"Director, your actions violate protocol," Hill said flatly.
"Are you going to tell the Council?" Fury asked without looking back.
"Just this once," Hill replied. She immediately began arranging the flight.
As far as the World Council was concerned, Hellboy was dead, and Liz Sherman was under S.H.I.E.L.D. custody. That was how she would report it.
Hell's Kitchen was always livelier at night, especially since people had started finding those strange rings.
Based on the colors of the rings, the street thugs had split into factions and begun a bloody war. Every time someone was killed, a streak of light would fly into the hand of the killer. The gangs were in total chaos.
Meanwhile, Frank Castle—who had recently traded with Death to bring back his wife and daughter—was enjoying a rare moment of domestic warmth.
Even as the ring on his finger pulsed with warnings, Frank ignored it. How could an Apostle of Death escape Death's insane thirst for vengeance upon the living?
Frank suppressed the trembling in his arm and smiled as his wife fed him a spoonful of soup. Lisa, his daughter, smiled innocently at the scene. It was a picture of harmony, yet an unshakable sadness lingered in the air.
Death's "gift" was more like a cruel joke. The living and the dead were sharing a room. The pain beneath the love only served to harden Frank's resolve. He wanted to become strong—strong enough to replace Death.
He couldn't stand the thought of his family being dragged back to that dark realm, nor could he accept that he could feel no warmth from his wife's skin.
Ring... ring...
Frank's phone rang. He didn't even look at it before hanging up.
"Frank, don't be like that," his wife said reproachfully, the sadness in her eyes clear.
Frank avoided her gaze. He picked up the phone to call back, but it rang again. He frowned at the caller ID and hung up a second time.
"Honey, it's an old war buddy. Every time he calls, it means trouble. Just for today, let me finish this meal with you."
He looked at his daughter, who still understood so little. "Lisa, do you want to go for a picnic tomorrow? If you do, help Daddy convince Mommy not to make me take this call, okay?"
Frank didn't realize how much he was pleading. The tears shimmering in his eyes made his daughter blink in confusion.
"Father," Maria said, tugging at his sleeve. The sorrow was palpable. "Frank, go to work. We aren't going anywhere."
"Maria..."
A knock at the door interrupted him. Frank frowned but didn't stop his wife from going to answer it. He already knew who it was. It wasn't a salesman; S.H.I.E.L.D. agents would have picked up a salesman long before they reached this floor.
It was his old, meddling friend: Nick Fury.
Creek...
"Maria?" Fury's voice was full of shock. Her appearance had shattered his composure.
"Nick, what do you want?" Frank's voice was natural, the voice of a man in his own home. He had practiced this tone a thousand times in his dreams. But his eyes were cold. If Fury did anything threatening, Frank wouldn't hesitate to lose a friend.
"I was worried because you didn't answer," Fury said, recovering. He shook Maria's hand, greeting her as if everything were normal. He felt the coldness of her skin—the touch of a soul.
Fury realized what he had stumbled upon. He could only hope Frank wouldn't blow his head off in front of his family. This was a massive secret. If it were Fury's secret, he would kill anyone who knew.
The dead had returned as spirits? It was a intoxicating prospect. It was a form of immortality.
"I don't take work calls when I'm with my family, even if overtime pays better," Frank said pointedly. He was telling Fury to get out.
"Fine. I thought you'd like this job—a legitimate one. If you're busy, I'll wait at the usual spot."
Fury left quickly. He could feel the killing intent radiating from Frank. If he stayed any longer, he'd be staring down the barrel of a gun.
The usual spot? They didn't need a spot. Frank could find him whenever he wanted. It was like when Frank decided someone needed to die; there was nowhere to hide.
Maria looked at Frank, her eyes filled with grief. "Frank."
"Maria, I just wanted more time with you."
"I know. But you need to live in the world of the living. We are already dead."
Maria put her arm around Lisa's shoulder. They stood on one side of the table; Frank and Jill stood on the other. The table was the border between life and death.
The light flickered, and the bulb over Maria and Lisa went out. Light and shadow, life and death. The boundary was absolute.
"So, this 'death' was intentional?" Rorschach asked, his voice filled with dissatisfaction.
He watched as Vorusk flipped through his journal, powerless to stop him.
"Strictly speaking, you aren't dead yet," Vorusk said, looking up with a mocking grin. "Your body just needs a little medicine to wake up."
Vorusk continued to read. A journal, it seemed, was never meant for its author's eyes alone. Vorusk felt like laughing.
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