My Marvel Reincarnation Came with a Torture Bonus

After sorting out the mess with the gangsters, Val strolled into the alley, hands in his pockets, looking as casual as a guy who didn't just leave a trail of chaos behind him.

The Ross gang's heavy truck was still parked on the street, its engine long cold.

When Val first entered the alley, there wasn't a soul in sight. That had seemed normal at the time, but in hindsight, it was a little suspicious. The Ross gang wasn't exactly known for being careless. Someone should have been watching the truck.

Just as Val was about to step out of the alley, something suddenly dropped from above.

THUD.

A loud, wet splat echoed as something heavy hit the pavement right in front of Val's feet.

Val stopped mid-step. At his feet lay a corpse, twisted and broken. The body was barely recognizable as a Ross gang member, his limbs stretched unnaturally, bloodied scars covering his flesh. A thin steel wire was still wrapped around his wrists and ankles, evidence that he had been strung up—likely from a nearby streetlamp.

Oh. So that's where the guard went.

Judging by the deep wounds, this man had been through extensive torture before death. Whoever did this wasn't just sending a message—they had taken their time.

TREAD. TREAD.

The sound of heavy footsteps broke the silence.

From the darkness, a large figure emerged.

At first, the shadows concealed his face, but as he moved closer, Val saw the details clearly—a tall, imposing man with a strong, angular face, his nasal bones pronounced beneath the dim light. His presence alone carried a weight that made the air feel heavier.

He wore a short-sleeved black shirt despite the night's cold, a thick cloak draped over his shoulders. But what stood out the most was the bulletproof vest strapped to his chest, marked with a massive white skull.

Val immediately recognized him.

Frank Castle.

The Punisher.

A former Marine. A seasoned expert in unconventional warfare and someone with a very personal grudge against the criminal world. After his family was wiped out in a gang war, he had gone full "I'm the entire justice system now" mode, turning into a one-man army against crime.

He did not give warnings. He did not make threats. He simply executed.

But something didn't add up.

This wasn't the right time.

In Val's understanding of events, Frank Castle's family wasn't supposed to be killed until 2015. Right now, it was 2008.

Okay, so either the timeline I'm in had a Punished origin early or somebody seriously messed with the continuity. Maybe Deadpool wrote the script this time.

well none of that mattered at the moment.

Frank Castle was dangerous. He had no superpowers, but he didn't need them. His sheer skill, tactical mind, and unyielding will made him one of the most lethal men alive.

His approach to violence was similar to Wade Wilson's—except Wade never shut up. Frank, on the other hand, preferred to let his bullets do the talking.

"Boy, you shouldn't be in this dangerous alley at this time."

A hoarse, gravelly voice echoed from the shadows.

Frank Castle stepped out of the shadows, looking exactly like the type of man who was the danger in a dangerous alley. His presence alone made the air feel heavier, and the dim lighting only made him look more intimidating.

His clothes carried the distinct scent of blood—fresh, metallic, and absolutely not his. In his right hand, a combat knife dripped a steady rhythm onto the pavement, each drop a reminder that someone had a very bad night.

Standing in front of him, Val looked almost fragile in comparison. Frank towered over him, a solid 1.9 meters of muscle, scars, and unresolved rage issues. To Frank, he wasn't much more than a kid. And in a way, he was. Thanks to his immortality, his body had started to gradually revert to the prime of his youth—locked somewhere in his twenties.

To someone like Frank, who had seen too many young men go to war and never return, Val might as well have been a teenager playing in a world he didn't understand.

Frank wasn't the kind to let kids wander into war zones.

His voice was steady, demanding. "Tell me, what happened to the warehouse?"

Val pondered for a moment before responding honestly, "We were playing cards. They didn't expect me to detonate the bomb. I did it. The whole warehouse is gone."

Frank blinked.

There was a long pause.

"…What?"

Val sighed like he was explaining something obvious. "I blew up the warehouse. You know, kaboom—fire, smoke, screams, all that." He twirled a small remote in his fingers before shoving it back into his pocket. "You're late, though. I already handled the gangsters. Now, only their ashes remain."

Frank's frown deepened. That was not the answer he was expecting.

From what he had gathered, there was a gang hideout nearby. He had just finished 'questioning' one of the Ross gang members when he heard the explosion. His plan had been to wait, pick them off one by one as they fled the scene.

Instead, he found this kid standing in the alley. Alone. Unbothered.

Frank's gaze sharpened but Val caught the brief flicker of something in his eyes. Surprise.

"Who are you?"

"Just a passerby."

Despite the calm smile on his face, Val remained tense inside, ready to react if needed.

Frank Castle was dangerous. More dangerous than most. His methods were extreme, and he had no hesitation in eliminating anyone who fit his definition of 'the problem.' Val wasn't sure if he fell into that category.

Frank studied him for a long moment. Then, without a word, he wiped the blood from his knife and sheathed it.

The kid wasn't his enemy. And more importantly, the people he had just turned to ash? They were already on Frank's list. If they were dead, it was headache less to Frank.

Without another word, Frank turned and walked toward the alley's exit.

Then he stopped.

Val followed his line of sight, and his casual expression finally shifted a little.

Down the street, several large black jeeps sped toward them. The tires screeched to a halt, blocking the road. Doors swung open, and a dozen heavily armed men poured out, weapons drawn, eyes locked onto their position.

One of them spoke. "It should be one of these two. The one who interrupted the deal with a bomb."

Val didn't hesitate—he immediately shrank behind Frank, lowering his voice to a serious tone.

"Be careful, they're coming for us."

Frank gave him the slowest, most unimpressed side-eye Val had ever seen.

"Us?"

No. No, they were coming for him.

Frank just happened to be standing next to the problem