" Please state your full name."

" Frank Castle."

" And you confirm that the statement you are about to give has not been coerced. That no amnesty or immunity for any crimes you've committed have been offered or implied in exchange for your testimony."

" No deals. No guarantees."

" Mr. Castle..." Dinah begins," You served many years as a Marine Force Recon. But that isn't where you served your last mission?"

" No. I was part of a covert CIA operation. It was called Cerberus," Frank responds.

" And what was the aim of Cerberus?"

" Mission Cerberus was to apprehend, interrogate, assassinate high-value targets in Afghanistan."

" There is no official record of any such mission."

" The reason why you haven't heard of it is 'cause the whole thing was illegal. It's a private death squad funded by smuggling heroin out of Kandahar."

" Okay, and who was running the show?"

" Colonel Schoonover, Colonel Morty Bennett and your guy, Carson Wolf. All deceased."

" You killed them?"

" I did. Well, not Bennett. His, uh... his friends did that. I guess you could say I put a target on his back."

" Target for who?"

" The man in charge. William J. Rawlins. Head of covert operations, CIA. Whole thing was his baby."

" Anyone else involved?"

" Yeah. There was a marine. Billy Russo."

" One of your targets was Ahmad Zubair. What happened to him?"

" Look, Rawlins gives us a name. We go, we find him. We dragged him out of his house in front of his kids. His wife was screaming. Same thing we did to a bunch of other guys. Look, Madani, it's all on that tape, okay? Him, me, all of us. It damns us all."

" Did Billy Russo pull the trigger?"

" No, he did not. I did."

" You killed him?"

" Yes, I did. Like I said, it damned us all."

Dinah has to swallow everything inside of her upon learning that Frank is responsible for the death of her partner, and while Frank and David are giving statements, Mary absolutely refuses. No matter what they can offer her, Mary isn't speaking. Not a single word leaves her mouth.

Mary knows too much to be able to give a testimony like this... she can't risk it.

She's not on the ground with Frank and David as they make the hostage exchange. She's high up with a sniper rifle in hand, watching them through the lens of a scope. She watches the entire thing go down.

A van appears with David's wife and son. Sarah and her son walk towards Frank and David as they make their way to the van.

As the exchange shatters into violence, Mary's finger hovers over the trigger, the weight of her choices echoing in the silence of the rooftop. Gunfire erupts, a cacophony of chaos that ripples through the night. Frank, once again, is thrust into the maelstrom of capture, his fate teetering on the precipice of danger.

The exchange goes south when Homeland shows up and guns start blazing. Frank is captured, knocked out with the butt of a gun as David is "shot and killed" by Homeland. He's brought back in a body bag, for the entire thing needed to look real.

Meanwhile, Billy Russo is in the wind. He takes Frank back to David's garage, where he's tied up and beaten half to death by the former leader of the death squad, Agent Orange. Billy Russo watches his best friend be tortured, beaten, and bloody.

The garage is surrounded by a dozen guards, all heavily armed and heavily trained, under strict orders to shoot and kill anyone who comes anywhere near.

Mary's weapons are limited, she has only a sniper rifle and a single pistol on hand, with very limited rounds as well. From her vantage point, she eyes the guards, as well as mentally mapping how to get inside the garage and get to Frank before it's too late.

The rhythmic thud of her heartbeat is the only audible sound in Mary's ears as she studies the chaotic tableau below. The garage, once a sanctuary of covert operations, now stands as a fortress of violence. Billy Russo, the orchestrator of this macabre theater, watches with a sinister satisfaction as Frank Castle endures the merciless onslaught.

The guards, a well-trained battalion, encircle the garage like sentinels of death. Mary's gaze sweeps across their positions, calculating the most efficient path to breach their defenses. Her finger hovers over the trigger, the sniper rifle an extension of her intent. The pistol at her side, a meager backup plan.

The guards, clad in armor and armed to the teeth, stand as the gatekeepers to Frank's impending demise. Mary takes a deep breath, steeling herself for the dance with death that awaits. She adjusts the scope on her rifle, her eyes narrowing with a predator's focus.

In the midst of the chaos, Mary's mind works like a well-oiled machine. She notes the blind spots, the moments of distraction, and the opportunities to strike. Every movement below is cataloged, analyzed, and stored for tactical exploitation.

A breeze rustles Mary's hair as she lines up her first shot. The rooftop becomes her perch, the crosshairs of the scope framing the chaos below. The guards, oblivious to the unseen force aligning against them, maintain their vigilant stance. Mary's eyes dart, tracing the patterns of their patrol. She waits for the perfect moment, the symphony of violence below playing out like a tragic opera.

The first shot is a whisper in the night, a bullet cutting through the air with deadly precision. A guard, standing near the rear of the garage, crumples to the ground without a sound. His comrades, momentarily frozen by the sudden violence, scramble for cover.

Mary doesn't relent. The second shot finds its mark, another guard dropping like a marionette with severed strings. Panic ripples through the ranks as they fumble for cover, their composure shattered by an unseen adversary.

From her elevated position, Mary remains a ghost in the shadows, picking off the guards one by one. Each shot is a step closer to Frank, a silent promise of rescue amidst the storm of chaos. The guards, now in disarray, struggle to comprehend the invisible hand unraveling their defenses.

But Mary's calculated assault isn't without risks. The guards, rallying against the unseen assailant, begin to spread out, their eyes scanning the surroundings for any sign of the sniper. Mary feels the weight of time pressing against her. She abandons the sniper rifle, holstering the pistol and descending the fire escape with a controlled urgency.

As she skirts the edge of the building, Mary's movements meld with the shadows. The guards, still reeling from the unseen onslaught, remain oblivious to the imminent threat. She slips into the periphery, a phantom navigating the edges of the battlefield.

A guard, positioned near the garage entrance, becomes her first physical target. Mary's hands move with a lethal grace, disarming him with a swift, silent strike. The pistol finds a new home in her grip, its cold metal a harbinger of the storm she brings.

The rhythmic thud of footsteps echoes in the garage as Mary, a shadow in human form, dispatches guards with surgical precision. Each move is calculated, each strike a testament to her training. The scent of sweat and fear hangs in the air as the guards, caught between the crossfire of their own vulnerability and an unseen adversary, falter.

Mary's progress is relentless, a cascade of controlled violence that dismantles Russo's defenses. The guards, now dwindling in numbers, realize the gravity of their situation. Panic gives way to desperation as they engage Mary in a desperate bid for survival. A flash of steel, a muted gunshot, and Mary stands amid the fallen.

Once inside the garage, Mary's eyes are subjected to the horrors that have taken place. She sees Frank covered in blood, but his and someone else's. She sees Frank with his eyes closed, on the brink of life and death, lying only a few feet from the now-dead body of Agent Orange.

Homeland storms the garage, and both David and Mary rush to Frank's side. While Homeland searches for Billy Russo, all David and Mary can think about is how to help Frank. David begins to panic, crying over Frank's body as Mary takes a bit more rational approach as she stands in front of Dinah Midani.

" Help him," She utters," And I'll give a testimony."

It's all the motivation Dinah needs. She is the one who gets Frank into a car and drives to an undisclosed location. David, Dinah and Mary all carry Frank's heavy body to a luxury apartment, where Dinah's father instantly switches his mind to doctor mode and begins to help his patient, while Dinah's mother seems more reserved and hesitant.

It's a long and painstaking process to bring Frank back to the land of the living and away from the realm of darkness and shadows, but thanks to the helpful Midani's, they're able to pull it off.

" I think purple might be your color," David comments as Mary helps Frank button up his shirt," Really matches your eyes. Look, uh... Got you a little something," he hands Frank a manila envelope," It's kind of like a thank you for after."

" Where'd you get this?" Frank asks as he opens it up to see a bunch of money.

" Yeah, well, I... I stole it from bad guys, you know," David says," Learned that from you."

" You had access to money like this, you made us live in that shithole?" Frank asks.

" Use it. Get out of the city. Have a life. You've done enough, yeah?"

" I've gotta finish this, right?"

" How do you feel?"

" I feel like shit."

Nevertheless, Frank cannot leave the book open. The book must be closed, and in order to do that, the final chapter must be finished.

Even Madani tells Frank to leave it all behind and just disappear. Everyone seems to think the best thing for Frank is to leave everything behind, but Frank can't do that. He can't leave the book open... and he can't leave his best girl behind.

And in order to close the book, Frank needs to find Billy.

The city, a sprawling expanse of shadows and secrets, awaits outside the apartment's confines. Frank and Mary, two figures molded by the crucible of vengeance, step into the day. The city's pulse beats with an ominous rhythm, a prelude to the confrontation that looms on the horizon.

Frank is armed with a sniper riffle as Mary uses a pair of binoculars. They are perched right outside of Curtis's house, and watch as Curtis opens the blinds, providing the perfect shot. Frank squeezes the trigger and shoots the coffee cup in Billy's hand who, of course, finds cover.

" God damn it," Frank whispers.

Billy brings up the tip of a blade to the window, testing the waters, which only results in Frank firing another round. Mary grabs a phone and dials the number, before handing the phone over to Frank, who places it on speaker as Curtis picks up.

" You all right?" Frank asks.

" Took one in the shoulder. Bleeding pretty bad."

" Put him on. Go on."

The phone slides on the ground, and the voice on the other end is that of Frank's former best friend.

" Frank. Shit, we know each other so well, we saw each other coming."

" Let's end this, Bill, hmm? No one else needs to get hurt."

" I will happily hurt everyone you ever gave a shit about until I get to you. Maybe next I'll go after your new girl, hm? What's her name again? Maryshka? Mary? You sure like those M names, don't ya?"

" You want me, come get me. I'm right here. Let him go, Bill. I'll let you walk out that door. I give you my word. That still means something."

" Now that's easy for you to say. You got the higher ground and all the advantages. So maybe I just stay here, wait for Curt to bleed out."

" Then my next call is to Homeland. Come on, Bill. Let's just finish it, you and me. Any way you want."

" All right. I'm gonna trust you. Soon as I hear that magazine and cartridge eject from your rifle."

" Okay. You happy?"

" Let's meet tonight. Midnight. How about by your painted ponies, Frankie? How you feel about that? Finish this where it all started."

The weight of Billy's words hangs in the air, a dark cloud over the impending meeting. Frank feels the ghosts of the past clawing at the edges of his consciousness. The memories, vivid and unforgiving, surge to the forefront of his mind.

The flashback hits him like a tidal wave, transporting him back to that fateful day at the merry-go-round. The sun is a distant memory, replaced by the haunting shadows that danced across the park. The laughter of children, the distant melodies of the carousel's music—all swallowed by the deafening roar of gunfire.

Frank sees Maria and the kids, their faces etched in a moment frozen in time. The joy of the carousel ride is replaced by the terror that grips them, a terror mirrored in Frank's eyes as he races toward them. The shots ring out, each one a damning echo of the life that shatters before him.

The vision blurs as the scenes overlap—the laughter of the children now drowned by the sobs of a grieving father. The merry-go-round, once a symbol of innocence, becomes a haunting carousel of tragedy. Frank feels the familiar sting of tears, an emotion that refuses to dull despite the passage of time.

Mary watches him, her gaze holding a mix of empathy and concern. She knows the scars etched into Frank's soul, the wounds that refuse to heal.

"You okay?" Mary's voice, a whisper against the cacophony of memories, reaches Frank.

He blinks, dragging himself back to the present. The rooftop where they stand, the rifle in his hands, the looming rendezvous—they all seem like distant echoes compared to the vivid tableau of his family's final moments.

"Yeah," He mutters, his voice a gravelly murmur.

Frank is quick to pack up. They both take their stuff back to the van, but Frank doesn't seem too keen on letting Mary join.

" I have to finish this," He utters," This is between me and Bill now."

" I'm going with you," Mary interjects as she opens the passenger's door.

But then, Frank slams the door in her face," No, you're not."

The rejection stings, and Mary's gaze hardens as she squares her shoulders. The tension between them is palpable, a reflection of the inner turmoil that simmers beneath the surface. Frank's refusal to let Mary accompany him feels like a declaration—a solitary journey into the heart of darkness.

"Frank, don't shut me out," Mary asserts, her tone a mix of frustration and determination.

Frank, eyes cold and unyielding, turns to face her. The lines etched into his face tell tales of a history marred by loss and betrayal.

"I can't lose you, too," He murmurs, the vulnerability in his words belying the steely resolve in his gaze.

Mary's expression softens, and she takes a step closer, " We've come this far together. Don't make me watch from the sidelines now."

He sighs, a heavy exhale laden with the weight of his own fears. The scars, both physical and emotional, are exposed in the dim light of the rooftop. Frank's eyes meet Mary's, a silent plea lingering in the air.

"I can't lose you," He repeats, the admission a fragile acknowledgment of the bond that has formed between them.

Mary places a hand on his arm, her touch a reassurance.

"You won't," She promises, her voice unwavering.

Frank's resistance crumbles under the weight of Mary's conviction. He nods, a reluctant agreement forged in the crucible of shared pain. Together, they step into the van, the engine's hum a prelude to the rendezvous that awaits them.

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