Frank stopped two feet away. He could smell the man’s cologne—sandalwood and fear.
Two down. A thousand to go.
Volkov’s head snapped toward the door. “Who else is here?” The Punisher - Part 2
Frank ascended the service stairwell in full gear: the skull stark white against matte black body armor. His boots made no sound on the concrete. He carried a suppressed Mk 14 EBR—precision, not spray-and-pray. Tonight was surgical. Frank stopped two feet away
“Please,” Vaccaro sobbed. “My daughter. She’s eight. You’d leave her without a father?” A thousand to go
Frank stood there for a moment, breathing the cold air. Then he knelt, picked up the flash drive, and tucked it into his vest. The names on it would take him six months to work through. Six months of blood and gunpowder and sleepless nights.