Chapter 1
He should've known he couldn't have a quiet moment. People like Simon Riley didn't get those.
He was just outside of the base they were stationed at in upstate New York nursing a cigarette when Gaz scrambled up to him. He paused in front of Ghost, haunching over and panting, putting a finger up to silence the silent man.
"Someone.. took.. Soap!" He gasped out.
"What?"
"He.. Fuck, I need to run more!"
"Garrick."
"That stakeout he was on, comms went dead an hour ago. Someone was sent to check and his position was wrecked."
"Dammit!" Ghost grunted and pushed past Gaz.
He heard the sergeant sigh before light steps followed him. He needed information.
-----
Soap had been in the city, taking it upon himself to chase leads and give his Lt. a break. If the ineligible note he left on Ghost's bunk was anything to go by, he would have been in Hell's Kitchen.
Price publicly kept him from going after Johnny, telling him they'd have to wait for clearance, but as soon as they were behind closed doors, all bets were off.
There was a problem, though.
He didn't know who exactly he was looking for. They had very little intel on their target in the first place, why Johnny would go in alone was beyond him.
Ghost "borrowed" one of the vehicles on base and just barely had a grasp of American vehicles and roadways. It took him longer than he'd like to admit getting to the city and finding Hell's Kitchen and he promptly hid the vehicle in a populated parking garage. Less conspicuous in case they needed cover getting out.
He felt eyes on him as he prowled the evening streets. He was in civvies, sure, but the skull mask and slightly overpacked bag still brought unfavorable attention. He swore he could feel eyes above him as well but occasional looks to the rooftops told him nothing.
His attention was drawn towards the piers. Waterways were always a sort of junction for criminals, gangs, cartels, and the others affiliated with them.
Getting close to one of the piers, he ducked into a dilapidated but secluded building and went to work with the contents of his bag. A few knives and two pistols were tucked into the light vest under his civilian hoodie. A few various items stuffed into his pockets like stims, syringes with various tranquilizers, and bandages.
Throwing the backpack on again, he finally made his way to the water.
He lurked around in between shipping containers, vehicles, and buildings before he heard voices. He inched closer to the sounds.
He crept up behind some crates. On the other side, two men were having a smoke break.
"-aid he got some Irish military goon too. Fucking with the military doesn't seem like the smartest choice for the fucking mob." One remarked.
"Whatever gets Castle to show up is good enough for him." The other shrugged.
Bloody fucking hell.
Ghost did not like The Punisher at all. Where Ghost was quiet and calculated, Frank Castle was loud and impulsive. His tirades against crime ended in large messes that he never cleaned up, instead slinking into the shadows for the next six months to do god knows what before coming out of the woodwork again.
Ghost can recall several ops that were ruined or cut short by Castle's itch to get things done promptly, forcing him and later the 141 to recalculate or drop cases all together.
He growled and sprang from his position, driving a knife into the neck of the second man before grabbing the first and dragging him into a secluded area, knife pressed dangerously close to his neck.
The man struggled for a few moments before going lax, realizing he wouldn't be able to overpower whoever held him.
"Who do you work for?" He spat.
"Listen, man, I only do this for the pay! I'm not involved in anything big! Don't kill me!" He pleaded.
"Then start talking."
"Giorno Stallone! The Italians! They-"
A shot rang out before the man could finish.
Ghost dropped him, cursing. A shot through the side of the head and no doubt through the other end.
He whipped his head in the direction of the shot, locating its owner and he let out a drawn out grumble.
Standing on a rooftop in his full glory was Frank Castle, rifle held high and vest looking freshly painted. They glared at each other for a good minute before something heavy landed on Ghost's shoulders and sent him toppling to the ground.
He reacted quickly, shoving himself across the ground and pulling a pistol out.
He was met with the face of the Devil himself.