“Good lord!”
Maria Hill stared at the monitor and dropped her coffee on the floor. Frank Castle’s vital signs had just spiked and dropped in the span of a few seconds. Oxygen saturation, blood pressure, heart rate… he had just sustained mortal injury and was about to die.
Hill reached for her display and tapped a holographic icon labelled “HF”. A prompt came asking her to confirm activation. She indicated yes.
Now, all she could do was wait and hope it wasn’t too late.
Noises echoed around Frank Castle. Unintelligible noises over the gurgling of him choking on his own blood. He had blacked out but seemed to be coming in and out of consciousness as his brain was starved of oxygen. His body was cold. He had faced death before, but never like this. Not with this kind of certainty.
His left wrist suddenly began to burn, the pain building by the second. The pain shot through his entire body; an electric charge that overrode everything else. Was this true death, then? Not the peaceful drift to sleep, but pain as his body began to shut down? Was this what it was like to die?
Tucked into a ball, he felt at his slashed throat. The pain was worse but he also felt something else after touching his neck.
Hope.
His throat had been sliced open. His abdomen had been opened like a slaughtered pig. Yet he could feel his wounds were gone. He was feeling a burst of energy and strength flow through his body. His vision was clearing. The pain was subsiding… he felt better than he had in years. Somehow, he had healed from his wounds. Even old aches and pains were gone.
He opened his eyes and looked. Bushman and Mojimbe were talking to each other. The Katangan King had come down into the arena from his protected seat. He and Bushman were talking about the speed with which Bushman had taken down the famous Punisher.
His K-Bar was within reach.
It was time for Round Two.
Maria Hill stared at the monitor and dropped her coffee on the floor. Frank Castle’s vital signs had just spiked and dropped in the span of a few seconds. Oxygen saturation, blood pressure, heart rate… he had just sustained mortal injury and was about to die.
Hill reached for her display and tapped a holographic icon labelled “HF”. A prompt came asking her to confirm activation. She indicated yes.
Now, all she could do was wait and hope it wasn’t too late.
Noises echoed around Frank Castle. Unintelligible noises over the gurgling of him choking on his own blood. He had blacked out but seemed to be coming in and out of consciousness as his brain was starved of oxygen. His body was cold. He had faced death before, but never like this. Not with this kind of certainty.
His left wrist suddenly began to burn, the pain building by the second. The pain shot through his entire body; an electric charge that overrode everything else. Was this true death, then? Not the peaceful drift to sleep, but pain as his body began to shut down? Was this what it was like to die?
Tucked into a ball, he felt at his slashed throat. The pain was worse but he also felt something else after touching his neck.
Hope.
His throat had been sliced open. His abdomen had been opened like a slaughtered pig. Yet he could feel his wounds were gone. He was feeling a burst of energy and strength flow through his body. His vision was clearing. The pain was subsiding… he felt better than he had in years. Somehow, he had healed from his wounds. Even old aches and pains were gone.
He opened his eyes and looked. Bushman and Mojimbe were talking to each other. The Katangan King had come down into the arena from his protected seat. He and Bushman were talking about the speed with which Bushman had taken down the famous Punisher.
His K-Bar was within reach.
It was time for Round Two.
“Agent of Fury: Part Three”
Mojimbe laughed at the writhing body of the famous Punisher.
“The man is a legend,” said the dictator, “But look, he thrashes like the girl I did away with the other night. In the end, Bushman, all men die alike. Pathetically.” He stepped closer to the Punisher.
“My King,” said Bushman, “I wouldn’t step closer. The man is dying, yes, but he could still be dangerous.”
“Unlikely,” said Mojimbe. “He has seconds left to live. Look at the pool of blood! You gutted him like a pig.”
Bushman looked down at the Punisher. The man was strong, yes…but even he should have expired by now.
Something was wrong. “Mojimbe,” he said, dropping all pretense of an honorific to his employer, “I think we should—“
It happened in the span of two seconds. Mojimbe was laughing at the Punisher’s defeat one instant and the next a blade was firmly entrenched in his windpipe, the tip protruding out the back of his neck. Bushman looked down to see the Punisher’s arm extended. He had thrown the knife with enough force to nearly decapitate the African dictator. Mojimbe dropped to the floor, dead before he had time to understand what had happened.
The other guards in the arena were separated from the arena by a plexiglass shield. Castle leaped up, covered in blood and gore and tackled Bushman. Bushman was not an easy man to surprise, but Castle had done it. As he tumbled down to the ground with Castle, he chastised himself for getting overconfident. Mojimbe was dead and he soon would be. Castle was fighting with renewed vigor.
Frank Castle was filled with rage and energy. He felt like he had mainlined adrenaline. His fists pounded on Bushman, turning his bone white facial tattoo red. The world was sharp in detail. Everything seemed to be moving in slow motion while he moved at normal speed. His heart was beating so hard he thought it might explode.
He lashed out at Bushman over and over, never giving the man a moment’s respite. Blood covered the mercenary’s body as Castle beat him down.
Castle breathed heavily as his perceptions began to slow down. It was then he saw what had happened around him.
He hadn’t simply beaten Bushman… he had killed every soldier in the arena that hadn’t dropped everything and ran.
Castle was covered in blood but very little of it was his own now. Dead soldiers, Royal Guard of the dead Mojimbe, were everywhere. Some had their heads turned around backward. Others had their throats ripped out. Some had limbs splayed out in impossible angles. Better than a dozen men were now dead around Castle.
He checked his abdomen. No wound. He felt his neck. Nothing. Even old scars had disappeared from his stomach and arms. He had no idea why he was still alive, but he knew it had to be something Fury and Hill did to him.
His mission had been to replace Mojimbe with a Life Model Decoy that would rule in favor of policies and methods directed by Nick Fury. Mojimbe was believed to be part of a mysterious Cabal that had corrupted world government and law enforcement, including S.H.I.E.L.D. Castle had been successfully recruited by Fury to work with him and Maria Hill against this corrupt group. Castle’s first mission had been here with Mojimbe’s death.
Castle reached to his ankle and removed a patch of false skin. Underneath was a small pellet. Castle removed the pellet and tossed it across the room. The condensed Pym Particles reacted with the air and began the chemical and energetic reaction of growing the pellet to a larger size. Within moments, the pellet was the size of a man. The covering fell away and dissolved, leaving a Life Model Decoy of Mojimbe.
Castle then went to Mojimbe’s body. He removed the knife and then opened the dead man’s mouth, breaking the jaw as he did so. He took a grenade from a soldier’s body and put it between Mojimbe’s teeth. He quickly took the deep red jacket of one of the guardsmen and donned it, knowing it would not act as a good disguise for long.
He attached an electrode from the LMD to the head of Mojimbe. The android quickly interfaced with the dead brain of the African dictator. Seconds later, the electrodes fell away. The LMD fluttered its eyelids and looked around curiously. Its eyes fell on Castle and the carnage around them.
“We must leave now,” said the imposter that sounded exactly like Mojimbe.
Castle walked over to Mojimbe’s body and went to pull the grenade’s pin when he saw the chest of Bushman slowly rising and falling. Castle reached down and grabbed a gun from the floor and aimed it at Bushman’s head. He fired. Satisfied, he dropped the weapon and went to the waiting grenade. He pulled the pin and ran out behind the new Mojimbe LMD.
They were out the door a scant few seconds when the explosive detonated.
Maria Hill exhaled. Castle was still alive. The artificial healing factor had worked. It was derived from the mutant Wolverine and while it had been deemed a success of genetic laboratory adaptation, there were side effects of its use. It was meant as a last-ditch gamble if the mission deemed it necessary. Hill knew that while Castle had obviously been dying, she hadn’t known if the mission was an absolute scrub yet. Fury might not be pleased, but to hell with it. The man had needed help and she had given it.
She didn’t know why Fury had chosen her as Castle’s mission handler. She had suspicions, but she dared not voice them. She had, surprisingly, found herself empathizing with the trained killer after reviewing his dossier and even still after meeting the man. She had seen men with pain inside themselves, pain so deep it seemed nothing could ever assuage it. Her father had been one of those men. Her ex-husband had been as well, although for entirely different reasons than her father. Frank Castle was a man in pain, but he seemed to thrive on it. Indeed, it seemed to be his only motivating force. She thought she had been driven… but Castle made all others, even Fury, seem lazy by comparison. Castle was almost suicidal; except he was just too damn good at killing.
An indicator blinked on her display. It was a sensor feed through the Negative Zone beacon Castle had been implanted with. Its signals were sent through a microscopic dimensional aperture that came through the Negative Zone and back to Hill’s SHIELD receiving station here. It was registering a Pym Particle burst. That had to mean only one thing.
Castle had activated the Life Model Decoy.
“I want this man sequestered,” said Mojimbe to his guards. They had been running towards the small arena when Mojimbe had stepped out with a gun at Castle’s head. An explosion had followed from within. Mojimbe shoved Castle at the guards. “No one is to have contact with the prisoner, is that understood?”
“Yes, Your Majesty,” said one of the guards smartly. “Bushman… is he…?”
“He is dead,” said Mojimbe. “He was careless. Now, get this devil to his cell!”
The men jumped at Mojimbe’s request and directed Castle away. They were shocked that the dangerous American did not resist in the slightest.
“I am going to my quarters,” said Mojimbe. “I do not wish to be disturbed.”
Minutes later, Mojimbe entered his palatial quarters and stripped off his bloody clothing. He had a quick shower and redressed in a fine uniform with gold gilt and other military adornments. He then went to his balcony overlooking the estate grounds and the greater Mojimbe City beyond. He stood immobile and closed his eyes, seeming to enter a trance.
Maria Hill leapt at her display as a communication transmission announced itself. She verified the call signs and codelocks before accepting it. The message began scrolling down her screen.
MISSION SUCCESSFUL. INTERCEPTION/REPLACEMENT OF MOJIMBE COMPLETE. MEMORY ENGRAMS UPLOADED. AGENT CASTLE SEQUESTERED AND READY FOR EXTRACTION. AWAITING FURTHER INSTRUCTIONS.
Hill responded on her keyboard. She had to be quick lest the microburst transmission be detected. CASTLE IS ALIVE AND WELL?
YES, responded the LMD, CASTLE IS RELATIVELY UNHARMED.
Hill responded again. UPLOAD MEMORY DUMP AT SPECIFIED TIME. INITIATE EXTRACTION IN ONE HOUR.
UNDERSTOOD. OUT.
Maria exhaled, not realizing she had been holding her breath. Castle would be out within the hour. It was time to notify Fury.
Frank Castle leaned against the cold stone wall and welcomed the chill it drove through his body. The cell was dim save for a small light coming from an aperture in his metal door. His body had felt hot after whatever had brought him back from near death, and the cool cell was needed. He felt feverish except he also felt good. Energized. It had been all he could do not to snap the necks of the guards that had escorted him here… except that hadn’t been part of the mission. He had snapped back to reality long enough to release the LMD and play the meek prisoner while the new ‘Mojimbe’ began its assigned tasks. If all went according to plan, he would be exfiltrated within an hour or two. Fury would have his puppet leader and a line into this mysterious Cabal that was a threat to SHIELD and the world.
He guessed that an hour had passed, or close to it. The cell door opened and in stepped Mojimbe, alone. Guards were stationed outside, but stayed back at Mojimbe’s upheld hand. “Leave us,” he said.
“But, General,” said one of the guards.
Mojimbe turned to stare his officer in the eye. “I am not accustomed to repeating myself.”
“Yes, sir,” said the guard. “Do you wish the door to be closed?”
“Yes,” said Mojimbe. The guard stepped back and closed the cell door. Castle and Mojimbe were now alone.
“I’d like to go home now,” said Castle.
Mojimbe began speaking rhetoric about how failure was the only option when facing the grand nation of Katanga. But in Castle’s ear, a different voice spoke, this one more familiar.
“Castle, this is Hill,” said the voice, an electronic buzz faint in the background. “Just nod and look humble. The cell is under surveillance.”
“Fine,” mumbled Castle.
“You are going to be personally escorted by Mojimbe to the desert, where he’s going to tie you to the ground and leave you to die. Once he has left, we’ll exfil you.”
“Fine,” mumbled Castle.
The voice cut out and Castle was left to hear the ramblings of Mojimbe. Finally, the LMD turned dictator knelt down and looked Castle in the eye. “You will be dragged to the desert and tied down, left to rot and feed the vultures. No quick death for you, my friend.”
Mojimbe knocked on the cell door and left as soon as it opened. Several guards came in and dragged him out. A hood was pulled over his head as he was moved roughly. He could feel he was sitting in the back of a truck of some kind. Seconds later, he was being driven away, the harsh African sun beating down on him.
An hour later, Castle was held down by a half dozen guards as he was tied at the wrists and ankles to posts that were driven into the ground. The ropes were looped over and around his wrists and forearms, the hood was removed as he was held down by a half dozen men. His wrists and ankles were tied down with some kind of metal cable and wrapped around his forearms enough that it was impossible to break out of, even if he dislocated his thumb. Castle was hoping Hill was on the money about this. It was hot and the sun wasn’t even at its apex yet.
Mojimbe stood over him. “Goodbye, Mr. Castle. We will not see one another again. Give my regards to the carrion eaters.” He spat on Castle with disgust, then left. Castle could hear the men boarding their truck and then seconds later, drive away.
The heat was oppressive and with no shelter, Castle knew he wouldn’t last the day. If the exposure didn’t kill him, then the predators hungry for any morsel they could find, would.
Judging by the angle of the sun, he had been lying there for 2 hours. His circulation was nearly gone in his hands and feet. His skin was red and dry. His sweat evaporated as soon as his body released it.
“Taking your sweet ass time,” said Castle aloud.
There was no answer. The line was dead.
Another hour passed. Castle was running down the physical high he had mainlined whatever Fury had healed him with. As a Marine, he had learned the value of patience. As the Punisher, that lesson had become his life’s mantra.
Now, he was just pissed off.
He heard footsteps approach from behind his head. He strained to see past the top of his head, but he couldn’t see anyone. The footsteps got louder as they approached.
“Hello, Mr. Castle.” A man stood over Castle’s face, blocking the sun. He couldn’t believe what he was seeing.
“You’re dead,” said Castle. “I killed you.”
“Then I guess Jesus Christ and I have something in common,” said Bushman. He walked around Castle and crouched as he pulled out a Bowie knife, its blade glistening in the sun.
A million questions were going through Castle’s head, but they were all moot. He was helpless against Bushman. He had no idea if the healing stunt would work twice.
Bushman looked none the worse for wear after being shot in the head and blown up by a grenade. If anything, he looked in the best shape of his life. Even the wounds from their knife fight were gone. That’s when Castle noticed a detail that should have been apparent the second he saw the large man: Bushman’s white tattoo on his face was gone. The skin was unmarked.
Bushman flipped the knife in his hand and brought it down to Castle’s ankles. Castle tensed. It was several moments before he felt the circulation returning to his feet. Bushman went to Castle’s wrists and similarly freed them.
Bushman stood back and gave Castle some room to sit up. “I’m not going to hurt you, Mr. Castle. Unless you make me.”
Castle sat up, rubbing his arms as he slipped the cables loose. “What the hell is going on?”
Bushman brought out a water bottle and tossed it to Castle. “We have a mutual friend.”
Castle then realized the truth, however improbable it was. “Cigar smoking son of a bitch?”
Bushman nodded. “You’ll feel better once you get moving some more. We have a bit of a walk, then we can leave this country.”
“Lead the way,” said Castle. “I have more than a few questions.”
“I can’t say I have the answers,” said Bushman, “But I suspect your questions can wait until we get to safer ground.”
The men had walked several miles in the desert before they came across a small camouflaged craft. It was a two-seater and once they were inside, it automatically activated. The sleek craft lifted off and sped into the sky. A familiar ‘BAMF’ sounded, and the skyline changed, with the stars visible. They had jumped from low altitude to sub-orbital in a heartbeat. The craft then banked and matched speeds with an odd ship. It looked like a variation of a S.H.I.E.L.D. Helicarrier, but smaller. The craft headed towards an open bay door and landed. As the bay door closed, docking clamps engaged the craft in place. A pressurization gauge went from red to green once the atmosphere equalized. The hatch opened and standing there was Maria Hill.
Castle walked up to her before she could say a word. “What the hell is going on, Hill?”
“Mr. Bushman is a mercenary. He was working for us,” said Hill. “Or rather, a reasonable facsimile.” She walked up to Bushman and put her hand under his armpit. She pressed something and immediately, Bushman stood at attention. His eyes turned pure white. “He’s an LMD.”
“Then the man I killed?” asked Castle.
“The real Bushman, as far as we know,” said Hill. “We’re getting conflicting reports of confirmation of death from our Mojimbe LMD.”
“He’s dead,” said Castle.
“You’ve been dead before, too,” said Hill.
Castle nodded. “So, what happened? How the hell did I survive Bushman’s attack?”
“We used an experimental healing factor, similar to Wolverine’s,” said Hill. “Released from within your tracking chip.”
“So, what,” said Castle, “I’m unkillable now?”
“No,” said Hill. “It takes an incredible strain on your body. I doubt you would survive a second use.”
“Now what?” asked Castle.
“Now, you rest,” said Hill. “Then we talk to Fury.”
Castle sat down and looked at Hill. “Next time, no surprises.”
Hill nodded. “No surprises.”
Hill entered the small office she used on the Quincarrier. She sealed the door as she sat down and called up Nick Fury on her console.
“Status, Hill?” asked Fury.
“Mission accomplished,” said Hill. “Castle was extracted. Our mole is now running Katanga.”
“Does Castle know we tipped Bushman about his arrival?” asked Fury.
“No,” said Hill. “Nor does he know Bushman was working for us.”
“Good,” said Fury. “The Mojimbe plant was necessary, but Bushman’s mission was just as paramount. Has Bushman checked in?”
“Yes,” said Hill. “He’s recovering. The healing factor did the trick with him as well. He escaped.”
“Neither has any knowledge of the other,” said Fury. “Let’s keep it that way.”
“Yes, sir,” said Hill.
“I’ll be in touch,” said Fury. The screen went blank.
Hill took a deep breath. Fury was juggling dangerous balls in the air with this plan of his. Castle and Bushman weren’t the only agents he had in the field dealing with the Cabal. She just hoped that he didn’t drop them and end up killing them all.
The End
“The man is a legend,” said the dictator, “But look, he thrashes like the girl I did away with the other night. In the end, Bushman, all men die alike. Pathetically.” He stepped closer to the Punisher.
“My King,” said Bushman, “I wouldn’t step closer. The man is dying, yes, but he could still be dangerous.”
“Unlikely,” said Mojimbe. “He has seconds left to live. Look at the pool of blood! You gutted him like a pig.”
Bushman looked down at the Punisher. The man was strong, yes…but even he should have expired by now.
Something was wrong. “Mojimbe,” he said, dropping all pretense of an honorific to his employer, “I think we should—“
It happened in the span of two seconds. Mojimbe was laughing at the Punisher’s defeat one instant and the next a blade was firmly entrenched in his windpipe, the tip protruding out the back of his neck. Bushman looked down to see the Punisher’s arm extended. He had thrown the knife with enough force to nearly decapitate the African dictator. Mojimbe dropped to the floor, dead before he had time to understand what had happened.
The other guards in the arena were separated from the arena by a plexiglass shield. Castle leaped up, covered in blood and gore and tackled Bushman. Bushman was not an easy man to surprise, but Castle had done it. As he tumbled down to the ground with Castle, he chastised himself for getting overconfident. Mojimbe was dead and he soon would be. Castle was fighting with renewed vigor.
Frank Castle was filled with rage and energy. He felt like he had mainlined adrenaline. His fists pounded on Bushman, turning his bone white facial tattoo red. The world was sharp in detail. Everything seemed to be moving in slow motion while he moved at normal speed. His heart was beating so hard he thought it might explode.
He lashed out at Bushman over and over, never giving the man a moment’s respite. Blood covered the mercenary’s body as Castle beat him down.
Castle breathed heavily as his perceptions began to slow down. It was then he saw what had happened around him.
He hadn’t simply beaten Bushman… he had killed every soldier in the arena that hadn’t dropped everything and ran.
Castle was covered in blood but very little of it was his own now. Dead soldiers, Royal Guard of the dead Mojimbe, were everywhere. Some had their heads turned around backward. Others had their throats ripped out. Some had limbs splayed out in impossible angles. Better than a dozen men were now dead around Castle.
He checked his abdomen. No wound. He felt his neck. Nothing. Even old scars had disappeared from his stomach and arms. He had no idea why he was still alive, but he knew it had to be something Fury and Hill did to him.
His mission had been to replace Mojimbe with a Life Model Decoy that would rule in favor of policies and methods directed by Nick Fury. Mojimbe was believed to be part of a mysterious Cabal that had corrupted world government and law enforcement, including S.H.I.E.L.D. Castle had been successfully recruited by Fury to work with him and Maria Hill against this corrupt group. Castle’s first mission had been here with Mojimbe’s death.
Castle reached to his ankle and removed a patch of false skin. Underneath was a small pellet. Castle removed the pellet and tossed it across the room. The condensed Pym Particles reacted with the air and began the chemical and energetic reaction of growing the pellet to a larger size. Within moments, the pellet was the size of a man. The covering fell away and dissolved, leaving a Life Model Decoy of Mojimbe.
Castle then went to Mojimbe’s body. He removed the knife and then opened the dead man’s mouth, breaking the jaw as he did so. He took a grenade from a soldier’s body and put it between Mojimbe’s teeth. He quickly took the deep red jacket of one of the guardsmen and donned it, knowing it would not act as a good disguise for long.
He attached an electrode from the LMD to the head of Mojimbe. The android quickly interfaced with the dead brain of the African dictator. Seconds later, the electrodes fell away. The LMD fluttered its eyelids and looked around curiously. Its eyes fell on Castle and the carnage around them.
“We must leave now,” said the imposter that sounded exactly like Mojimbe.
Castle walked over to Mojimbe’s body and went to pull the grenade’s pin when he saw the chest of Bushman slowly rising and falling. Castle reached down and grabbed a gun from the floor and aimed it at Bushman’s head. He fired. Satisfied, he dropped the weapon and went to the waiting grenade. He pulled the pin and ran out behind the new Mojimbe LMD.
They were out the door a scant few seconds when the explosive detonated.
Maria Hill exhaled. Castle was still alive. The artificial healing factor had worked. It was derived from the mutant Wolverine and while it had been deemed a success of genetic laboratory adaptation, there were side effects of its use. It was meant as a last-ditch gamble if the mission deemed it necessary. Hill knew that while Castle had obviously been dying, she hadn’t known if the mission was an absolute scrub yet. Fury might not be pleased, but to hell with it. The man had needed help and she had given it.
She didn’t know why Fury had chosen her as Castle’s mission handler. She had suspicions, but she dared not voice them. She had, surprisingly, found herself empathizing with the trained killer after reviewing his dossier and even still after meeting the man. She had seen men with pain inside themselves, pain so deep it seemed nothing could ever assuage it. Her father had been one of those men. Her ex-husband had been as well, although for entirely different reasons than her father. Frank Castle was a man in pain, but he seemed to thrive on it. Indeed, it seemed to be his only motivating force. She thought she had been driven… but Castle made all others, even Fury, seem lazy by comparison. Castle was almost suicidal; except he was just too damn good at killing.
An indicator blinked on her display. It was a sensor feed through the Negative Zone beacon Castle had been implanted with. Its signals were sent through a microscopic dimensional aperture that came through the Negative Zone and back to Hill’s SHIELD receiving station here. It was registering a Pym Particle burst. That had to mean only one thing.
Castle had activated the Life Model Decoy.
“I want this man sequestered,” said Mojimbe to his guards. They had been running towards the small arena when Mojimbe had stepped out with a gun at Castle’s head. An explosion had followed from within. Mojimbe shoved Castle at the guards. “No one is to have contact with the prisoner, is that understood?”
“Yes, Your Majesty,” said one of the guards smartly. “Bushman… is he…?”
“He is dead,” said Mojimbe. “He was careless. Now, get this devil to his cell!”
The men jumped at Mojimbe’s request and directed Castle away. They were shocked that the dangerous American did not resist in the slightest.
“I am going to my quarters,” said Mojimbe. “I do not wish to be disturbed.”
Minutes later, Mojimbe entered his palatial quarters and stripped off his bloody clothing. He had a quick shower and redressed in a fine uniform with gold gilt and other military adornments. He then went to his balcony overlooking the estate grounds and the greater Mojimbe City beyond. He stood immobile and closed his eyes, seeming to enter a trance.
Maria Hill leapt at her display as a communication transmission announced itself. She verified the call signs and codelocks before accepting it. The message began scrolling down her screen.
MISSION SUCCESSFUL. INTERCEPTION/REPLACEMENT OF MOJIMBE COMPLETE. MEMORY ENGRAMS UPLOADED. AGENT CASTLE SEQUESTERED AND READY FOR EXTRACTION. AWAITING FURTHER INSTRUCTIONS.
Hill responded on her keyboard. She had to be quick lest the microburst transmission be detected. CASTLE IS ALIVE AND WELL?
YES, responded the LMD, CASTLE IS RELATIVELY UNHARMED.
Hill responded again. UPLOAD MEMORY DUMP AT SPECIFIED TIME. INITIATE EXTRACTION IN ONE HOUR.
UNDERSTOOD. OUT.
Maria exhaled, not realizing she had been holding her breath. Castle would be out within the hour. It was time to notify Fury.
Frank Castle leaned against the cold stone wall and welcomed the chill it drove through his body. The cell was dim save for a small light coming from an aperture in his metal door. His body had felt hot after whatever had brought him back from near death, and the cool cell was needed. He felt feverish except he also felt good. Energized. It had been all he could do not to snap the necks of the guards that had escorted him here… except that hadn’t been part of the mission. He had snapped back to reality long enough to release the LMD and play the meek prisoner while the new ‘Mojimbe’ began its assigned tasks. If all went according to plan, he would be exfiltrated within an hour or two. Fury would have his puppet leader and a line into this mysterious Cabal that was a threat to SHIELD and the world.
He guessed that an hour had passed, or close to it. The cell door opened and in stepped Mojimbe, alone. Guards were stationed outside, but stayed back at Mojimbe’s upheld hand. “Leave us,” he said.
“But, General,” said one of the guards.
Mojimbe turned to stare his officer in the eye. “I am not accustomed to repeating myself.”
“Yes, sir,” said the guard. “Do you wish the door to be closed?”
“Yes,” said Mojimbe. The guard stepped back and closed the cell door. Castle and Mojimbe were now alone.
“I’d like to go home now,” said Castle.
Mojimbe began speaking rhetoric about how failure was the only option when facing the grand nation of Katanga. But in Castle’s ear, a different voice spoke, this one more familiar.
“Castle, this is Hill,” said the voice, an electronic buzz faint in the background. “Just nod and look humble. The cell is under surveillance.”
“Fine,” mumbled Castle.
“You are going to be personally escorted by Mojimbe to the desert, where he’s going to tie you to the ground and leave you to die. Once he has left, we’ll exfil you.”
“Fine,” mumbled Castle.
The voice cut out and Castle was left to hear the ramblings of Mojimbe. Finally, the LMD turned dictator knelt down and looked Castle in the eye. “You will be dragged to the desert and tied down, left to rot and feed the vultures. No quick death for you, my friend.”
Mojimbe knocked on the cell door and left as soon as it opened. Several guards came in and dragged him out. A hood was pulled over his head as he was moved roughly. He could feel he was sitting in the back of a truck of some kind. Seconds later, he was being driven away, the harsh African sun beating down on him.
An hour later, Castle was held down by a half dozen guards as he was tied at the wrists and ankles to posts that were driven into the ground. The ropes were looped over and around his wrists and forearms, the hood was removed as he was held down by a half dozen men. His wrists and ankles were tied down with some kind of metal cable and wrapped around his forearms enough that it was impossible to break out of, even if he dislocated his thumb. Castle was hoping Hill was on the money about this. It was hot and the sun wasn’t even at its apex yet.
Mojimbe stood over him. “Goodbye, Mr. Castle. We will not see one another again. Give my regards to the carrion eaters.” He spat on Castle with disgust, then left. Castle could hear the men boarding their truck and then seconds later, drive away.
The heat was oppressive and with no shelter, Castle knew he wouldn’t last the day. If the exposure didn’t kill him, then the predators hungry for any morsel they could find, would.
Judging by the angle of the sun, he had been lying there for 2 hours. His circulation was nearly gone in his hands and feet. His skin was red and dry. His sweat evaporated as soon as his body released it.
“Taking your sweet ass time,” said Castle aloud.
There was no answer. The line was dead.
Another hour passed. Castle was running down the physical high he had mainlined whatever Fury had healed him with. As a Marine, he had learned the value of patience. As the Punisher, that lesson had become his life’s mantra.
Now, he was just pissed off.
He heard footsteps approach from behind his head. He strained to see past the top of his head, but he couldn’t see anyone. The footsteps got louder as they approached.
“Hello, Mr. Castle.” A man stood over Castle’s face, blocking the sun. He couldn’t believe what he was seeing.
“You’re dead,” said Castle. “I killed you.”
“Then I guess Jesus Christ and I have something in common,” said Bushman. He walked around Castle and crouched as he pulled out a Bowie knife, its blade glistening in the sun.
A million questions were going through Castle’s head, but they were all moot. He was helpless against Bushman. He had no idea if the healing stunt would work twice.
Bushman looked none the worse for wear after being shot in the head and blown up by a grenade. If anything, he looked in the best shape of his life. Even the wounds from their knife fight were gone. That’s when Castle noticed a detail that should have been apparent the second he saw the large man: Bushman’s white tattoo on his face was gone. The skin was unmarked.
Bushman flipped the knife in his hand and brought it down to Castle’s ankles. Castle tensed. It was several moments before he felt the circulation returning to his feet. Bushman went to Castle’s wrists and similarly freed them.
Bushman stood back and gave Castle some room to sit up. “I’m not going to hurt you, Mr. Castle. Unless you make me.”
Castle sat up, rubbing his arms as he slipped the cables loose. “What the hell is going on?”
Bushman brought out a water bottle and tossed it to Castle. “We have a mutual friend.”
Castle then realized the truth, however improbable it was. “Cigar smoking son of a bitch?”
Bushman nodded. “You’ll feel better once you get moving some more. We have a bit of a walk, then we can leave this country.”
“Lead the way,” said Castle. “I have more than a few questions.”
“I can’t say I have the answers,” said Bushman, “But I suspect your questions can wait until we get to safer ground.”
The men had walked several miles in the desert before they came across a small camouflaged craft. It was a two-seater and once they were inside, it automatically activated. The sleek craft lifted off and sped into the sky. A familiar ‘BAMF’ sounded, and the skyline changed, with the stars visible. They had jumped from low altitude to sub-orbital in a heartbeat. The craft then banked and matched speeds with an odd ship. It looked like a variation of a S.H.I.E.L.D. Helicarrier, but smaller. The craft headed towards an open bay door and landed. As the bay door closed, docking clamps engaged the craft in place. A pressurization gauge went from red to green once the atmosphere equalized. The hatch opened and standing there was Maria Hill.
Castle walked up to her before she could say a word. “What the hell is going on, Hill?”
“Mr. Bushman is a mercenary. He was working for us,” said Hill. “Or rather, a reasonable facsimile.” She walked up to Bushman and put her hand under his armpit. She pressed something and immediately, Bushman stood at attention. His eyes turned pure white. “He’s an LMD.”
“Then the man I killed?” asked Castle.
“The real Bushman, as far as we know,” said Hill. “We’re getting conflicting reports of confirmation of death from our Mojimbe LMD.”
“He’s dead,” said Castle.
“You’ve been dead before, too,” said Hill.
Castle nodded. “So, what happened? How the hell did I survive Bushman’s attack?”
“We used an experimental healing factor, similar to Wolverine’s,” said Hill. “Released from within your tracking chip.”
“So, what,” said Castle, “I’m unkillable now?”
“No,” said Hill. “It takes an incredible strain on your body. I doubt you would survive a second use.”
“Now what?” asked Castle.
“Now, you rest,” said Hill. “Then we talk to Fury.”
Castle sat down and looked at Hill. “Next time, no surprises.”
Hill nodded. “No surprises.”
Hill entered the small office she used on the Quincarrier. She sealed the door as she sat down and called up Nick Fury on her console.
“Status, Hill?” asked Fury.
“Mission accomplished,” said Hill. “Castle was extracted. Our mole is now running Katanga.”
“Does Castle know we tipped Bushman about his arrival?” asked Fury.
“No,” said Hill. “Nor does he know Bushman was working for us.”
“Good,” said Fury. “The Mojimbe plant was necessary, but Bushman’s mission was just as paramount. Has Bushman checked in?”
“Yes,” said Hill. “He’s recovering. The healing factor did the trick with him as well. He escaped.”
“Neither has any knowledge of the other,” said Fury. “Let’s keep it that way.”
“Yes, sir,” said Hill.
“I’ll be in touch,” said Fury. The screen went blank.
Hill took a deep breath. Fury was juggling dangerous balls in the air with this plan of his. Castle and Bushman weren’t the only agents he had in the field dealing with the Cabal. She just hoped that he didn’t drop them and end up killing them all.
The End