Deathstroke and The Punisher: Ambush

Deathstroke belongs to DC/WB.

Punisher belongs to Marvel Disney.

Author's note: this story is not connected to any of my other stories. It's not connected to any canon. It's stand alone.

The Bronx, derelict tenement,

Night Time

"Look, motherfucker, that ain't what the deal was!"

"Terms change! Adapt or die, man!"

"Fuck that shit! "

The already tense atmosphere in the apartment got even worse. Eight men, four from the buyers and four from the sellers pulled out their automatic pistols. Glocks and Berettas.

One of the buyers: "This is how I do business. I bring half the cash, check the shit out and if it's good, get the other half."

The sellers: "We gonna have a problem, then, 'cause..."

Someone knocked on the door. Everyone froze and pointed their guns at the door.

A buyer: " The fuck? Thought this building was empty?"

One of them went over to the door. The other seven aimed their guns at the door.

"Try not to cap my ass," the man heading for the door said.

Someone said: "No promises."

And as he approached the door and put his eye to the peephole, something unusual happened. A large sword pierced the door and the man's head.

"What the fuck!"

"Fuck this shit! Kill that motherfucker!"

Seven pistols went off. By that time, the sword had been withdrawn and the volley of rounds caught the nearly decapitated man before he fell lifeless, broken, boneless on the floor. More slugs went through the flimsy door. Over 100 rounds fired in all. The small apartment was turned into a war zone.

Magazines went dry. Pistols were reloaded.

The seven remaining men were still aiming their guns at the now perforated door.

"Who the fuck," a man said.

"Ho, shit, I think I know who did this shit!" Another said.

A new voice: "Really? Who?"

All seven turned towards the sound of the new arrival, towards the window leading to the fire exit.

"Motherfucker," a seller said.

A man was standing there. He was wearing dark blue, mostly: his body armor and boots and fatigue pants and the right hand side of his mask. His gloves, belt and holsters and the left hand half of his solid ballistic mask. That was orange. Heavily armed, armored and holding a large sword.

"'Motherfucker ' is only one of the names I go by," the intruder said, "Also: 'asshole', 'heartless prick', but usually, I call myself..."

"Deathstroke," a seller said.

"Bingo!" Deathstroke said.

"Fuck him up!" a drug buyer said.

"I was hoping you'd say that," said Deathstroke.

In less than a second, he was on one of the drug dealers and chopped his head off. The one next to the headless one was cut diagonally through his torso. The top half slid off.

Then, Deathstroke was in the air and spinning. A roundhouse kick connected with a jaw and the man's head did a 270 degree spin, destroying the neck completely. Before he touched the ground, the mercenary sent a spinning heel that caught another pusher in the sternum, driving broken pieces of rib cage through vital organs and sending that man flying through a plaster wall into a neighboring apartment.

Two throwing knives went into the foreheads of two more drug dealers.

That left one. One of the buyers. The one holding the briefcase full of money.

"Man, look," the money man said, "There's a hundred thousand dollars in this briefcase, take it and let me go."

"Hm. That's not a bad offer."

"More where that came from, man. Whatever you gettin' paid, I can-"

"I'm not getting paid," Deathstroke said.

"What?"

"I was in a nearby apartment trying to read. You guys made noise. Broke my focus. I knocked on the door. To ask you to keep it down. I was kinda hoping you were violent scumbags so I could get a workout. Clear my head, you know?"

"What?"

Deathstroke sighed. "Never mind. Just shoot me and let's get this over with."

"You fuckin' crazy, man, fuck this!"

The man dropped his gun and attempted to reach the door.

Deathstroke drew a massive .50 Action Express Desert Eagle and shot the man in the head. Once was enough. The man went down, with half his skull missing.

"Barely worth the trouble, but I needed the exercise," Deathstroke said.

Even in this part of town, the cops would show up. Slade Wilson, Deathstroke, decided to go back to his apartment, pack up and leave. He had to pick another place and be gone before the cops showed. With the briefcase full of money. He shrugged. What the hell. Money is money.

No Name Hotel

The Bronx

Weapons and armor removed and cleaned, Wilson sat down on the bed and looked at a thick file. On the folder, it read: "The Punisher."

Without his mask and armor, Slade Wilson was 60 year old, silver haired, goatee wearing white man in exceptional physical shape. With an eye patch over his right eye.

Slade Wilson looked at Frank Castle's file. He memorized ever detail. It combined all the information he could get. FBI. CIA. US Marshalls. The United States Marine Corps.

He had to know everything about his prey before the hunt.

Frank Castle. Born in New York City from Italian immigrants who changed the name from Castligione. Served three tours in Vietnam with the jarheads. Sniper. Highly decorated. He came home physically in one piece.

Castle came home to his wife, daughter and son. Maria. Junior. Lisa. During a family picnic, the Castle family is caught between warring mafia factions. Only Frank survived. After the police failed in arresting those responsible, Castle became the Punisher. A vigilante. He killed everyone that was involved in his family's death. He's been at it since.

Slade read about every single hit Castle did as the Punisher. Confirmed or suspected. There were thousands of pages worth of info. Slade went over them only once and very quickly. He needed no more.

Slade was enhanced. A top secret experiment gave him powers decades ago: accelerated healing, super-strength and speed and increased mental skills. That added to decades of training and experience as a soldier and as a mercenary and he became the world's best and most feared assassin.

Slade understood Castle. They were cut from the same cloth: war and loss. Slade lost his two sons to violence. His marriage has fallen apart. He even lost an eye. That understanding of Castle made him especially qualified to hunt the Punisher down.

His plan would require time and patience. He couldn't fail.

This hunt was personal.