Columbia University, one of the most prestigious Ivy League schools in America, is nestled in Morningside Heights in the northern part of Manhattan Island, New York. It borders the Hudson River and lies just north of Central Park. The location alone—at the heart of Manhattan—makes it an academic and cultural hub, surrounded by towering institutions of finance, law, and commerce.
Manhattan itself is New York's beating heart, home to Wall Street in the south, the financial center of the world, and Midtown's cluster of commercial powerhouses. To attend Columbia is to plant oneself in the epicenter of global influence—but such privilege comes at a cost.
Tuition runs upward of $60,000 annually, and room and board tack on another $14,000. Altogether, attending Columbia costs roughly $75,000 a year. It's a sum that could easily represent the annual income of a middle-class household, or even a dream just out of reach for most working-class families.
Had it not been for the million-dollar compensation she received after her father's death, Bella would never have made it. Her predecessor likely would've dropped out of school altogether to work full-time. But now, as an adult with full access to that account, Bella had become, at least technically, a millionaire.
There was also the matter of the stash discovered in Sheldon Manor after she destroyed it—over $100,000 in cash. Of course, she couldn't deposit that into her main account without raising red flags, so it remained untouched for now.
After spending several days researching Columbia and Angie's university details, the two rented a short-term apartment on Queen's Road in Queens. Since there was still a month until school started, they decided to make the most of it—spending their days exploring the boroughs, wandering through Central Park, browsing SoHo boutiques, and strolling beaches at Coney Island. It was a carefree month of laughter, sightseeing, and indulgence.
But that peace wouldn't last.
Boom. Boom.
The sound of distant gunfire cracked through the stillness of the night, followed by an explosion that shook the nearby street.
Angie, sleeping in the other room, didn't stir. But Bella's eyes snapped open the moment the sound reached her ears. Her instincts flared.
She rose swiftly and moved to the window, her body tense, every nerve alert. A cold gleam flashed in her golden eyes. Even before she opened the curtain, she already knew something dark had awakened in the city.
"Fear... panic... screams... and that familiar stench again," she murmured.
Then, with a flick of her wrist, the window curtain fluttered—and Bella was gone.
"I finally get to see the city of sin with my own eyes."
The Bronx.
Known as one of New York's darker, grittier boroughs, the Bronx was steeped in stories—violence, corruption, drugs. On this night, one of those stories was playing out inside a bar that had been transformed into a blood-drenched battlefield.
Loud music pumped through the broken speakers, lights flickering in epileptic bursts. But no one was dancing.
The 300-square-meter bar was filled with chaos. Crimson blood stained the floor and the walls. Bodies—dozens of them—lay lifeless, riddled with bullet holes. And in the center of it all stood a lone figure.
He wore a black trench coat over full tactical gear. A stark white skull symbol stretched across his chest. His build was massive, muscular, the kind only hardened combat veterans possessed. A Spas-12 multi-function shotgun rested in his hands, smoke still trailing from its muzzle.
It was Frank Castle, better known as The Punisher.
He glanced around, assessing the carnage. A dozen vampires—pale skin, sharp teeth, blood-red eyes—stood between him and the exit, snarling like rabid beasts. Their fangs glistened under the flickering bar lights.
From the back of the room, someone hissed, "Punisher…"
Another laughed wickedly. "He interrupted our blood feast. I'll suck him dry."
"I'll splatter his brain against the wall," another sneered. "One finger at a time."
And then they laughed—inhuman, guttural, twisted.
Frank didn't flinch.
Click.
He cocked the shotgun.
"Come on, then," he growled. "Let's dance."
Bang! Bang! Bang!
The thunderous blasts of gunfire echoed as Castle opened fire. Bullets tore through bodies, blood sprayed the air like mist, and vampires screeched in agony. But they didn't die. Not all of them.
Ordinary ammunition meant nothing to the undead.
But Frank Castle wasn't ordinary. He came prepared. He'd spent days tracking this nest, loading specialized UV-infused rounds into his weapons. Each impact seared their flesh, slowing them just enough.
He backed into a corner, surrounded.
He reached into his coat, ready to hurl a modified UV grenade.
BOOM!
The ceiling shattered above them, debris crashing down, smoke and dust filling the room.
From the sky descended a meteor.
Crash!
The floor cracked. Dust swirled. The room fell silent.
As the dust settled, a figure stood at the center of the crater—tall, regal, dangerous.
A woman.
She wore a perfectly tailored black suit laced with subtle golden threads. Her white V-shaped mask covered her face, but her long legs, white gloves, and flowing blond hair exuded power. Rain fell around her—but didn't touch her. It was as if nature itself refused to interfere.
Her jewel-like golden eyes shimmered beneath the mask.
The vampires hissed in fear.
The Punisher narrowed his eyes.
"Who the hell…?" he muttered, shotgun still raised.
A whisper in his ear crackled through the comms.
"Frank… be careful. Don't shoot. It's her."
Frank didn't respond. He just watched.
The tension in the air was suffocating. Even the vampires hesitated.
Bella turned slightly toward Frank. Her voice was smooth and clear as crystal.
"You did good work here… for a human," she said.
Her eyes shifted to the vampires still standing.
"But these rats are mine now."
One of the vampires growled. "You're just another freak in a costume. Get lost before—"
Boom!
He didn't finish.
A flash of golden light burst from Bella's palm. The vampire's head exploded.
Silence.
Bella turned slowly, like a predator surveying her prey. "Anyone else?"
The rest of the vampires launched themselves at her.
In a blur, Bella vanished from sight—moving faster than any of them could track.
CRACK! SNAP! THUD!
Limbs flew, bodies hit walls, bones shattered. Golden afterimages danced through the air like falling stars.
One by one, the vampires were taken down. None survived longer than a breath.
When it ended, Bella stood alone, brushing vampire blood from her glove.
Frank lowered his shotgun slowly.
"…I thought I was hardcore," he muttered.
Bella glanced at him.
"You are," she replied. "But this is my city now."
And with that, she walked past him, boots echoing on the blood-slick floor.
Outside, the night was silent once more.
The Bronx—cleansed by blood and vengeance.
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