The soft morning light filters through the curtains, casting a warm glow across Mary's bedroom. She stirs in her bed, feeling the gentle weight of Bubs, her loyal dog, nestled beside her. It's a rare moment of peace, one she's come to cherish in a world defined by chaos and danger.

As she stretches and yawns, Mary's gaze drifts to the living room. There, on the worn-out couch, she sees Frank Castle, the man who'd barged back into her life the previous night, sleeping soundly with Max, curled up next to his side.

Mary carefully extricates herself from the warm cocoon of her blankets, careful not to disturb Bubs, who merely lets out a contented sigh as she rises. She pads silently across the hardwood floor toward the living room, her steps barely making a sound.

Mary watches them for a moment, an unspoken understanding passing between her and the slumbering vigilante. She knows that despite the risks, despite the darkness that clings to him, there's something about Frank Castle that draws her in, that makes her want to help him find a sliver of redemption.

With a soft sigh, Mary tiptoes to the small kitchenette, deciding to brew a pot of coffee. She needs the caffeine to clear her thoughts and prepare herself for the day ahead. The past twenty-four hours have been a whirlwind, and she can't help but wonder what other surprises lie in store.

Just as the coffee begins to percolate, Mary's phone chimes with a familiar alert tone. She frowns as she picks it up from the cluttered countertop, wondering what could possibly be so urgent this early in the morning.

The screen illuminates with a breaking news notification, and her heart sinks as she reads the headline:

"Attack at DA's Office - DA Reyes Shot and Killed."

A cold shiver runs down her spine as she quickly taps on the notification to read the full article. The details are grim—a brazen attack on the District Attorney's office, resulting in the death of Reyes. The assailant had apparently escaped, leaving chaos and confusion in their wake.

Mary's first thought, irrational as it may be, is whether Frank is somehow responsible for this latest act of violence. But even as the suspicion flits through her mind, she knows it's impossible. Frank had been with her all night, sleeping soundly on her couch with Max, and there's no way he could have made it to the DA's office and back in time.

She exhales a shaky breath, trying to dispel the unwarranted anxiety that grips her.

As the coffee finishes brewing, Mary leans against the kitchen counter, her mind racing with a mix of relief and unease. She knows that her decision to help Frank, to become entangled in his mission for justice, is a dangerous one. But there's something about him, something that resonates with the darkness within her own past, that makes it difficult to turn away.

She takes a deep sip of her coffee, feeling its warmth spread through her, chasing away the remnants of her uneasy thoughts. The morning sunlight spills into the apartment, casting a soft glow on the scene before her—Frank still asleep on her couch.

For now, Mary decides, she'll set aside the news of the attack and the questions it raises. She'll focus on the here and now, on the unlikely companionship she's found in Frank Castle and the fragile sense of purpose that's slowly taking root within her.

The morning unfolds in silence as the sun climbs higher in the sky, casting dappled patterns of light across Mary's small apartment. The air is heavy with unspoken tension, an invisible thread that seems to bind Mary and Frank even in their silence.

Frank stirs on the couch, his eyes slowly blinking open as he becomes aware of his surroundings. He stretches his battered limbs, wincing at the soreness that courses through his body. Despite the aches, he's used to far worse.

Without a word, Frank rises from the couch and shuffles into the small kitchen. His movements are deliberate, economical, as he sets about making a pot of coffee. The clink of mugs and the gurgle of the brewing machine punctuate the silence, filling the room with a sense of normalcy that belies the circumstances.

Mary watches him from her perch at the kitchen counter, her expression unreadable. She knows that despite the uneasy truce they'd formed the night before, the fragile understanding between them, there are still questions that linger in the air, heavy and unresolved.

Frank pours himself a cup of coffee, steam rising in a wisp of fragrant vapor, and takes a sip. He doesn't look at Mary as he does so, his gaze fixed on some distant point outside the window. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee fills the apartment, a comforting contrast to the simmering tension.

Mary finally breaks the silence, her voice low and measured, "You didn't leave in the middle of the night."

Frank's jaw tightens as he sets his mug down on the countertop with a soft thud. He turns to face her, his eyes guarded, "No."

Mary leans against the counter, studying him with a scrutinizing gaze, "You could have."

Frank's gaze narrows slightly, and there's a hardness in his eyes that speaks of the many battles he's fought, both within and without, "I could have."

Their conversation is laden with unspoken words, with the weight of decisions made and futures uncertain. Mary knows that Frank didn't come here to seek her help, to involve her in his mission, and yet he's here, sharing this space with her, sharing a cup of coffee.

"Why?" Mary asks, her voice tinged with a mixture of curiosity and caution.

Frank's brow furrows, and for a moment, he seems at a loss for words. He takes another sip of his coffee, as if buying time to formulate a response.

"I told you last night—I didn't have anywhere else to go."

Mary nods slowly, acknowledging the truth in his words. But she senses that there's more to it than that, more that remains unsaid between them.

"You could have found somewhere else," She points out, her voice soft but insistent.

Frank's eyes finally meet hers, and there's a vulnerability in that gaze, a hint of something he rarely shows to anyone, "Maybe."

The conversation hangs in the air, a fragile bridge between them. Mary knows that their paths have intertwined for reasons beyond mere chance, that the darkness they both carry has drawn them together.

The tension lingers, a palpable force that seems to pull them closer even as it pushes them apart. Mary knows that she can't escape the gravity of Frank Castle's presence, that he's a man on a relentless mission, one she's inexplicably chosen to be a part of.

With a heavy sigh, Mary pushes away from the counter and walks over to the couch.

"I don't know what you're planning," Mary says as she strokes Max's fur, "But if you're going to stick around, at least be careful."

Frank watches her, his gaze still guarded, but there's a glimmer of something in his eyes—a hint of gratitude, perhaps, for her unspoken understanding.

Mary doesn't press further, doesn't demand answers or explanations. She knows that Frank Castle is a man of few words and many scars, and their shared silence speaks volumes. But as she watches Max sit by Frank's feet, her eyes flicker to meet the man's gaze as an idea strikes her mind.

" The woman."

" What woman?"

" The blonde who gave me Max."

" Karen?"

And in that moment of realization, Frank's eyes widen just the slightest.

" Karen..." He trails.

" You know where she lives?" Mary asks.

Frank's eyes narrow as he processes Mary's question. His mind is always working, calculating, assessing potential threats and resources. And in this case, the mention of Karen Page brings a new layer of complexity to their conversation.

"Yeah," He admits reluctantly, "I know where she lives."

The unspoken question lingers in the air: Why?

Mary studies Frank, her thoughts racing. Karen Page, the investigative journalist with a knack for getting involved in dangerous situations. It's not difficult to connect the dots. If Frank knows where she lives, there's a reason. And if he's here, it means that reason is significant.

"Is she in trouble?" Mary asks, her voice edged with concern.

Frank hesitates for a moment, his eyes flicking away, and it's enough to confirm Mary's suspicions. There's something more to this story, something that involves Karen in a way that Frank doesn't take lightly.

"Maybe," He finally says, "But that's not your problem."

Mary's gaze hardens, and she steps closer to Frank, her voice resolute, "If she's in trouble because of something you're involved in, then it becomes my problem."

" It's not safe out there," Frank argues," Stay here."

" Why don't you stay here so I can stop the poor woman from dying?" Mary utters as she immediately goes to grab her coat and shoes.

She prepares herself to leave in record time, but just as her hand grasps the cool metal handle, she hears a voice speak up from the kitchen.

" You know where you're going?" He asks.

Mary pauses, her grip loosening on the handle as she hears the heavy sound of his footsteps getting closer.

" How do you know where she lives?" He asks.

" You didn't tell me?" Mary asks with faux innocence as she turns around to face him," Oh, that's weird. I could've sworn you did."

" Stop stalling, sweetheart. What did you do?"

" Nothing too crazy... just some light stalking."

" You were stalking her?"

" Why do you care? It's not like she's your girl--"

But before Mary finishes her sentence, her eyes read the look on Frank's face and quickly retracts her statement.

"Never mind, not my business."

" It's not like that," Frank says.

" Like I said, it's not my bus--"

" She reminds me of my kid," Frank interjects with a stern and stiff tone," Got it? Now drop it?"

" Dropping it," Mary nods in confirmation.

The city outside is a mix of chaos and normalcy, a reflection of the dual lives they lead. Mary and Frank move with purpose through the crowded streets, both aware of the ever-present danger that could erupt at any moment. It's a city that never sleeps, and for people like them, it's a city that never forgives.

As they reach Karen's apartment building, the tension in the air grows thicker. The possibility of danger lurks around every corner, a threat that neither of them takes lightly.

Mary glances at Frank as they stand at the entrance, a silent understanding passing between them. They both know that there's no turning back, no escaping the darkness that surrounds them. It's a life they never wanted, a life they've tried to leave behind, but it's a life that's chosen them.

" You go up," Mary says," I'll be the eyes on the ground."

" You're not wearing a vest," Frank says as his eyes flicker down," And you don't have a side arm."

" If I need a sidearm, I'll take one," She counters, " Go."

Without further words, they part ways. Frank makes his way up the stairs towards Karen's apartment, silent and vigilant, while Mary remains on the ground floor, her senses sharp and her nerves on edge.

Time seems to stretch as Mary waits, each moment heavy with anticipation. She watches the entrance, listens for any sounds that might indicate trouble, and prepares herself for whatever may come.

Then, it happens in a heartbeat. Gunshots echo through the stairwell, a sharp, staccato burst that sends a chill down Mary's spine. She doesn't think, doesn't hesitate. Instinct and adrenaline take over as she sprints towards the stairs, determined to reach Frank.

As she races up the steps, her heart pounding in her chest, she meets Frank halfway down.

"Go!" Frank barks at her, his voice urgent.

" I'm going!" Mary shouts as she turns around and runs down the stairs with him.

They burst through the entrance into the open air, the world outside still bustling with the usual city activity despite the nearby danger. Frank's eyes sweep the area, searching for potential threats, while Mary's gaze darts between the building and the surrounding streets, her mind racing with concern for Karen.

"We need to move," Frank says, his voice commanding but tinged with an undercurrent of urgency.

Without waiting for Mary's response, he grabs her arm, leading the way as they navigate through the nearby alleyways, seeking cover from any potential pursuers. They move swiftly, their footsteps echoing through the narrow pathways as they weave through the labyrinth of buildings and streets.

It's not until they're several blocks away, safely ensconced within the anonymous cityscape, that Frank eases their pace, his breaths coming in ragged gasps.

Mary's chest heaves, her panic subsiding into a lingering mix of fear and frustration. The relief of escaping the immediate danger mingles with her concern for Karen's well-being.

"We can't just leave her there," Mary says, her voice edged with desperation.

" Cops are coming, they'll deal with it," He brushes off.

As they continue through the dimly lit streets, Mary's eyes dart to a nearby convenience store. The neon signs buzz with flickering light, and the shelves are stocked with various items, including a familiar glass bottle of vodka.

Without thinking, Mary grabs the bottle and slips it into her bag. It's a reflex, a coping mechanism she's clung to in times of stress, though it's been years since she's indulged. She knows it's a terrible way to deal with her emotions, but for a brief moment, it offers solace.

Frank, who has been keenly aware of her every move, glances at her bag and narrows his eyes.

"What's that?"

Mary follows his gaze and freezes. Her guilt is immediate, the weight of her actions settling in her chest. She hadn't meant to steal it, hadn't even realized what she'd done until now.

"Mary," Frank says sternly, "Put it back."

She hesitates, torn between the temptation of a familiar escape and Frank's disappointed gaze. Slowly, she takes the bottle out of her bag and returns it to the shelf.

Frank nods in approval, a silent acknowledgment of her choice, "Let's get back to your place."

They continue their journey, but the tension between them has grown thicker, overshadowed by Mary's impulsive act. Her mind races with thoughts of the chaos and danger that Karen is facing, and the guilt of her stolen bottle of vodka adds to her burden.

The streets are mostly empty now as they approach Mary's apartment building. The journey back is a silent one, punctuated only by the faint sounds of the city at night.

As they reach Mary's apartment door, Frank's voice breaks the quiet, "I'll take the couch."

Mary nods in agreement, though stands still once they're inside the apartment. She ignores the happy pants of Bubs as he wags his tail, not even fully registering it in her head as she spaces out, only coming back to reality moments later as she turns her head to ask a question.

" Care for a drink?"

" You mean like what you almost stole?"

" The key word there being almost."

" Whatcha got?"

" Whiskey and more vodka."

" Whiskey."

Mary turns to the kitchen, where she grabs two glasses and fills one of them with whiskey and the other with vodka, then returns to the living room where she hands Frank his drink.

Frank accepts the glass of whiskey, the amber liquid catching the dim light in the room. Their fingers brush briefly during the exchange, and the contact sends a jolt of tension between them.

As they sit on the worn-out couch, their shoulders nearly touching, an unspoken rift lingers in the air. The events of the night, the danger they've faced, and the impulsive act of Mary stealing the vodka have cast a shadow over their fragile camaraderie.

The room is filled with the soft, almost inaudible hum of the city outside, a stark contrast to the turmoil within. Mary takes a small sip of her vodka, her fingers tracing the rim of the glass. Her gaze is distant, lost in thought.

"Is it always like this with you?" She asks, her voice barely above a whisper.

Frank turns his head to study her, the weight of her question sinking in. He's used to people being wary of him, of questioning his actions and motives, but Mary's inquiry feels different. It's a glimpse into the turmoil that simmers beneath her calm exterior, the trauma she's endured and the scars she carries.

"Yeah," He finally answers, his voice quiet and laden with a heavy truth. "It's always like this."

Mary takes another sip of her vodka, her expression pensive. She knows that their lives are marred by violence and danger, but hearing Frank's confirmation is a stark reminder of the unending chaos they both face.

"Why do you do it?" She asks, her eyes meeting his with a mix of curiosity and concern.

Frank's gaze doesn't waver as he answers, "Because someone has to."

The words hang in the air, the weight of responsibility and a relentless sense of purpose evident in his tone. Mary senses the uncompromising determination that drives Frank, the demons he battles every day.

As they sit in silence, the alcohol serving as a brief respite from their harsh reality, Mary can't help but feel a strange connection to the man beside her. They're two damaged souls, intertwined by the darkness that surrounds them, and despite the tension and the weight of their pasts, there's a fragile understanding that binds them.

The city outside continues its restless rhythm, the never-ending heartbeat of a place that demands resilience. Mary and Frank, two survivors in a world of chaos, sit together on the couch, their shared silence speaking volumes.

Frank meets her gaze with a fierce intensity. He doesn't speak, but his eyes speak volumes. They hold a haunted history, a pain and loss that words can't adequately convey. It's a burden he carries, a burden that Mary recognizes.

Their connection deepens as the unspoken truth hangs between them. They're two souls marked by tragedy, bound by the darkness they've endured. And in that moment, their lives intersect in a way that defies explanation.

Mary can't look away from Frank's eyes, can't break free from the magnetic pull that draws her closer to him. The tension lingers, a force that's both irresistible and terrifying.

The room is filled with the distant sounds of the city, the echoes of sirens and conversations from the street outside. But in that small, dimly lit space, Mary and Frank are suspended in time, caught in the gravity of their shared pain and the undeniable tension that binds them.

Despite the potent tension that lingers in the room, the night remains uneventful. The sounds of the city continue to murmur beyond the apartment walls, but Mary and Frank choose to surrender to exhaustion rather than each other's company.

Mary is the first to retreat, heading to her small bedroom. Bubs follows her, curling up at the foot of her bed, a loyal and comforting presence. She lies in the darkness, her thoughts a whirlwind of turmoil. Her past, her encounters with Frank, the danger that seems to follow him, it all collides in her mind.

Frank, on the other hand, makes himself as comfortable as he can on the couch. It's not the first time he's slept in a less than ideal place, and he's used to a life of discomfort. He's a soldier through and through, and the hard couch isn't something that fazes him.

As the minutes turn into hours, the tension that has gripped them both begins to ebb, the weariness of the night taking over. The world outside continues its relentless march, but inside the small apartment, the turmoil of the day is temporarily stilled.

Mary listens to the sounds of the city, each one a reminder of the life she's tried to leave behind. Frank, too, hears the distant echoes of a world he can't fully escape. They're two damaged souls, bound by their pasts and the uncertainty of their futures.

The night passes in silence, the darkness a temporary respite from the chaos that surrounds them. Mary and Frank don't speak, don't share secrets or stories. Instead, they surrender to sleep, each of them haunted by the specters of their pasts, and by the undeniable tension that has woven its way into their lives.

The next day comes as the clock ticks and ticks and ticks. From the apartment to a parking lot they go. They steal, or, 'borrow', and old beige car with Frank in the driver's seat and Mary in the back with her legs splayed out on the seat.

" Seatbelt," Frank says as he buckles in.

" But--" Mary says in an attempt to argue.

" Seatbelt," He repeats, his tone stern and cold.

Mary rolls her eyes, but obliges and fixes her position in order to buckle herself in, and only when Frank hears the click does he start the car. He drives off to a hotel and waits in yet another parking garage, letting the car idol as the music from the tapes gently plays over the speakers, giving them a peaceful ambiance before the passenger's door is opened.

" You said you'd bring a car, not steal mine," Karen mutters as she closes the door, then jumps as she looks toward the backseat," What-- Mary?!"

" Hey," Mary says with a gentle wave.

" You're involved in this?" The blonde asks.

" Now I am," Mary sighs," Seatbelt."

" What?"

" He won't start driving till you buckle up."

With a small huff, Karen buckles herself in, her mind still trying to get a grip of her situation. The moment he hears the click, Frank takes the car out of park and begins to drive away from the shitty hotel and to an even shittier diner, where the three pile out of the car and into a booth.

" Not so sure stopping is such a good idea," Karen observes as she sits nervously with her hands clasped together.

" Ma'am? Just get a little black coffee over here?" Frank calls out to the waitress, sitting shoulder to shoulder with Mary, who's cramped next to the wall," Anything new from the cops?"

" Just that they want you dead," Karen says, then turns to Mary," And that they don't know you exist yet."

" Yet," Mary repeats.

" How about that, uh... that DA? She have anything on the Blacksmith?" Frank asks.

" Only that he's moving an unprecedented... Unprecedented volumes of uncut narcotics into Manhattan," Karen responds," There's an unfinished highway on Long Island that was illegally used as a landing strip in the '90s. I mean, it would require payoffs, bribes..."

Alas, the man is a ghost, at least in Frank's mind.

" Okay, so, that leaves us with railroads, shipping lines, trucks, maybe?" Karen asks as the waitress pours Frank some coffee.

He says thank you, then the waitress pours some coffee for both Karen and Mary before she disappears back behind the counter.

" You didn't seem surprised that I owned a gun," Karen adds.

" I guess the only thing that surprised me is that you didn't plug me," Frank chuckles," You pick it out yourself?"

" Why?"

" People who don't know shit about guns usually go for something shiny. You know, something with a... with a fancy grip. There's always the asshole who gets the big hand cannon that kicks like a mule and they're too afraid to use it. But a... 380 shows thought. Maybe it's not your first rodeo."

" Maybe it isn't," Karen sighs, then tilts her head down to the table," Almost took the shot... but I believe you. I don't like what you do. And ultimately, I think you probably belong in jail. But you... you're honest. You... you never lie to me."

" Does he?" Frank asks.

" Who?" Karen asks.

" Lover boy," Mary responds, arms crossed as she rests slouched in the booth," The lawyer."

" Not the other one, uh..." Frank trails as he struggles to remember the name," Murdock.

" Yeah," Karen nods," He's got issues. It's complicated, like most people. Hard person to get to know. I just think that inside he's..."

" You love him, right?" Mary asks.

" You can't know that," Karen scoffs, staring over at the woman in disbelief.

" I'm sorry, can't know what?" Frank asks.

" You can't..."

"Come on. We're in court, all that shit going on, it's all over your face," Frank utters, his voice dark and eyes covered by the shadow of his baseball cap," You can't hide that. You love him."

" I might have... feelings for Matt Murdock, but it's just... it's a swirl, it's a lot of things," Karen replies nervously, her heart rate spiking as her breathing becomes uneven," Like... ingredients. It's not love."

But as the waitress swings by the refill the coffee, Frank has to speak up.

" Ma'am, can I ask you, do you guys always serve bullshit here or is that just her, huh?" He comments, but only continues speaking once the waitress walks away," I'm sorry. You were saying?"

" He's the kind of man who hurts people. Not like you, but...he damages them. Breaks them," Karen utters.

" Sorry, is that supposed to mean something?" Frank asks.

" So those are the people that you get out of your life."

" Is that right? Look, I might generally be considered out of my skull, so this might not mean much, but this could be the craziest, most batshit thing I've ever heard in my life. People that can hurt you, the ones that can really hurt you, are the ones that are close enough to do it. People that get inside you and... and... and tear you apart, and make you feel like you're never gonna recover. Shit. I'd... I... I would chop my arm off right here, in this restaurant, just to feel that one more time for my wife. My old lady, she didn't just break my heart. She... She'd rip it out, she'd tear it apart, she'd step on that shit, feed it to a dog. I mean, she was ruthless. She brought the pain. But she'll never hurt me again. You see, I'll never feel that. You sit here and you're all confused about this thing, but you have it. You have everything. So, hold on to it. Use two hands and never let go. You got it?"

Karen nods, before her eyes flicker over to Mary, where they exchange a silent understanding from the man's words.

" You need to go in the back and get the waitress. You tell the cook and anyone else who's back there to find the biggest piece of stainless steel and you get under it," Mary utters without a single ounce of hesitation," Now."

" Wait. What's happening?" The blonde asks.

" The Buick. It's rolled around the block three times before it pulled up," Mary responds.

" Who are they?" Karen asks.

" Just some guys who are about to walk into a diner for the last time," Frank utters grimly.

" You're such an asshole."

" You got that right."

Karen slips into the kitchen with ease, Mary slides down underneath the table, and Frank stays perfectly calm sipping his coffee in the booth as three men dressed in black enter the diner. Even then, Frank remains completely unphased and doesn't react until they attack first.

One of the men pulls out their gun on Frank, causing the Punisher to spring into action. Meanwhile, Mary takes a different approach and plunges a knife deep within the other man's shoe, then slips out from the table and kicks him straight in the chest, where she then uses the blunt force of a napkin dispenser to knock him out cold.

The scene unfolds with rapid, brutal intensity. As the third man lunges at Mary, his gloved hands outstretched to close around her throat, she reacts with a quick and instinctual counterattack. She uses her body's momentum to roll to the side, taking him with her. His grip on her throat is momentarily broken as they tumble to the floor, but he's determined to overpower her.

Their struggle is fierce and chaotic. Mary's training kicks in, and her movements are precise and efficient. She uses a combination of technique and raw strength to fend off her attacker. Her elbow strikes, and kicks land with lethal precision.

Meanwhile, Frank's fight is equally intense. The first attacker who drew a gun is met with brutal force. Frank disarms him swiftly, causing the weapon to clatter to the floor. He follows up with a series of punishing blows, leaving the man incapacitated. The chaotic scene continues to unfold around them.

As the man grapples with Mary on the floor, she seizes an opportunity. With a quick, fluid motion, she manages to slip out from under him, ending up on top. Her knee is planted firmly on his chest, pinning him down, and she raises a shard of a broken plate, poised to strike.

For a moment, they lock eyes. His face is a mix of fear, pain, and desperation. He knows what's coming. And in that split second, Mary hesitates. Her grip on the makeshift weapon falters as a flicker of mercy crosses her face.

But then the man beneath her makes a sudden move, attempting to shift his weight and reverse their positions. Mary's reflexes kick back in, and she doesn't give him a chance. She brings the shard of the plate down with unflinching determination, and the man's fate is sealed.

As the violence subsides, Mary rises from the floor, her chest heaving with exertion. She scans the diner and sees Frank, still calm and collected, having dealt with his own assailant. It's a gruesome tableau of violence and chaos.

Karen slowly emerges from the kitchen, visibly shaken and nearly ill from all the blood splattered everywhere. She doesn't meet their gaze as she reaches for the phone in order to call the police.

The guilt pools in Mary's stomach as her chest heaves, the guilt she feels for Karen not being able to so much as look at her. When her eyes meet with Frank's and she sees his bruised face and bloody clothes, she's reminded of the life she was forced into, and the life she's so easily able to slip back into.

But they're far from done.

From the diner to the docks the murderous pair go. Frank brings his sidearms, whilst Mary has none. She follows Frank on a killing spree, in which the voice in the back of her head is constantly yelling at her to turn around and run away.

But she never does.

She doesn't run, but instead, she fights. She fights alongside Frank as they leave a trail of bodies in their wake. Frank is determined, he's angry, he's ruthless.

It comes to a point where he begins spreading gasoline all over one of the ships, as if to ensure his own demise and he grabs a lighter, only to be stopped by Mary.

" Let me go!" He shouts.

" You're gonna get yourself killed!" She counters.

" Oh, what's that? You scared, sweetheart?" Frank all but taunts, his eyes filled with rage as he hears footsteps coming from the inside," Gotcha, chickenshit."

Frank storms into one of the rooms on the ship, once more leaving Mary to be the watchdog. She decides to make herself useful and completely dismantles the guns laying by the freshly killed bodies, rendering them useless as for their enemies not being able to use them.

She hears the sound of guns firing, followed by a pair of somewhat familiar footsteps. Soft, yet strong and full of purpose. Then, she hears the sound of two men fighting each other, soon revealed to be Frank and the Devil of Hell's Kitchen himself. They're throwing punches left and right, yet both still standing strong and Mary goes into a full sprint, then jumps down to their level where she lands between them and forcefully separates them.

" I'm so sick of you," Frank growls, before he lunges once more.

Only thing time, Mary Spartan kicks him back down and uses that same leg to kick Matt behind her.

" Just couldn't let me have it, could you?" Frank snarls as he struggles to get up," You just couldn't let me have it. One second in peace. It was right there. You had to sweep in. You feel good about yourself? Piece of shit."

" Oh, come on, Frank. It wouldn't have been the truth, and you know it. I can't let you start a war for the wrong reasons," Matt argues.

" Maybe a war is what I need. Maybe I need that. These people, they took my children from me. They killed my kids! Don't you get that?"

" Then do right by them! Help me. Work with me to find the man who gave the order."

" And then what, Red? We gonna..." Frank scoffs," We gonna bring him in for justice? Is that what we're gonna do? Your way's bullshit, Red. It doesn't work. I need him... I need him gone. It's gotta be permanent!"

" You're right. My way isn't working," Matt admits as Mary remains a spectator," So, maybe just this once... Maybe... yeah, your way is what it's gonna take."

" Red, just this once?" Frank utters in disbelief," No. No, no, no, no, no, Red. That's... that's not how it works. It's just... you cross over to my side of the line... you don't get to come back from that. Not ever."

As if on queue, more men show up to the docks, only these guys aren't friendly and cause all three heads to turn. The gun powder bellow the deck serves as a reminder for them to get the hell off of the boat, and without hesitation, the three of them spring up, ready to fight and ready to get the hell out of there

" One batch, two batch... penny and dime."

Alas, luck is not on their side, for the gunpowder creates an explosion on the boat before they're able to escape, knocking them back against the metal and rendering them temporarily unconscious from the blast.

The acrid stench of smoke fills Frank's nostrils as he regains consciousness, coughing and disoriented. He can hear the faint crackle of flames and the chaotic sounds of the waterfront echoing around him. Panic surges through him, but he quickly pushes it aside, scanning the immediate vicinity.

His eyes lock onto Mary. She's sprawled on the ground a few feet away, unconscious and vulnerable. The billowing smoke makes it hard to see, but he can hear the faint sound of her labored breathing. His concern for her is immediate and consuming.

Dragging himself to his feet, Frank fights through the haze of smoke and the pain radiating through his body. His determination is unwavering. He needs to get to Mary, to ensure she's okay. Frank's training kicks in, and he moves with purpose.

Kneeling beside Mary, he checks for any visible injuries. She's battered, but nothing seems life-threatening. Relief washes over him, but there's no time to waste. Frank's military instincts are in full swing. He needs to get them both out of this inferno.

Gently, he hoists Mary into his arms. She's unconscious but alive, and that's what matters. The intense heat and blinding smoke make it nearly impossible to see, but Frank trusts his instincts. He knows this boat is about to go up in flames, and they can't afford to be onboard when that happens.

With Mary in his arms, he starts moving. His pace is slow and cautious as he navigates through the thickening smoke. Each step is calculated, each breath an effort in this toxic environment. The explosions continue to rumble around them, but Frank's focus remains unwavering.

His instincts lead him to the edge of the boat, where he can feel the water below. With no other options, he takes a deep breath and jumps into the frigid water, Mary cradled protectively in his arms.

The shock of the cold water jolts him, and he fights against the currents, swimming away from the burning boat. It's a struggle, but he pushes forward, his determination unwavering. In his arms, Mary remains unconscious, a silent burden that he's unwilling to let go.

As they reach a safer distance, Frank finally allows himself to breathe, his gasps mixing with the sounds of the waterfront. He knows the danger isn't over. The men who caused the explosion will still be out there, and he's determined to find them, no matter the cost.

But for now, in the frigid waters of the harbor, with Mary still unconscious in his arms, he can't help but feel a flicker of relief that they made it out alive.

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