"I think this must be a misunderstanding. And Mr. Frank, I'm really not the owner of this club..."
Wesley raised both hands, doing his best to appear harmless and compliant as he leaned against the leather sofa in the private booth...
A 9mm Browning automatic pistol was pressed against his forehead. If the hand gripping the gun so much as twitched to pull the trigger, this personal assistant (who had only recently climbed his way up) would have his head blown apart like a watermelon.
Just half an hour earlier, this burly, powerfully built man had stormed straight into the Hellfire Club. The gangsters and bodyguards stood no chance against this terrifying killer known as the "Punisher"...
By the time Wesley stepped out to assess the situation, the floor was already littered with groaning bodies, most likely with broken limbs or a dozen or so shattered ribs.
Fortunately, the Punisher had shown some restraint and hadn't outright slaughtered everyone. Otherwise, the club would have been strewn with dismembered body parts.
Judging by the Punisher's usual methods, most gangsters who dared resist ended up with a bullet through the skull or a tactical knife slit across the throat. When it came to killing, the man was ruthlessly efficient.
Clad in his signature outfit, the Punisher spoke coldly, "So, you're telling me you can't provide any useful intel on the Hand?"
In Hell's Kitchen, nothing terrified criminals more than spotting that black T-shirt with the skull emblem at night, because it meant they already had one foot in the grave.
"The Hand had a few under-the-table dealings with Kingpin before, mostly involving the acquisition of properties or old buildings. As for their purpose, I have no idea. Oh, and they've been trying to create some kind of weapon called 'Black Sky', constantly scouting children from all over to serve as vessels... That's all I know." Wesley, being a smart man, cooperated fully and shared everything he knew.
The Punisher's fearsome reputation in Hell's Kitchen was even more terrifying than the legend of the "Red Devil"... At least the latter would only beat you half to death before handing you over to the police, while the former would send you straight to meet your maker.
"Who's your boss?" The Punisher lowered his gun.
He had done his homework on this James Wesley, formerly Kingpin's personal assistant, who had inherited the crime lord's empire after his death.
To Frank, the whole thing smelled like a carefully orchestrated plan.
Frank was very interested in the mysterious boss behind Wesley. For all he knew, this man could be the one who had really killed Kingpin.
"Honestly, I don't know who he is, or even his name... I know nothing about my boss. He only left me a phone number."
Wesley carefully pulled out his phone and, under the Punisher's watchful gaze, dialed his boss's number.
.....
Sean was in the lab personally instructing the chimpanzee named Caesar...
After being injected with ALZ-112, Caesar had demonstrated intelligence and learning abilities far beyond those of his species.
Whether it was words or images, he could grasp them quickly. With continuous training, he had even begun using simple hand gestures to communicate... behavior that went far beyond ordinary animals.
As Dr. Connors put it, Caesar was becoming more and more like a human. The day he started speaking wouldn't even be surprising.
"I can't shake the feeling that you're doing something very dangerous," Connors said, a trace of concern in his eyes as Sean stepped out of the room.
The scientist's instincts were sharp.
"What's wrong Doctor? Are you afraid of Caesar?" Sean smiled faintly.
Through a series of methods, he had firmly bound Connors to his cause.
"Yes." Connors nodded, staring through the thick glass at the chimpanzee whose movements were indistinguishable from a human's, "You're creating a new species, Sean..."
"...Caesar's learning ability is astonishing. He's evolving, Sean! The time it takes for him to absorb new knowledge keeps shrinking... do you know what that means? It means Caesar hasn't reached his limit yet. He still has room to grow. What if one day, he becomes just like us?"
As a scientist, Connors was deeply unsettled by Caesar's terrifying potential. ALZ-112 was originally developed to treat brain degeneration, but if its effects went beyond that... If it could be used on primates, it would be equivalent to creating an entirely new species...
Sean couldn't help but chuckle at Connors' worries...
The exact scenario the doctor feared was the plot of 'Rise of the Planet of the Apes', where ALZ-112 failed in humans, leading to the development of ALZ-113, a drug that not only enhanced ape intelligence, but also acted as a deadly virus for humans...
In that world, humanity was nearly wiped out, and apes rose to form their own civilization.
"Doctor, none of what you're imagining will happen. The development of a new species isn't that simple. How long did it take humans to go from primitive stone tools to modern industrial civilization? There will only ever be one Caesar." Sean dismissed Connors' concerns.
He was training Caesar merely as an interesting pet, nothing more.
In the future, Sean planned to conduct far more dangerous experiments... mutant gene research, super-soldier serums, even a Hulk replication project.
These were all rough blueprints in his mind. No matter how much Caesar evolved, could he really be more terrifying than extraterrestrial life or aliens?
"Don't let caution limit your imagination, Dr. Connors." Sean patted the scientist's shoulder with a reassuring smile.
*Buzz*
Feeling the vibration in his pocket, Sean pulled out his phone. When he saw the caller ID, he frowned.
Wesley wouldn't contact him without good reason... 'Did something major happened in Hell's Kitchen?'
Thinking of his yet-to-be-executed point-farming plan, Sean felt a flicker of confusion as he answered.
Wesley's voice came through:
<...Boss, there's something you might need to handle personally...>
Sean's frown deepened, "Is there a gun to your head, Wesley? You sound tense."
Something felt off... Wesley was usually composed and would never speak in such vague terms. He must be under duress.
<...If you want this guy to live, get to the Hellfire Club in thirty minutes...>
A low, gravelly voice replaced Wesley's before the call abruptly ended.
Sean rubbed his chin...
When had he pissed off someone like this? He always kept a low profile, yet here was someone coming straight for him... 'How interesting...'
Sean ran through the list of Hell's Kitchen figures capable of threatening Wesley: Daredevil had reportedly vanished for a while, Jessica Jones was still playing private investigator, Luke Cage was holed up in Harlem, and Iron Fist hadn't made his debut yet...
The Hand's ninjas wouldn't move against Wesley, given their cooperative relationship.
That left only one man... the Punisher, who crushed criminals with brutal efficiency. And judging by the abrupt phone call, it fit his style perfectly.
A surge of excitement stirred within Sean, as if his dormant combat instincts were awakening, "Points delivered right to my doorstep. No reason to refuse..."