The man was rambling incoherently, clinging to Cohen as he talked nonstop.
He claimed he was once an intelligence analyst for the Department of Homeland Security. One day, he accidentally uncovered a video showing U.S. soldiers executing a supposed enemy combatant in Afghanistan.
But something in the footage struck him as wrong.
The man being executed had clearly identified himself as a member of the Afghan National Police—yet they shot him without mercy.
When the analyst reported what he saw to his superiors, he unknowingly signed his own death warrant.
His colleagues from the agency took him to a bridge and shot him in the chest. He fell into the river below.
Now he was crying and sniffling, clinging to Cohen's leg like a lifeline.
Cohen was speechless. Brother, I'm literally in the middle of killing people. Could you pick a better time?
Still, as the man continued his story, something began to feel oddly familiar.
The man had miraculously survived the attempted execution.
But to protect himself and his family, he had no choice but to disappear and live under an alias.
Thanks to his elite skills as a hacker, he was able to survive without worry for food or shelter. But he could never reunite with his wife and child. He knew the moment he revealed himself, endless assassination attempts would follow.
In his pursuit of revenge, he bought a mountain of electronic gear and built a secret intelligence base—his own personal command center—to uncover the truth behind his betrayal.
But the days spent alone with nothing but his right hand were taking their toll.
For months, he had watched over his family through surveillance cameras. He could only witness their lives from afar.
Then, tonight, the dam finally burst. Drunk out of his mind, he had stumbled to the church doors, hoping to pour out his soul to God.
Cohen's eyes lit up.
He asked cautiously, "What's your name?"
"D-David... Lieberman."
I knew it. He was David Lieberman—Microchip—the man behind the Punisher, the brain behind Frank Castle.
A super hacker. A tactical genius. The man in the chair.
Almost…
The man who got cuckolded by Frank Castle.
Longing for his wife, David had once begged Frank to check in on her—and right there in front of the surveillance feed, those two had... well... done the deed.
Tsk tsk.
That old dog Frank really had no shame.
Still, even setting aside the charming, mature wife, David himself was a treasure.
Earlier that night, when Cohen went out to scout the area, he discovered something crucial—killing wasn't hard. The hard part was making sure no one could trace it back to him.
Especially in Hell's Kitchen.
Here, it wasn't just about dodging retaliation from enemies. He also had to be wary of that horned devil.
If Daredevil ever caught him in the act, Cohen had no doubt the man would haul him straight to prison.
But with a top-tier hacker on his side, everything would be different.
Especially one who could pilot drones and give him a god's-eye view of the battlefield.
To Cohen, that was like giving wings to a tiger.
The only question was—how to get David to work for him?
After a moment's thought, he casually slammed his palm against the back of David's head.
The man, who had been babbling nonstop, collapsed unconscious to the floor.
Cohen hoisted him over his shoulder and carried him upstairs to the guest room.
He still had unfinished business... bodies to bury.
…
Half an hour later, the system prompt finally echoed in his mind.
[Mission Complete]
Target Rank: Black Iron Tier
Promotion: Not achieved
Cause of Death: Buried alive
Freshness: ★★★★★
Final Emotions: Terror, Regret
Emotional Intensity: ★★★★★
Overall Mission Rating: ★★★★★
Special Reward for Five-Star Evaluation – Upgrading reward package…
Reward: Black Iron Five-Star Pack, Luck Multiplied
He opened the pack.
[Congratulations, you've obtained the ability: Night Vision.]
This ability... was excellent.
Human beings relied on vision more than any other sense to perceive the world. With night vision, he would become a predator in the darkness.
A sharp glint passed through Cohen's eyes. The system was clearly encouraging him to get creative with his killings.
As long as he earned a five-star rating, the chances of pulling something valuable from the reward pack increased significantly.
Glancing at the system again, the Black Iron-tier target progress was now at 1/5.
That meant the number of required kills for reward packs at each tier increased in an odd-number sequence: 1, 3, 5, 7, 9…
In other words, the easiest times to achieve five-star mission ratings would be during the 1st, 3rd, and 5th kills of each level.
Once the number of kills increased, it would become difficult to maintain a five-star quality without resorting to large-scale massacres.
So the first few kills of each tier had to be handled with care.
For now, he still needed four more five-star kills to earn his second top-tier reward pack.
Looks like he still had unfinished business with the Fire-Crutch Gang.
…
Pain.
So much pain.
Too much pain!
David woke up from his unconscious state with a splitting headache. Clutching his skull, he sat up and looked around in confusion.
Where... was he?
Panicking, he stumbled downstairs and found himself inside a church.
He slapped his forehead, trying to remember what happened, when a voice called out, "You're awake? Come on out, then."
In the backyard of the church, Cohen stood among the flowerbeds, wearing rubber gloves and tending to the wilted plants.
When he saw David walk over, dazed and uncertain, he smiled gently.
"The last priest was always too busy. He didn't have time to care for these flowers," he said casually.
"I just gave them some fertilizer. Maybe in a few days, they'll bloom again."
David eyed him from head to toe.
Black clerical robe. White Roman collar. A cross hanging over his chest.
Polite. Bookish. Gentle smile.
And yet, despite this calm appearance, David couldn't shake the feeling—like he was standing face to face with a tiger.
That kind of gut instinct... he hadn't felt it since facing the elite agents of Homeland Security.
Something's wrong.
As a top-tier hacker and intelligence analyst, David had absolute faith in his intuition.
"Uh… I must've been really drunk last night, haha…"
He tried to cover for himself, forcing a smile. "Good morning, Father. I'm... Frank. A novelist. I've been having writer's block lately and drank a bit too much."
"Guess I couldn't tell fiction from reality anymore. I may have said a lot of nonsense… Please don't mind it. Sorry!"
Cohen simply smiled at him.
"David Lieberman," he said softly. "There's no need to hide from me."
David's face stiffened.
"I'm Frank," he said insistently. "David Lieberman is just a character in my novel. I must've gotten too into the role—"
"Your wife's name is Sarah Lieberman. You have two children—Zach and Leo."
David's expression changed instantly. His wife and children were his bottom line—his reverse scale. He would never allow anyone to harm them.
In a fit of rage, he lunged forward, grabbing Cohen by the collar. "Who are you? Motherf—who the hell are you?!"
His movements were wild and uncoordinated.
Cohen responded with a heavy punch to his stomach. The searing pain forced David to bend over.
Dragging him into the chapel, beneath the altar's crucifix, Cohen stood tall and spoke solemnly.
"I am a knight of God, a punisher of sin.
Under His guidance, I will cleanse this world.
I am the blade of God's second judgment—I... am the Great Flood!"
He crouched down, looking down at the kneeling David.
"Follow me, and witness the darkest corners of this world.
In the deepest despair, you will also witness the light of hope.
The flood destroys, but it also redeems. It is despair, but it is also salvation.
This world... will either be purified by me, or destroyed by me."
Cohen's expression was solemn, his gaze brimming with righteous fury. He looked every bit the part of a messianic figure.
David looked up at him and coldly spat two words:
"Bullshit."
Cohen sighed inwardly. I strike a divine pose, and yet no one kneels?
Still, he didn't get angry. He had another card to play.
"Last night, I received a revelation from God.
David Lieberman, intelligence analyst for the Department of Homeland Security, discovered video evidence of Operation 'Hellhound.'
You were shot in broad daylight by senior agent Carson Wolf and fell into the river.
Ironically, the phone in your chest pocket saved your life.
You escaped death, disappeared, and began plotting your revenge.
Am I wrong?"
David flinched slightly. He didn't even know the operation was called Hellhound.
"That's just stuff I mumbled while drunk. You probably made up the rest. Don't think I'm buying it."
"Then tell me—are you planning to seek out Frank Castle? Planning to work with him?"
David froze. That thought had only existed in his mind—he hadn't shared it with anyone.
Still, he shook his head. "I don't believe you."
"Fine. Then I'll just tell you outright.
During the war in Afghanistan, the CIA cultivated opium in remote mountainous regions. They smuggled drugs back into the U.S.
They used the bodies of fallen American soldiers to transport the drugs, raking in massive profits.
Operation Hellhound was a cover-up mission—an assassination campaign to silence those who knew too much.
Wolf was one of them.
The man behind it all... is none other than the current head of the CIA's Black Ops Division—
The man they call Agent Orange: William Rawlins."
David stood frozen in place.
"So, are you going to take them on?
Or do you really think Frank Castle alone is enough?
Don't be naïve.
This isn't a movie or a novel. You think he's got some kind of plot armor? That he can't die no matter what?"
David finally snapped out of it. "And you? You think you can take them on?"
"Of course!"
Cohen stood beneath the crucifix, arms spread wide. A beam of sunlight pierced through the chapel window, casting down upon him, as if divinity itself had descended.
"I am not a man. I am a god! A god who punishes all evil!"
David, the staunch atheist, felt his vision blur. His eyes lost focus.
"This... how is this even possible?"
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