felledrook | smoke & gun metal.

[ It took weeks, even months, to build up a case for himself. Not a case to be presented to a precinct or even a team, no. Frank worked alone. He doesn't do the "team-up" thing. It's a mastermind at work with what he does, keeping his head down and working out in branches to cull bad fruit. Cut the roots, kill the tree, that's how Frank Castle operated. As easy as it could be to head right to a king pin's front door and blow them away, that always left room for anyone beneath them to step up and take over. If you cut back the weeds enough, nothing would ever grow back in that spot.

Enough metaphors though. Frank knows what he's doing. More often than not, an operation works with several candidates: drug-running, weapon-smuggling, and human-trafficking, listed here from Frank's least to most concerning. This was all the work that was too beneath proclaimed superheroes, although they would be the ones to get this done quicker, and leave a harsher statement. More brutal than dead bodies left in a single man's wake? That's what tonight was about.

Human-trafficking was time-sensitive after all, so the work Frank got done ahead of time was understanding the layout of the warehouse, entrances and exits, and how to work from the outside in without any bullets ripping through insulated shipping containers. Then it was a matter of opening the right one. First step? Long range. Almost boring work, propped on top of a building on the other side of the compound and counting down between breaths, picking off guards in the dead of night, counting down again. He knows every step and turn they'll take. Easy work. Shouldn't take more than an hour...

That's why he works alone. ]

[Logan has been called many things in his life, but meticulous has never been one of them. When he got word of the trafficking ring, he acted. There was no long term planning, no scanning of the location or who was doing it. They were hunting down kids, mutants who had been turned out by their families, preying on the ones nobody would ever report as missing.

He's silent, padding along the perimeter when the wind shifts, carrying a familiar scent along with it.

Fucking hell Frank.

The last thing Logan wants right now is company, but if they can get the kids out faster, he's going to work with it. Let Castle take out the sentries, he's going to start wading in, claws cutting down anyone who gets in his way.]

[ The F14-APW was a top of the line, military grade fusion scope that often helped in these situations where you'd wait long periods out in the dark or the rain - but became completely useless if a target who lights up like a supernova nearly blows out the rest of your field of view. He ducks his head away and stares out into the night unassisted. He only knows one creature, one man, who runs that hot without breaking a sweat.

Fucking hell, Logan.

As soon as the signature fades, he takes out the two final guards in quick succession. Now he has to pack the hell up and fast, especially if he wants to beat Logan to the bunch. No, it's not a competition, but no good can come of both these hot-blooded killers clashing again. Hell, just leave the rifle and get down there, switching out for a trusting pistol and keeping low. ]

[Logan can smell him as the wind shifts again, abandoning his sniper perch and on the move. Good luck, bub. These guys are trafficking mutant kids and Logan is on a mission.

Frank will come across a pile of bodies as he makes his way into the warehouse. There's the distinct sound of adimantium on metal, claws breaking locks and the murmur of terrified voices. Outside Logan can make out the sound of the jet landing and the shiver of power that means it's decloaking.]

C'mon kids, let's go. We're gonna take you somewhere safe.

oh my god it's Wolverine! are we gonna see Professor X? [The questions wind up costing Logan. As he tries to calm them down and herd them out to the jet, one of the guards he unwisely let live fires his gun. Three in the back, one in the back of his head. The pain is blinding and he drops like a stone.

Fuck that hurts.]

[ The kids gave Logan away but the gunshots guide Frank. There's very little worry for Logan's safety and in all his years running into the guy, that's more of a curse than a blessing. God forbid these two are sent after the same mark (again), or wind up facing off in a warehouse (like this?).

He slips an arm around the closest guard and puts the gun to his temple, not using him as a live hostage but more a dead weight shield as he puts a bullet through his skull. ]

Get up, Logan, we've got work to do.

[ He doesn't have room or time to be polite to the kids, looking them over and turning to put himself between Logan and the next guard, the body held up against his chest. ]

Do that healin' thing you do.

[The pain blooms into something focused and white hot as his body expels the bullet from his skull.

Always the hardest part. He groans and snarls, but it's the familiar voice and scent that keep him from lashing out.] Kids. Get em on the plane.

[He and Frank can draw off any pursuit.

It'll just take another minute for his speech centers to heal up enough to tell him the plan, but it's not like Frank hasn't worked around this before.]

smoke & gun metal.

no subject

going with the past history angle here

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject