VROOOM!
The motorcycle screamed through Brooklyn's streets at speeds that would have made NASCAR drivers nervous, with Noah gripping the handlebars like he'd been born for it and Frank holding on for dear life behind him.
Despite his complete lack of motorcycle experience fifteen minutes earlier, Noah was now threading through traffic with the fluid precision of someone who'd spent years perfecting the art of two-wheeled mayhem.
"You lied to me!" Frank shouted over the engine noise. "You can drive! And you're damn good at it!"
"I really couldn't before!" Noah called back, taking a corner at an angle that should have resulted in immediate road rash. "I think it's just natural talent!"
The motorcycle responded to his commands like an extension of his body, every adjustment feeling instinctive rather than learned. It was as if the machine's capabilities were somehow uploading directly into his nervous system.
Ultimate Stuntman, Noah realized. It's not just about being immortal—it's about being able to do impossible things and survive them.
The description had mentioned stunt work, but Noah was beginning to understand that "stunts" covered significantly more territory than he'd initially assumed. This wasn't just healing from injuries—this was supernatural competence in any situation that required defying death through skill and audacity.
Frank didn't buy Noah's explanation for a second. Nobody went from "never driven a motorcycle" to "professional stunt rider" in the span of one chase scene. But given their current circumstances—being pursued by heavily armed Russians through city traffic—he decided to table his skepticism for later analysis.
A black SUV roared around the corner ahead of them, clearly positioning itself to ram them off the road.
"Incoming blockade!" Frank warned.
"I see it!" Noah replied, and instead of slowing down, he twisted the throttle harder.
The motorcycle accelerated toward the SUV like a guided missile, the gap between them closing at a rate that violated several laws of physics and common sense.
At the last possible second, Noah shifted his weight and threw the bike into a sideways slide that brought them within inches of the SUV's bumper. Frank felt the vehicle's side mirror brush his jacket as they slipped past in a maneuver that belonged in action movies rather than real life.
"Show-off," Frank muttered, though there was grudging respect in his voice.
"Did you want me to crash into them instead?" Noah asked, straightening the bike and checking his mirrors. "Because I can arrange that."
That's when Frank spotted the convoy behind them—four more SUVs filled with Russian mobsters who apparently had unlimited ammunition and very little regard for civilian casualties.
RATATATATATAT!
Automatic weapons fire erupted from the pursuing vehicles, bullets chewing up the asphalt around their wheels as gangsters leaned out of windows with the tactical precision of action movie villains.
Noah began weaving the motorcycle in serpentine patterns, making them a nearly impossible target while Frank returned fire with his Browning. The Punisher's aim was considerably more effective than their pursuers', and soon one of the SUVs was veering into a lamp post with its windshield ventilated and its driver permanently retired.
BANG!
Frank grunted and grabbed his left arm, blood seeping between his fingers where a lucky shot had found its mark.
"You hit?" Noah asked, glancing back with concern.
"Keep your eyes on the road!" Frank barked, trying to stem the bleeding while continuing to fire with his remaining functional arm.
His last magazine ran empty just as Noah turned around completely, studying Frank's wound with the attention of a field medic rather than someone operating a motorcycle at highway speeds through heavy traffic.
"WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?!" Frank roared, his legendary composure finally cracking as he realized his driver was no longer looking where they were going.
"Checking how bad you're hurt," Noah replied reasonably, as if having a casual conversation rather than piloting a missile with handlebars.
Frank looked forward to see traffic, pedestrians, and various immovable objects approaching at velocities that suggested immediate conversion into modern art.
"LOOK AT THE ROAD!"
"Don't worry," Noah said, pulling out his pistol with his free hand. "I've got this covered."
[ULTIMATE TALENT UNLOCKED]
The notification blazed across Noah's enhanced awareness like a supernova of possibility.
[Title: Ultimate Marksman]
[Description: There's a reason the bullet curves. The moment it leaves the barrel, the shooter applies precise wrist motion to impart lateral acceleration, creating impossible trajectories. This is gun-fu.]
[Primary Ability: Bullet Time]
Suddenly, the world around Noah shifted into crystalline clarity. Time didn't exactly slow down, but his perception of it expanded dramatically. He could see the trajectory of every incoming bullet, calculate the exact angle needed for return fire, and process tactical information at speeds that made combat feel like a chess game played in slow motion.
Noah raised his pistol with supernatural confidence, still steering one-handed through Brooklyn traffic at speeds that would terrify jet pilots.
Frank watched in fascination and horror as Noah began returning fire with accuracy that defied geometry, his bullets somehow finding their targets despite shooting backward while driving a motorcycle he couldn't see past.
This kid isn't human, Frank realized. He's something else entirely.
The remaining SUVs began exploding, crashing, and generally experiencing rapid unscheduled disassembly as Noah's impossible marksmanship turned the chase scene into a demonstration of applied ballistics that would have made physics professors weep.
"Much better," Noah said with satisfaction, holstering his weapon and finally looking forward again.
Frank stared at him with the expression of someone whose understanding of reality had just been thoroughly renovated.
"Kid," he said finally, "we need to have a very long conversation about what exactly you are."
_________________________________________________________________________
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