Bab 49: Ch. 48: Confrontation with the Punisher

Somewhere in NYC in a grocery store, the grocery store was a nondescript establishment, nestled between a laundromat and a liquor store. Its owner, a man of dubious morals, was engaged in a transaction with a customer. The customer was a man with a receding hairline, his clothes disheveled and his eyes glazed over, a clear indication of his addiction.

"Look at these mobile phones, they're all the latest models!" The man's voice was shaky, his hands trembling as he held out a mobile phone and a package. His desperation was palpable, a common sight in this store where thieves often traded stolen goods for cash, cash they would then use to feed their addictions.

The store owner, a man with a cruel smile and cold eyes, laughed at the man's desperation. "Idiot!" He snatched the package from the man's hands, his eyes scanning the contents. Mobile phones, a few trinkets, and then his gaze landed on a worn-out necklace.

"Oh, is this for sale too?" The owner held up the necklace, his tone dripping with mockery.

"Leave the necklace!" The man's voice was sharp, a hint of anger seeping through his desperation.

The owner ignored him, continuing to rummage through the package. "Just one hundred dollars, please, sir!" The man pleaded, his voice barely above a whisper.

The owner shook his head, his attention still on the package. Suddenly, the jingling of a bell echoed through the store, signaling the arrival of a new customer.

A burly figure stepped into the store, his presence immediately commanding attention. The owner glanced at the newcomer, quickly stashing the contents of the package. He pulled out a hundred-dollar bill and tossed it at the man. "Take this, get out!"

The man grabbed the money, his movements unsteady as he stumbled out of the store. The owner watched him leave, his attention then shifting to the new customer. A muscular man with a ferocious face, holding a cup of coffee in his hand.

The owner's instincts kicked in, his hand subtly reaching for the shotgun hidden under the counter. "Do I know you?" His voice was cautious, the man's imposing presence triggering his survival instincts.

The man's response was simple, his deep voice echoing through the store. "I need an NYPD's walkie-talkie device!" He paused, his gaze never leaving the owner. "It should receive encrypted tactical frequencies."

The owner's heart pounded in his chest, his grip on the shotgun tightening. This was no ordinary customer. The owner knew he was in for a confrontation he might not walk away from.

"Don't you see this is a grocery store?!" The owner's voice was laced with incredulity, his face contorting into a grimace. "You're in the wrong place!"

The man, unperturbed, took a slow sip of his coffee before placing his wallet on the counter. The owner hesitated, his eyes darting between the wallet and the man's impassive face.

"Aren't you really a policeman?" The owner's voice was tentative, his fear palpable. The man remained silent, his gaze steady on the owner. "I don't want to cause that kind of trouble!" The owner's voice was desperate now, his fear of the man overriding his greed.

The man's patience seemed to be wearing thin. He grabbed his wallet and turned to leave. "Oh~! Wait a minute, I just need to confirm!" The owner's hand shot out, stopping the man in his tracks.

"Wait here!" The owner instructed, turning to open a cabinet. He rummaged through it before pulling out a heavy black package. He placed it on the counter, unzipping it to reveal a collection of stolen police equipment.

"Pried off from a detective's dashboard!" The owner patted the equipment, a hint of pride in his voice. "It can receive tactical frequencies and monitoring signals. Hell, it might even pick up Mayor Gan and his girlfriend's conversations!" His attempt at humor fell flat, the man merely nodding in response.

"One thousand dollars!" The owner named his price, his eyes gleaming with greed. "This is one of the best things I've got!"

The man wordlessly pulled out a stack of bills from his wallet, counting them meticulously before placing them on the counter. The owner eagerly collected the money, his fear momentarily forgotten in the face of his greed.

The man's gaze then shifted to the area behind the owner. "The camera in the corner!" His voice was commanding, his eyes scanning the counter. The owner waved his hand dismissively, grabbing the money. "Don't worry, it's not working at all!"

He pulled out the broken cable from under the counter and placed it on the table. "There's also a double-barreled gun under the counter!" The man's voice was steady, his hand pulling out another stack of money.

The owner froze, his eyes wide. He shrugged, his greed once again overriding his fear. He handed over his only means of self-defense, his hands shaking slightly.

The man collected his purchases, zipping up the black package. He weighed it in his hand, his gaze lingering on the owner for a moment before he turned to leave.

"Wait, don't you need anything else?" The owner's voice was desperate, his greed pushing him to retain this lucrative customer. He pulled out a variety of stolen stuff from under the counter, his eyes gleaming with anticipation.

The man, who was about to exit the store, paused. He placed the package on the ground, his actions causing the owner to break into a triumphant grin. "Aha~! Looks like you like these, right? Five hundred dollars, and they're all yours!"

The man moved towards the glass door, flipping the sign to indicate the store was now closed. The owner's laughter echoed through the store, his joy at the prospect of a big sale evident.

The man turned around, taking a final sip of his coffee before setting it aside. His expression was grim as he moved towards the owner, his hand reaching out to pick up a baseball bat.

"What the hell are you doing?!" The owner's voice was panicked, his joy quickly replaced by fear.

The man examined the baseball bat, his gaze then shifting back to the owner. "Put an end to your miserable life!" The owner's voice was shaky, his hand instinctively reaching out in a futile attempt to protect himself. He realized too late that he had given away his only means of defense.

The man advanced, the baseball bat held firmly in his grip. "I just want to make some money!" The owner's voice was desperate, his pleas falling on deaf ears.

With a swift movement, the man swung the baseball bat, the impact echoing through the store. The owner's life was extinguished in an instant, his body slumping to the floor.

The sound of applause filled the store, a slow, deliberate clapping. "Nice job, Frank Castle, or should I call you... The Punisher?"

The man, Frank Castle, turned around, his gaze landing on a young man who had seemingly appeared out of nowhere. "Who are you?" His voice was indifferent, his gaze never leaving the newcomer.

The young man, Jon, merely smiled. "Take it easy, man!" His hands opened, a ball of flame appeared in his palm.

"Obviously, you didn't recognize me!" Jon's voice was filled with amusement. Frank's eyes narrowed at the sight of the flame, a flicker of recognition in his gaze. "Are you that... flaming devil from that day?"

Jon's smile widened. "I prefer others to call me...Ghost Rider."

Frank couldn't help but smirk, his gaze never leaving Jon. "Then, what do you want from me, Ghost Rider?"

"I need your help." Jon's voice was serious, his gaze meeting Frank's. Frank's response was immediate, his voice steady. "At any time."

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Pilih

Bab 50: Chapter 49: The Flaming Skeleton!

The sun was setting over Brooklyn, casting long shadows that danced on the cracked pavement. Jon and the Punisher emerged from the dimly lit grocery store, their silhouettes merging with the twilight. Jon turned to his companion, his voice echoing in the quiet street, "I don't think anyone in Brooklyn knows Hood's gang better than you. I need to know all his strongholds in New York and destroy them one by one!"

The Punisher, a man of few words, nodded. His eyes, cold and unyielding, reflected the dying light. "Alright," he said, his voice gravelly from years of shouting orders and threats. He clapped the black package in his hand, the sound echoing in the empty street. "I have destroyed the two strongholds I know, and now I need to reach their re-established stronghold."

Jon's eyebrows furrowed, his mind racing with the implications. "Then when will we act?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Tonight!" The Punisher's response was immediate, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Jon's eyes widened in surprise. "What, tonight?" He stammered, taken aback by the Punisher's urgency. He had assumed that the Punisher would need time to plan, to strategize. But the Punisher was a man of action, and a few hours was too long for him.

The Punisher turned to him, his gaze piercing. "Is there a problem?" he asked, his voice devoid of emotion.

Jon hesitated, his mind torn between his duty and his family. "Well, I have to have spent some time with my family tonight! So I'm afraid it will be later!" He confessed, his voice filled with regret.

The word "family" seemed to soften the Punisher's hardened exterior. His cold face rarely showed a trace of warmth, but at that moment, it did. He breathed a sigh of relief and said, "Yes, you really need to spend more time with your family! I'll be here waiting for you at twelve o'clock tonight!"

With that, the Punisher climbed into his black van, the engine roaring to life. Before he drove off, he rolled down the windows, gestured to Jon, and said, "Good luck!" His voice was filled with a rare warmth, a testament to the bond they had formed.

As the van disappeared into the night, Jon was left standing alone in the dimly lit street. He looked up at the sky, the stars beginning to twinkle in the dark expanse. He knew that the night ahead would be long and dangerous, but he was ready. He was ready to fight.

***

As the evening descended, Jon found himself in the comforting presence of his family. He sat across from Annie and Ayla at the dinner table, their laughter and chatter filling the room with warmth. The aroma of the home-cooked meal lingered in the air, a stark contrast to the danger that lurked outside their home. Once the meal was over and the dishes were cleared, Jon watched as Annie and Ayla succumbed to the lull of sleep, their peaceful faces a stark reminder of what he was fighting for.

Annie had been through a lot recently. The terror of Jon's near-death experience in the subway attack, the shock of Chris being shot, and the heart-wrenching fear when Chris was kidnapped. And then, the tragic death of Alberton. It was too much for any person to bear, let alone an ordinary woman like Annie. She was at her limit, her body and mind strained to the breaking point. She had resorted to sleeping pills, a desperate attempt to escape the nightmares that haunted her.

Meanwhile, the Punisher was already at their agreed meeting place. He parked his black truck by the side of the road, the streetlight casting an eerie glow on the vehicle. He checked his watch, his face a mask of boredom. Suddenly, a figure materialized behind him. It was Jon.

"You're late!" The Punisher's voice cut through the silence, his tone sharp.

"Sorry, my cousin needs to be taken care of recently!" Jon's voice was filled with regret, his family's safety was always at the forefront of his mind.

The Punisher's gaze hardened. "Was it the Hood's gang's doing?" he asked, his voice cold.

"Yes!" Jon's response was immediate, his anger palpable.

"Then let's go, let's wipe out the bastards!" The Punisher's words were filled with determination. He strode towards his truck, motioning for Jon to follow.

Jon climbed into the passenger seat, his heart pounding in his chest. The Punisher started the engine, the roar of the vehicle echoing in the quiet street.

"I found a drug manufacturing den, which may be related to Hood's gang!" The Punisher's voice was devoid of emotion, his focus solely on their mission.

As they drove off into the night, Jon couldn't help but think of Annie and Ayla, sleeping peacefully at home. He knew that he was doing this for them, for their safety.

***

In the heart of the city, hidden amidst the labyrinth of industrial buildings, a factory hummed with activity. Workers, their faces masked and hands gloved, moved with mechanical precision, processing and packaging the illicit substances. Supervisors patrolled the floor, their stern gazes ensuring the smooth operation of the drug manufacturing den. This was one of the many industries under the control of Hood's gang.

Suddenly, a man descended the staircase, his black round hat casting a shadow over his disfigured face. The workers froze, their hearts pounding in their chests. He was a terrifying figure, his face a grotesque puzzle of scars and stitches. This was Jigsaw, a name that sent shivers down the spines of even the most hardened criminals.

Without warning, a black van crashed through the factory doors, the deafening noise echoing through the building. Jigsaw turned towards the intrusion, a smirk playing on his lips. "Hello, old friend! Long time no see!" he called out, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

The Punisher stepped out of the van, his gaze locked on Jigsaw. "Billy Russo, I clearly killed you!" he growled, his voice echoing in the now silent factory.

"That's right, so I'm here to seek your revenge now!" Jigsaw retorted, raising his pistol. The Punisher responded in kind, his M16 aimed squarely at Jigsaw.

"Calm down, Frank!" A new voice joined the standoff. Jon, clad in a leather jacket and heavy chain, stepped out of the van. Ignoring Jigsaw's taunts, he addressed the Punisher. "Parker Robbins, Hood's gang's head has the ability to bring the dead back to life. That's why Jigsaw and Mad Jim are alive again."

Jigsaw's eyes narrowed at Jon's words. "Who are you?!" he demanded, his voice filled with suspicion.

Jon ignored him, his focus on the Punisher. "I know Robbins' ability, but I don't know his power or his strongholds. That's why I needed your help!" he explained. Turning to Jigsaw, he added, "But don't worry, Parker can't bring back the person I killed! So leave that person to me!"

Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang!

With that, Jon advanced towards Jigsaw. Despite Jigsaw's threats and gunshots, Jon continued to move forward, unfazed. The Punisher watched in amusement as Jigsaw's bullets proved useless against Jon.

Jigsaw's face paled as Jon approached, his fear evident. He ordered his men to shoot, but Jon was unfazed. He transformed into dozens of flame balls, his fire chain piercing through the gangsters, reducing them to ashes.

Jon grabbed Jigsaw by the collar, his body bursting into flames as he transformed into his Spirit of Vengeance form. Jigsaw's eyes widened in horror. "You...you are...the Flaming Skeleton?" he stammered.

The Ghost Rider paused, his flaming skull tilting in confusion. "Who?!" he asked, his voice echoing in the silent factory.

Jigsaw explained, "Flaming Skeleton! Don't you know your nickname? We've called you that since the last time you rode a flaming monster down the street from the sky!"

Ghost Rider's flames flared up, his anger palpable. He lifted Jigsaw off the ground, his voice booming in the factory. "Let's not even talk about your sins! Just because of your taste in naming, killing you ten thousand times won't be enough!"