For the first time in his life, Frank Castle was really glad his shot missed.
Punisher grabbed a rickety piece of equipment, tested its base, then knocked it on its side. Under the crash of the metal he launched himself up, shinnying a rough support pole like a tree and rolled onto the walkway above.
Mockingbird was not stupid; he knew that. He kicked himself for forgetting it for even a moment. Even before that self-righteous asshole Rogers had gotten a hold of her he’d seen her tactical sense in action; she was at least his equal back then. Training with Captain America had made her more cunning, more adaptable, more aware.
He was in for one hell of a fight.
For a moment, Frank grinned downwards at the rusty, filthy metal supporting him.
This was the most fun he’d had in forever.
Schooling his face back into its normal scowl, Frank assessed his environment. The walkway he was on was part of an interconnected grid of suspended metal, with perforated steel underfoot and the bare minimum of safety railing.
Everything was rusty, creaking and precarious. He could feel, even lying still, the aged bolts and supports complaining about his weight. She wouldn’t have the same issue; he out weighted her by a good fifty pounds he figured.
There was less light up here, which was an advantage for her: she had the fancy goggles.
The metal under him shifted just a little, a soft sway like a rocking chair.
Frank dropped his handgun and forward rolled to his feet…
Punisher, she’s right behind you! (Go to 9)
Sense a stand off coming? (Go to 12)