe for what felt like the first time since beginning his interaction with Castle. In the future megacorporations like Alchemax and Stark-Fujikawa controlled nearly everything. They replaced governments almost entirely if not on a national level than at least locally. Company run private security forces, like Public Eye, were the enforcers of what little semblance of law there was. Even history and knowledge of what came before was controlled, revised, and taught in ways that either benefited corporations financially or socially. The entire narrative of the Age of Heroes was shaped in accordance to what aided business and kept the populace in line.

The Avengers were a lucrative brand so the core members were remembered fondly, glossing over inconvenient things like the Civil War between superhumans. Iron Man was a useful image, a symbol of power and advanced technology that gave the company he'd run status well after his death. Captain America was a tool to remind people of what they had lost but to fool them into thinking it still existed. Thor was a religious figure, the idea of his eventual return giving hope to his worshipers while keeping them from organizing resistance to the megacorps and their agendas. The manor that once served as a home for mutants learning to control their powers was an academy teaching the latest and greatest minds how to be their best and be as loyal and profitable for the company as possible. The legacy of heroes was bought, sold, repackaged, and used for marketing. Truth was only embraced when it was useful and ignored or erased outright when there was money to be made.

While almost nothing was beyond exploitation, the Punisher was one of the few not used to sell products or push Halloween costumes for kids. No, Frank Castle was the boogeyman, the monster in the dark who would get you if you misbehave. At first schools taught that he was insane and ranked him alongside infamous serial killers and tyrants. Then he was no longer spoken about lest someone use the image of the skull and message that criminals had to face consequences be taken to heart. Information was buried, deleted, and not spoken of. Few people knew the truth, fewer still had read his War Journal, and those who did thanked their lucky stars that he was long gone, lost in the currents of time and passing of ages. He had no powers, but was somehow still the most powerful of all the 'costumes' of yesteryear. His mission, his purpose was unpleasant and terrifying even in an age where killing for profit was as east as breathing.

O'Hara had learned the truth long before venturing to the present day, but having grown up hearing the stories and having hacked the database when he was a student at the academy he had images both real and imagined burned into his memory. Some part of him was surprised to not have been mowed down within moments of approaching the one man army. The notion that he was working alongside the man articles from his own era had painted as a monster was not one that sat well with him. He wasn't Parker, he had killed in self-defense, but he didn't think he'd ever be able to be on the same level as Castle. The Punisher was only one wrong move away from being everything he stood against. For now though he was the best chance the futuristic Spider-Man had of saving his home and for that reason he could hand wave away the things that disturbed him, make excuses that the criminals they'd face would end up dead one way or another anyway, and convince himself it didn't matter because by 2099 they'd all be long gone anyway. He just hoped that once it was all said and done he'd be able to sleep at night.

Glancing at the feeds he considered Frank's words and nodded. "Thus far we've only seen the basic weaponry. Lasers, advanced guns with traditional ordnance, but they could have worse inside. If I had to guess I'd say whoever was behind this was keeping the best for themselves. There could be force fields, energy shields, or even mechanized assault units in there. We really don't know what we'll be up against and in tight quarters that could get hairy fast. Plus there could be more than one person from 2099 involved meaning there may be enhanced enemies on site, genetically engineered to have powers."

Thinking back to the crate of advanced grenades he'd found when he first ran into the android Flipside so long ago, the type used by an enemy of his from 2099, he had to fight back a shudder.

"Depending on the weaponry they could set off some very powerful stuff and still survive the blast themselves. Our best bet would be to get in quietly and hit them hard and fast before they've an opportunity to deploy anything. Like you said, I should be able to approach and enter relatively easy, but I don't think the rolling arsenal here can get close without setting off all kinds of alarms. I mean, I could swing along with you, but I don't think the Punisher wants a shocking piggyback ride from me. Then again..."

He paused, thinking something over for a moment. "Chances are they are not expecting you. After all they come from the future and probably think of you as archaic and a non-problem if they think of the Punisher at all. Think you could approach as a buyer, maybe talk your way in? We have some gear we got from the ones inside. Could flash a gun, say you got recommended? As long as they don't see the skull they might go for it. Could even use holos to make you look different as they probably are not expecting that level of tech from the here and now."

[Ysmir]

"I am a monster... but I don't feel a thing. It's my job."

---

Basic weaponry? Frank almost laughed.

It was hard to imagine anything he had seen inside that burnt-out bar as "basic". While he didn't get to see the weapon aimed directly at his chest fire, he could only imagine the kind of Hell it could unleash just by looking at the damned thing. Fighting in wars meant seeing the absolute worst killing machines that mankind had to offer, and even all of that experience and knowledge didn't hold a candle to tech from the future. Seemed it could make even someone as pretentious and futuristic as Stark wet his cheeks in envy -- and were this under more fortuitous circumstances, Frank might even like to see that. But as it stood, this stuff was an inconvenience, and not one of the minor variety. The sooner they could get things back on track, the better.

And for the matter, while metahuman adversaries had scarcely been a problem for Frank in the past, the sort he had been encountering in recent nights and that the Webhead spoke of didn't make him too excited for their chances. He had bullets, a lot of bullets, but all the bullets in the world don't make a difference when the thing you're firing them at laughs it off like a flick of a finger. There were few problems the Punisher had encountered in his life that he couldn't solve with the right application of munitions -- it was that reputation that helped him build his image and superstition in the criminal underground. So, the idea of bulletproof mooks was less than ideal. He'd have to rethink his armament going into this with that information revealed.

At the suggestion of a swing, Frank flubbed his lips and shot a mildly amused but clearly disinterested look the wall-crawler's way. "Zero chance."

He reached over and pressed on his keyboard, flashing the CCTV feeds to the surrounding area of the cannery and the docks. Surveillance footage revealed little -- most traffic was on foot and the individuals in question were wearing work scrubs and fishing gear. The few vehicles that passed in and out of the area were unmarked worker's vans that could be carrying all manner of shit, which is probably exactly how they liked it. Whoever was overseeing the operation clearly ran a tight ship and knew what they were doing.

Frank observed the feed and squinted. He nodded. "You know, that might work. But forget the holo -- I'll go in raw. I tend to do my best work when my face isn't hidden. Besides, long as I cover up the skull, no common crook's likely to know my face. Anyone who sees it usually ends up incapable of speaking, one way or another."

He clicked away the camera feed and set the M4 by his side in the passenger's seat. He turned to Spider-Man. "Load up the weapons in the back, and make your way there. You'll be my eyes in the sky," Frank said, reaching into the center console and retrieving a small earpiece. He held it out to Spider-Man. "Two-way radio, so we can be in touch. Try to keep chatter to a minimum unless absolutely necessary."

[Rift]

Not for the first time that night, Miguel was thankful that the mask covered his face. The expression he had at the moment was one of mild surprise. Going in with nothing more than a hope that the emblem being absent would conceal his identity? That took guts. Considering the legend of the Punisher he was almost confused as to why Frank was so convinced he;d pass unnoticed in what was sure to be a den of thieves and worse. In his mind he half expected him to be made before he ever even got close.

Hey Bad Dude Number Three, you see that guy? I think that's Shocking Punisher! Oh yeah Bad Gal Number One it sure is. It's just like my Granny Crook used to tell me before bedtime. Best be smart when committing crimes or the Big Bad Punisher is gonna get ya! He;ll mosey on in all chiseled jaw, angry eyes, and angrier weapons and blow your sorry backside away!

Shaking his head as the scenario passed, he shrugged and accepted the earpiece.

Maybe it's just because you've seen the holovids. Maybe at this point his face isn't well known. Or being NYC maybe everyone worries more about wallcrawlers and super soldiers in masks than they do one nutcase with guns. He's done this plenty of times though so he must know what he's talking about.

Lifting his mask just enough to place the earpiece in, he tried to remind himself that what they were doing was necessary for his home, his future. If these guys were willing to use such advanced weaponry, they'd be involved in bad things regardless of whether or not their means of killing it came from the future. Chances were they'd of already been on Castle's radar in some ways and the circumstances would only be slightly different. Glocks instead of laser blasters. Fragmentation grenades instead of plasma. Body armor instead of holo-shields. It didn't give him the comfort he had hoped, but there was not other way around it. Their course was set and it had to be seen through.

With Punisher, it will be even if you were to back out now.

Loading the weapons as he'd been told, O'Hara wondered if Peter Parker would have been so quick to relinquish control of the situation. Considering who it was he was working with he kind of doubted the original Spidey would have even considered a team-up. Still, he told himself that Castle had experience with arms dealers. This was like a slightly more dangerous version of a walk in the park for him. Besides, it was his time, he had a better understanding of everything from the tech to the architecture and layout of places in the present. It only made sense to let him take lead.

Plus it means you get to pretend like any deaths are not your fault, he thought. Gabe would consider you to be as much a coward now as you were back when you were Alchemax's lapdog.

Placing last of the items in the van he flashed a thumbs up to Frank. Gabe won't exist to complain if you can't wrap this up. Man the hell up Miguel.

"Meet you there. I'll only contact you if I spot something of note. Otherwise I'll be as quiet as an actual spider," he promised, fairly certain Castle would be relieved that the incessant yammering was not a trait universal to all Spider-Men.

Firing off a web-line he headed up and out of sight, racing towards what he hoped would be an end to the nightmare of future tech influencing the past...and not the Punisher and he facing their own very violent, most definitely painful ends.