The concert had been a whirlwind of sound and emotion, a symphony of lights and music that had swept the audience off their feet. Chris Bourne, the lead singer of the Diamond Band, had been the eye of this storm, his voice a beacon that had drawn in the crowd and held them captive for over two hours. Now, as the final notes of their encore faded into the night, Chris stepped down from the stage, his heart still pounding with the adrenaline of the performance.
A phalanx of security guards formed a protective barrier around him, their eyes scanning the crowd for any overzealous fans who might try to breach their line. Chris, however, was more interested in finding two familiar faces in the sea of people. "Annie! Jon!" he called out, his voice carrying over the din of the crowd.
At the sound of their names, Annie and Jon turned in unison, their eyes meeting Chris's. A ripple of recognition passed through the crowd, and a path was cleared for the two friends to approach the stage. Annie shook her head in mild exasperation, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. "We're heading out, Chris," she said, her voice carrying a note of fond admonishment. "Don't forget to get some rest."
Chris responded with a grin, opening his arms wide in a theatrical gesture. "Hey, don't rush off! What about our traditional goodbye kiss?" His words hung in the air, and a blush crept up Annie's cheeks. They had always shared a friendly peck on the cheek when parting ways, but in front of this crowd, the prospect was a bit daunting.
The crowd, sensing the moment, began to cheer and whistle, encouraging Annie to step forward. Jon, ever the instigator, gave her a gentle push from behind. Annie shot him a glare, but he simply shrugged, a mischievous grin on his face. With a resigned sigh, Annie stepped forward, her heart pounding in her chest. She leaned in, pressing a quick kiss to Chris's cheek, then turned and disappeared into the crowd, Jon following close behind.
As the crowd's cheers began to die down, a small figure emerged from the throng. A young boy, no more than ten, dressed in a red hoodie and clutching a Diamond Band t-shirt in his hands. "Mr. Bourne," he called out, his voice trembling with nerves. "Could you... could you sign this for me?"
Chris looked down at the boy, his heart touched by the earnestness in his eyes. "Of course, buddy," he said, taking the t-shirt and a pen from one of the security guards. "What's your name?"
The boy swallowed hard, his eyes wide. "P-Peter. Peter Parker."
"Peter Parker," Chris repeated, signing the t-shirt with a flourish. He handed it back to the boy, a warm smile on his face. "Good luck, Mr. Parker."
Peter hesitated, then blurted out, "Can you... stop saying bad things about Iron Man? I like both of you, and it makes me uncomfortable when you do that."
Chris paused, taken aback by the boy's words. He looked at Peter, seeing the sincerity in his eyes, and felt a pang of guilt. "You're right, Peter," he said, his voice soft. "I've been out of line. I'll think about what you said."
As Peter disappeared back into the crowd, clutching his signed t-shirt like a treasured possession, Chris couldn't help but reflect on the boy's words. He had always seen his banter with Iron Man as harmless fun, but now he realized that it might have been causing discomfort to some of their fans. It was a sobering thought, and one that he promised himself he would take to heart.
***
Later in the night, the moon hung high in the sky, casting long, eerie shadows over the city. The world was asleep, save for a few nocturnal creatures and those who thrived in the darkness. Among them was Jon, who had slipped away from the comforting warmth of his home, leaving Annie and Ayla in the land of dreams. His destination was a clandestine meeting with a man known only as the Punisher.
Jon apparated to their agreed rendezvous point, an abandoned warehouse in the heart of the city. The Punisher was already there, a solitary figure bathed in the dim glow of a nearby streetlight. He turned at the sound of Jon's arrival, his eyes scanning the younger man's face. "You look like hell," he remarked, his voice as cold and hard as the steel of his weapon.
Jon shrugged, a wry smile playing on his lips. "Ran into a friend," he replied, his tone laced with bitterness. "The one who gave the funny nickname to me."
The Punisher's lips twitched in a semblance of a smile. "Did you teach him a lesson?" he asked, his voice devoid of any real concern. "Or do you need me to do it for you? I will not kill him, don't worry." Said joking.
Jon shook his head, his smile fading. "No need," he said, his voice heavy. "He's family."
The Punisher was silent for a moment, his gaze fixed on Jon. "That's unfortunate," he finally said, his voice devoid of any real sympathy. He turned away, heading towards a black, unmarked car parked nearby. Jon followed, sliding into the passenger seat.
"So, what's the plan?" Jon asked, his gaze fixed on the Punisher.
The Punisher's lips curled into a grim smile. "We've hit the mother lode," he said, his voice filled with a dark satisfaction. "Parker Robbins is making a deal with Kingpin. And I know where it's going down."
Jon's eyebrows shot up at the mention of the notorious crime lord. "Wilson Fisk?" he asked, his voice filled with a mixture of surprise and anticipation. He had heard of Kingpin, of course. The man was a legend in the criminal underworld, a titan among villains. But Jon had never thought he would cross paths with him.
"That's the one," the Punisher confirmed, his eyes on the road. "You've heard of him?"
Jon chuckled, a dark, humorless sound. "His reputation precedes him," he said, his voice filled with a grim determination. "Let's go. I'm in the mood for some fishing."
***
Twenty minutes of tense silence passed as the Punisher navigated the labyrinthine streets of the city, bringing them to their destination. Unlike their previous operation, which had taken place in the confines of a factory, this time their target was an open-air meeting. It called for a more cautious approach, a careful observation to ensure they had all the pieces of the puzzle before making their move.
They found a vantage point on a nearby hill, the city sprawling out beneath them. Through the lens of a high-powered telescope, they watched as two men in black windbreakers patrolled the area, their guns glinting ominously in the moonlight.
"Someone's coming," the Punisher murmured, his eyes never leaving the telescope.
A sleek, black car pulled into the open space, its headlights cutting through the darkness. A man emerged from the vehicle, flanked by a handful of bodyguards. His hair was slicked back, a stark white against his unnaturally pale skin.
"Lonnie Lincoln," the Punisher said, his voice a low growl.
"Tombstone," Jon echoed, recognizing the man from his research. Lonnie Lincoln, better known as Tombstone, was a formidable figure in the criminal underworld. Born with albinism, he had grown up facing ridicule and discrimination, which had hardened him into a ruthless criminal. After being exposed to the Diox-3 serum, he had gained superhuman abilities, becoming an enforcer for Kingpin.
The Punisher turned to Jon, a hint of surprise in his eyes. "You seem to know a lot for a repairman," he said, his voice laced with suspicion. He knew Jon had only recently gained his powers, and before that, he had been a jobless drifter. Yet, Jon seemed to have an extensive knowledge of the criminal underworld.
"He was in 'Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse'," Jon replied nonchalantly.
The Punisher blinked, clearly confused. "What?"
"I mean, I've been doing my homework," Jon clarified, his gaze returning to the scene unfolding below.
Just then, Tombstone's trading partners arrived. Three men approached from the opposite direction, their figures stark against the city's skyline. The leader was a middle-aged man dressed in white, his appearance strikingly at odds with the illicit nature of their meeting. Behind him were a blond man wearing a silver mask and a burly man in a red hood.
The Punisher let out a low curse. "I can't believe it's them," he muttered, his voice filled with disbelief.
"Who are they?" Jon asked, his knowledge of the Punisher's rogues' gallery not as extensive as he would have liked.
"The Holy, the Elite, and Mister Payback," the Punisher replied, his voice heavy. "They call themselves the Vigilante Squad. I thought I'd taken them out."
"Didn't I say Parker Robbins has..." Jon began, but the Punisher cut him off.
"That's not what surprises me," he said, his voice tight. "What I can't understand is how they've stooped so low as to join these gangs."
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