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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