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TEST DRIVE ∞ May 2025
Test Drive ∞ May 2025
The First Collision
The Diadem is an invite-only panfandom game set in a retro-futuristic world where uprooted souls find themselves deep within an eerie wasteland of roads and highways frequently assailed by cosmic storms. Three united strongholds keep the population. Its capital is Panorama, a large metropolis at the planet's center.
Soon, you realize you aren't alone. Calling themselves fluxdrifts, the "locals" have similar stories to you, either for themselves or their ancestry. You speak to an old woman who claims she hailed from another star. You meet a young man who says his great-great-grandfather knew a strange language everybody spoke "back home." As you explore, you stumble across a coin you recognize or your sister's locket. How did it get here? What does this mean? That's for you to discover.
But first, you need to find a ride.
Soon, you realize you aren't alone. Calling themselves fluxdrifts, the "locals" have similar stories to you, either for themselves or their ancestry. You speak to an old woman who claims she hailed from another star. You meet a young man who says his great-great-grandfather knew a strange language everybody spoke "back home." As you explore, you stumble across a coin you recognize or your sister's locket. How did it get here? What does this mean? That's for you to discover.
But first, you need to find a ride.
No invites needed to play on the TDM. Everyone's welcome! Use the Invite Request thread below to request an invite from another player.
∞ Summary ∞
IC-wise, arrivals are scattered throughout the month. Events described on the TDM are also ongoing throughout the month. If you'd rather jump right into the action, you're free to begin in media res with your character having already been on the planet for several days.
Post-impact, characters will wake up in a med tent by the Scrapyard. From there, they must accept a vehicle on loan and make the 2-hour drive to the nearest city, Panorama. If they refuse the car because they don't want the loan, they'll be in debt for medical bills instead...so just take the car. It'll come in handy.
Some things to keep in mind when bringing in your character:
TDM threads can be canon if characters are accepted. Top-levels made to the TDM should be open to all.
Post-impact, characters will wake up in a med tent by the Scrapyard. From there, they must accept a vehicle on loan and make the 2-hour drive to the nearest city, Panorama. If they refuse the car because they don't want the loan, they'll be in debt for medical bills instead...so just take the car. It'll come in handy.
Some things to keep in mind when bringing in your character:
- Pick an injury. At minimum, they got knocked out; at most, whatever they can recover from. Medicine is decently advanced so they'll heal faster if not painlessly.
- Decide items kept. Reasonable items on their person only: photos, keys, clothes, costumes. No pets or animal companions. Wildly out-of-place tech and personal cell phones will be damaged beyond repair.
- Select a weapon. Do this only if eligible. Guidelines about weapons and powers are on the FAQ.
- Choose a vehicle. Decide whether your character gets 2-3 options or if they're stuck with something they hate. Players can pick directly from our collection or source their own images. Anything under a similar aesthetic will work. If your character needs accommodations for driving, they can have them. Ask us for details.
- Get a phone. Characters have to obtain a phone (and a SIM card) themselves. If they've got one from home, it's damaged beyond repair. Phones are cheap. It'll only take a couple of weeks to afford one. You need to know the number before you text or call anyone. Read about phones and the Forum before you hop on it.
TDM threads can be canon if characters are accepted. Top-levels made to the TDM should be open to all.
Fluxdrift
Arrival & Introduction
Date: Throughout May
You've tumbled over a cliff. You were fighting for your life. You're on the cusp of death. You slipped in the shower. Whatever the catalyst, you struggle to cling to consciousness. As darkness overtakes you, a swirling vortex warps light and shadow in a way that defies all physics. A dark wail etches into your very bones. You couldn't describe it if you tried. You can barely comprehend what it is.
Then you open your eyes.
Through the figure's mask ©, you swear the face is grinning down at you. The tent you're in smells of antiseptic, and scratchy blankets line your cot. Injuries you've sustained have been bandaged. In the corner, you spot a MedBot that's fixed you up. Depending on the extent of your injuries, the doctor on duty might give you some painkillers before you go. Thankfully, your belongings are by the exit. Sorry if anything's damaged. Your landing was pretty rough.
You follow the figure outside. They are Yom Crook, here to lend a hand to fellow fluxdrifts like yourself. Their car's parked beside them. Actually, there are lots of cars around, but Yom Crook's stands out with its painted shark mouth. They explain they found you, unconscious, in a diffusion zone and brought you here. The nearest city is a 2-hour drive northeast. Forget about walking. You'll never make it. Also, you owe the doctor a lot of money for patching you up. But you're in luck: they've got some wheels for you and if you accept the vehicle on loan, Yom Crook will cover your medical bills. That's a good deal, right? It's not the shiniest car or motorcycle, but it'll do. If fortune favors, you'll get to choose between two or three options. Plus, if you need accommodations to drive—like adjustments to your seat height or modified controls—you'll receive all that for free.
Take the vehicle. (And the loan.) Yom Crook assures you that you'll have six months before collectors come around. Any time you're ready to pay a part of it down, return here to the Scrapyard. You'll get a receipt and everything. Paying off the loan in six months isn't impossible, but it will take a lot of work. Just don't get too lax. There's a good chance you'll be juggling multiple loans as you try to get by.
You either know how to drive, or you'll have a bare-bones manual to get you started. Road rules are more a suggestion than enforced, so just hit the pedal and go. The car has some basic features. The built-in compass will help you navigate.
Through the figure's mask ©, you swear the face is grinning down at you. The tent you're in smells of antiseptic, and scratchy blankets line your cot. Injuries you've sustained have been bandaged. In the corner, you spot a MedBot that's fixed you up. Depending on the extent of your injuries, the doctor on duty might give you some painkillers before you go. Thankfully, your belongings are by the exit. Sorry if anything's damaged. Your landing was pretty rough.
You follow the figure outside. They are Yom Crook, here to lend a hand to fellow fluxdrifts like yourself. Their car's parked beside them. Actually, there are lots of cars around, but Yom Crook's stands out with its painted shark mouth. They explain they found you, unconscious, in a diffusion zone and brought you here. The nearest city is a 2-hour drive northeast. Forget about walking. You'll never make it. Also, you owe the doctor a lot of money for patching you up. But you're in luck: they've got some wheels for you and if you accept the vehicle on loan, Yom Crook will cover your medical bills. That's a good deal, right? It's not the shiniest car or motorcycle, but it'll do. If fortune favors, you'll get to choose between two or three options. Plus, if you need accommodations to drive—like adjustments to your seat height or modified controls—you'll receive all that for free.
Take the vehicle. (And the loan.) Yom Crook assures you that you'll have six months before collectors come around. Any time you're ready to pay a part of it down, return here to the Scrapyard. You'll get a receipt and everything. Paying off the loan in six months isn't impossible, but it will take a lot of work. Just don't get too lax. There's a good chance you'll be juggling multiple loans as you try to get by.
You either know how to drive, or you'll have a bare-bones manual to get you started. Road rules are more a suggestion than enforced, so just hit the pedal and go. The car has some basic features. The built-in compass will help you navigate.
OPTIONAL PROMPTS: a flat tire; a body on the road (is it a trap?); a fender bender
Panorama
Explore & Settle In
Conditions: Warm spring temperatures, light showers
After 2 hours on the road, you find civilization. The largest of the strongholds, Panorama is where the economy thrives. Massive power plants glowing red make it visible from a distance. The city is divided into three districts. For now, you can access the Pavilion and the Blocks. Don't worry about the Sanctum; they're not letting you in.
You only need to know two things about Panorama: 1) it's big, the size of a modern metropolis, and you'll need your car to get around; 2) anything goes as long as you don't pick a fight with the wrong person. Street smarts will get you far. Despite its geographical size, the population isn't huge. With roughly a million people in a city designed for over twice that number, Panorama is far from deserted, but nor is it overcrowded. It's a good thing. Resources are limited as it is.
You only need to know two things about Panorama: 1) it's big, the size of a modern metropolis, and you'll need your car to get around; 2) anything goes as long as you don't pick a fight with the wrong person. Street smarts will get you far. Despite its geographical size, the population isn't huge. With roughly a million people in a city designed for over twice that number, Panorama is far from deserted, but nor is it overcrowded. It's a good thing. Resources are limited as it is.
The Pavilion: Free Samples
Like any large city, Panorama features a couple of supermarkets. The stock's not as consistent as a proper supermarket. On occasion, shelves can remain cleaned out for a week or two. Regardless, the long tradition of free samples remains. If you're not already shopping, you'll notice the crowded parking lot and clusters of lines inside.
Try samples, push through the crowds as you shop, or give yourself a five-finger discount. If you're cautious, you can pocket a few small items without consequences. The Pavillion doesn't have the infrastructure for surveillance; unless someone sees you, you won't be caught. Steal from the store or pilfer someone's wallet. Maybe you even make a new friend if you bump into another fluxdrift. Or, start a fight with somebody who cut you off in the cheese line. Don't make too much of a ruckus, or you'll be thrown out.
As you look around, you'll see posters advertising temporary positions for the cash register or graveyard shifts in the warehouse. Seems they might've lost several employees recently (how'd that happen?), which is good for you! It's just a 6-week position, but it'll get you on your feet. The city has temporary positions like this all over. Permanent ones are harder to come by when you're new.
Try samples, push through the crowds as you shop, or give yourself a five-finger discount. If you're cautious, you can pocket a few small items without consequences. The Pavillion doesn't have the infrastructure for surveillance; unless someone sees you, you won't be caught. Steal from the store or pilfer someone's wallet. Maybe you even make a new friend if you bump into another fluxdrift. Or, start a fight with somebody who cut you off in the cheese line. Don't make too much of a ruckus, or you'll be thrown out.
As you look around, you'll see posters advertising temporary positions for the cash register or graveyard shifts in the warehouse. Seems they might've lost several employees recently (how'd that happen?), which is good for you! It's just a 6-week position, but it'll get you on your feet. The city has temporary positions like this all over. Permanent ones are harder to come by when you're new.
Samples include: steamed cabbage dumplings, synthetic cherry juice, cheddar cheese, and chocolate-covered alien eggs (it's crunchy and weirdly tasty). They're served in the usual throwaway paper cups with little toothpicks.
The Blocks: Power Outage
Power's finicky in Panorama, especially in the Blocks. Saint Margery's Hospital, located in the same area, has priority for power so the first to go are the motels. Maybe you've been in your room for a couple of weeks, maybe you just got here—and by the way, every motel desk is happy to put the fee on your tab if you don't have the money upfront—but all the motels on the east side are in a blackout, leaving only the west side motels up and running.
What do you do? You have three choices:
What do you do? You have three choices:
- Risk leaving your room and head to the other side where there's power. Knock on some doors and negotiate with another to share the room. They might shut the door in your face, ask for a favor in return, or be nice enough to help you with no strings attached. There's no guarantee your unattended room will be untouched, though, and you'll be on the hook for any damages an intruder causes.
- Sit in the dark and deal. It's not the worst idea, but the TV's down, the vending machines are powered down, and with the entire place plunged into darkness, you risk getting robbed. If you struggle with defending yourself, you might want to find some trustworthy company. You can also sneak out of there and let them take your leftover pizza. It's not like you've got a ton of valuables, right? Plus, clobbering someone in the face with a frying pan sounds great until you realize you've gotta do something with the body. And what if this person's got a friend waiting?
- Get in your car and drive (or grab a friend for a road trip). If you scroll the Forum, you might notice reports on diffusion zones southward. Besides, these motels are hardly your forever home. The city can only provide so much. Why not go for a ride and see what you can find out there?
OPTIONAL PROMPTS: clean up on aisle 3 (what is that goo?); a knock at your door but no one's there; you hear screaming or a commotion down the hall
The Fringes
Quad 3: Lockdown
Conditions: Stormy, with flooding roads
Felix Bjurstrom
> Date: 125-05-17
> Time: 02:15:57
> Emergency road lights have been reported in Quadrant 3! Please, can someone go see what's there? When last we chasers investigated emergency lights, a whole truck filled with sour candy had tipped over. Our stores were stocked for weeks! Oh, be careful - reception looks bad in that zone.
> Date: 125-05-17
> Time: 02:15:57
> Emergency road lights have been reported in Quadrant 3! Please, can someone go see what's there? When last we chasers investigated emergency lights, a whole truck filled with sour candy had tipped over. Our stores were stocked for weeks! Oh, be careful - reception looks bad in that zone.
Through the open windows, a computer awakens and displays a cheerful smile. The lights inside switch on.
Pick your scenario role below. Your thread partner doesn't need to take the opposite role! They can join you in the same scenario (i.e. trapped together). Players are also free to create a generic NPC for the other side to facilitate the thread.
After characters escape, they'll find one bottle of antibiotics in their pocket or car, whether they remember taking it or not.
After characters escape, they'll find one bottle of antibiotics in their pocket or car, whether they remember taking it or not.
A: Sealed In
As you peer through the windows, you see crates of medicine floating around. Antibiotics in the diadem are valuable. Hospitals and doctors are always buying. You can keep it for yourself or make a quick buck. Or maybe you're compelled to help somebody back in the city who's in need. Whatever the reason, you decide to take the risk and step inside.
Water splashes around your ankles. The lock buzzes behind you. If you try to break the windows, you discover they're unnaturally resistant to shattering. With the whole place locked tight, the water begins to churn. Then the computer lights up again.
Warning, it flashes in large, bold text. Quarantine in progress. Release code required for exit.
- To find the code, you'll have to search. Duck under the water, go through sopping envelopes and sticky notes or pick the locks on the filing cabinets and desk drawers. You can also try hacking the computers. Use your computer knowledge or fall back on the age-old trick of seeing who wrote down their password.
- The files, notepads, and emails start innocuous, but as you look through them, disturbing phrases jump out at you—a dark thought you've had or a cruel taunt from someone in your past. The longer you're fixed on the terrible words, the higher the water begins to rise. Only another can break you out of your trance.
- With the rising water comes fear. And the more you're afraid, the more the water also rises. You begin to see faces in the water, bobbing like balloon heads. Do you recognize them? If you move to take a closer look, they will sink back beneath the surface as if never there.
- If you manage to swallow your panic, you can eventually find a triple-laminated binder with the release code and instructions. Bad news: you need someone on the outside to punch in the 6 strange symbols in order. The instructions explain that the code panel is located at the back of the building.
B: Set Free
As you peer through the windows, you see not just the crates of medicine but someone trapped inside. They look like they might be in trouble, and from your vantage point, you notice that the water is bubbling strangely. It's definitely not normal rainwater. As you watch, the water rises unnaturally, stopping and starting. It's as if the water level is responding to an external stimulus.
- The glass is soundproof. You can't hear what the person inside is saying, so you'll have to communicate with each other another way. Try charades, typing on your phone, or whatever you think of. Eventually, you determine that they're stuck and that you need to enter some sort of code onto a pad located—according to your trapped partner—at the back of the building.
- Around the back, shadows swallow your surroundings. The panel must be pried open, but a slippery substance makes it hard to get a good grip. Each time the substance touches you, you grow uneasy. You swear you see eyes watching you, though when you turn around, nothing's there.
- You can't seem to keep the instructions in your mind. And those symbols...they burn into your retinas. Through them, you glimpse an incomprehensibly massive figure unfurling in the darkness, pulsing as if in a deep sleep. When you snap back to reality, you realize you've injured yourself, slicing your hand on a sharp edge or a bruise you can't remember getting.
- Once you manage to release the doors, the water inside the office drains upward into the sky as though sucked out by a giant hose. The darkness spreads. Get out of there fast before the shadows drag you or your partner into the void.
Main Navigation ::: ⇅
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no subject
It was tempting to just throw the guy in the back of his van, let him sprawl out in the seats while Frank got them the hell outta dodge — but that's a surefire way to lose a car, if the diffiusion zone decides to swallow it whole. Not like he'd wanna come back and drop the guy off there later, either, so. It is what it is.
Time to make this waffle house a waffle home.
Two, three minutes after they park, Clint gets a gentle slap slap on the hood of his car. Wake up, buttercup. It's a long drive back to the Blocks, if that's where he's staying too — either way, sleeping in a car with the protection of only a fucking tarp in a world full of raiders is a stupid ass mistake to make, and apparently Frank's feeling obligated to the guy.
Call it him being an ambassador of New York, paying it forward for all the work fighting off that alien invasion that one time. New York always pays its debts. )
Hey. ( It's not a bark, but it is firm, sharp, something adjacent to an order. ) You want coffee or not?
( And then he strides off without waiting for an answer; he wants coffee after all that fucking bullshit. Whether he's drinking it alone doesn't matter. What matters is sitting somewhere safe, warm, and dry, and getting his collective shit together while he tries to wrap his head around what the fuck just happened. )
no subject
Coffee. Hot and warmth and dry and inside and sitting. Resting. Right. Sure. Yeah. Just let him get up and climb out of his car which takes a hell of a lot more effort than it really should. Maybe he could call out for help, but he's determined to--to, what, make an asshole of himself? Hurt himself?
It can't be a pride thing; he already died in front of the guy.
He gets several steps toward the entrance of the offbrand IHOP (unless this is on brand?) before he tries to call out.] Hey- [And that alone takes the wet air out of him. Has to try and take a couple more breathes.] Help? [Please.
Whether he gets that help or not, a supporting arm to help him the rest of the way as the last dregs of adrenaline wears off, he does get to slide into a booth across from. This guy. Clint slumps. Again.]
Thanks.
[Guy deserves a lot more than a thanks, but it's a place to start.]
no subject
Then comes the thanks, and Frank eyes him again for another long second before he answers: )
You're welcome.
( Simple as that. He was there, the guy needed help, Frank helped him. It's not that hero bullshit where you go out looking for somebody to save, that's not him, that's not what he was there for — but he's not about to leave somebody to up and god damn die when he could do something about it instead.
And it turns out it was a good call, too, considering who exactly it is he intervened for. Not that he gives a shit about the celebrity status, just that maybe the world might owe this asshole a favor or two for all the thankless shit he's done for it. Plus, it'd be a shame to let Hawkeye die when his namesake's used as a running joke between Scout Snipers during training. Nice shot, Hawkeye. Really suck the fun out of the joke if he turned up fucking dead.
The waitress swings by, and Frank takes the liberty of ordering their drinks for them with a relatively polite, vaguely charismatic, )
Two cups of coffee, please, sweetheart. Matter 'fact, just leave the pot. Thank you, ma'am.
( Sue him for making assumptions, but Clint looks like a drowned rat that could hardly wheeze out a full sentence right now. )
no subject
He runs a hand back through his hair to paste it back some. For a bleary moment, he's back in the water, knelt with a weight of guilt in his chest, a glowing rock in his hand--
Don't even go there. There are floresent lights. There's the smell of greasy breakfast food and coffee. There's a squeaky, sticky seat under him. There's company.
He nods at said company. Or, down at his hand.] Bleeding.
no subject
Shit-
( It's an absent mutter under his breath, and it's followed by grabbing a wad of napkins from the holder at the far side of the table. They're folded up and pressed against the wound, but it doesn't do much to erase the trail that wraps around the back of his hand and spreads between the webbing of his fingers.
This wound in that water's an infection waiting to happen. He's gonna need to clean it better when they get back to the Blocks, back to the motel room where he's got an IFAK waiting for him. Not much he can do about it here and now; he trusts the cleanliness of this bathroom in this grubby shithole oh the outskirts of a grubbier city about as much as he trusts the water he was just half-blasted with.
The waitress, to her credit, did not give it so much as a second glance. She must see people come in here beat all to shit all the time. )
no subject
But there's something else. His hand brushes a bulge in a pocket that was not there before. His brows knit together, and he digs it out.
Well. He'll be damned. A bottle of antibiotics. That he does not remember pilfering from any of the crates before they all got flooded to shit.
This alone could fetch some money. Wouldn't be a complete and whole entire and complete fuckup of a mission. It isn't even waterlogged. Well--not the inside, anyway. And the outside's still just legible enough, though that probably won't last. He gives it a shake, hears the pills clatter around.
And then pops it open and sets one each in front of them, closes the bottle back up, and sets it in the middle of the table. Yeah yeah supposed to do a whole prescribed regiment and not fuck around with it lest it risks worse infections moving in or whatever, but beggars, choosers.]
no subject
Huh.
Well. Go figure. He'd have taken a painkiller too, but this is better. The bottle goes back down onto the middle of the table, the pill gets popped in his mouth, and he takes the time to gesture his cup of coffee Clint's way in a silent thanks before he uses the near-scalding liquid to swallow the pill down.
Good lookin' out.
The weary, comfortable silence stretches through another few bolstering swallows of caffeine, until he finally breaks through it. )
So is the rest of your whole- squad here to fix this shit, or what?
( Yeah, hey, they're from the same place. The man's famous, he's bound to be used to getting recognized. More importantly, dimension-snatching random people seems like an Avengers-level problem.
Granted, last he heard the team broke up or something and now half of 'em are on the FBI's most wanted list, but. You know. Kind of a bigger picture to worry about here than whatever that whole deal was. )
no subject
It's a companionable silence for a time before the inevitable happens, and his companion opens his mouth and addresses the elephant standing sopping wet in the room.
Always awkward to get recognized, but hey, it does happen. Not near as often as the Living Legend, the Tech Genius Billionaire, the Alien God, the Hulk, and the Hot Girl. Honestly, the only one that probably gets recognized less is Bruce being Bruce and not the big green, and now that he and Hulk have gotten their shit on straight, well...
As someone who made a living out of being a ghost, not being seen, the big brand recognition thing was never something he knew how to play off. But he's one of them. He's an Avenger. His face and name are known quantities. And he's known on sight by--what was this guy's name? God, he was everywhere on the news for a cycle, but Punisher was always pithier.
His voice is understandably rough and quiet and halting. He'd say he's survived worse, but he's never actually drowned before.]
Can't shoot your way out of this?
[Yes. He's going for snark. He's going for the smartass comment with the breath that he has. Like an idiot and an asshole. But a funny one, maybe.]
no subject
Yeah, granted it's entirely possible he's only saying that because of the rifle Frank walked through the building sporting, but judging by that look on his face, dry and knowing and familiar, Frank's not gonna take the optimistic route here. For some reason it never occurred to him anybody in the big leagues would ever know his name, but god damn, their home base was in New York for a while, wasn't it? Not like his ass wasn't on the news, the radio, every other media outlet there for a hot minute — he listened to some of the broadcasts himself. Clint Barton probably owns a television. Probably listens to the radio, probably picks up a god damn newspaper once in a while.
Touché, asshole. )
Not for lack of trying.
( He returns dryly, shifting back in his seat and studying Clint with fresh new wariness. So, how's this gonna go down? If it were Captain Boyscout sitting across from him maybe he'd have a better idea — and not the one you'd think. Takes a soldier to know a soldier — especially one personally betrayed by their government and the military. It's the billionaire he'd worry about most.
Rando McBowstring with his lack of publicity's a harder read. Maybe the best way to gauge it is- )
You one of the ones that went rogue?
( War criminal, enemy of the state and all that? Because if so, he'll worry a little bit less about an impending, legally unfounded citizen's arrest. )
no subject
Sure, maybe it's easy to think that way when he was one of the ones locked up in super-supermax. None of it feels like it matters all that much now. His eyebrows bob up as he takes another sip. Technically? Technically no. He was technically arrested, but his release was perfectly legally-enough negotiated.
Anything after the snap doesn't matter anymore, and far as he knows, nobody came knocking to chase after his ankle monitor being disabled.]
Was locked up in the Raft. If that's what you're asking.
[A sigh turns into a cleared throat a few times. He'll be tasting that brackish water for weeks, probably.]
Fell into this world same as you I imagine.
[So: no team falling in with him. Unintentional and random. Shit out of luck.]
no subject
So.
Good.
All it gets from Frank is a single nod, and a slight softening of his shoulders as he goes back to draining his cup of coffee. He busies himself with topping up his own cup, then hitting Clint's too while he's at it. )
Wellp. I guess we're both shit outta luck, then.
( Cheers. )
no subject
Yeah. Cheers indeed. Fucked and double fucked.]
Gonna try to figure it out. [In case that was ever in doubt. But survival has to come first. And Clint's doing a shit job of that so far.] Could've left me.
[He does not say should've. But maybe there's a part of him that thinks it.]
no subject
Then comes that second bit, that could've left me, and Frank's expression changes. It doesn't go hard exactly, it isn't annoyance on his face. It's more a firm, humorless, mildly chafed sort of look.
in a slow, hoarse drawl: )
That's not the kind of asshole I am.
( Phrasing's important. He is an asshole, that's no question, he's not denying it and he'd hate to set a false precedent. But there's a common fundamental misunderstanding among some types about who he is, what he does, why he does it. Contrary to what some media outlets might say, Frank Castle is not a wanton murderer with a flagrant disregard for human life. He's not the type to leave an innocent man to die, callously, coldly, for no reason. He might not be dressing up and playing hero the way Murdock does, but that's not because he's a fucking sociopath. He isn't. The opposite couldn't be more true; he cares immensely.
He lives with his killings because he can, because he can stomach it, because he can bear the weight and keep on walking, and he can do it without flinching, but that doesn't mean it doesn't all sit with him. That he isn't constantly and forever aware of the blood on his hands. He doesn't need to add anybody to that list that doesn't deserve to be there. He's got enough to shoulder as it is. So no, he couldn't have just left him.
Normally, Frank doesn't give a shit about clearing up this fundamental misunderstanding of his character — people are gonna think what they wanna think, and he doesn't care enough to correct that — but... they're sitting here having coffee together. They're two people from the same world on an alien planet full of new rules and unfathomable horrors. Right now, they're the same. It may be worth at least a minimal effort to make things clear. To clarify who he is — or who he isn't. )
no subject
Because he's sure it has nothing to do with being That One Avenger I Think He Uses A Bow Or Something.
Seems like there could be some clearing the air between them on both fronts, but Mr. Punisher hasn't suggested much of anything besides being approving of being on Team Cap, sticking it to The Man and all that. Having a record. Really, does any of it matter in the wake of half the universe gone? Aren't they all different people now?
Is Natasha in a place where she can be with family? Her very soul? If there hadn't been a timely use of resuscitation (and, ow, if his chest didn't already hurt, the compressions sure would've done the job), maybe he could've stayed floating in that place with--
No point in that thought. Nat gave herself up for his family, and for him. He's here. And he's having coffee in a Not Waffle House, Not House of Pancakes, with a guy that was on the news for a good hot second for:]
Thirty-seven?
[Wry. Non-judgemental. Not that kind of asshole, but this kind of asshole.]
no subject
'Far as they know, sure.
( The real number's easily double that, and that's after his discharge from the service. If they took his military record into account...
But they won't, couldn't, because most of it has been redacted. If it weren't already a long list of black strike-throughs blotting out text from special ops missions alone, it sure would've become one after Kandahar. After the people with authority over him began to cover up their tracks, to hide the details. He doesn't know exactly when the corruption started, when he went from soldier to hitman for the US Military, and he doesn't think he'll ever truly find out. But he knows the numbers started climbing much, much higher much, much faster toward the end.
He swallows his coffee, gently thunks the mug back down, and asks: )
That gonna be a problem?
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So many more than they know about.
[Partly due to clandestine black ops special ops super duper ultra mega secret ops missions for years and years at SHIELD. Partly due to not many people bothering to keep much track during Avengers-level events. Partly due to not many people knowing about his post-snap activities, and even then, do they know the astronomical number?
He can do 37 on a good day.
They aren't talking about any other elephants taking up space in the IHOW. Did The Big Bad Punisher experience any awful weirdness? Did he have to get a mound of insecurities shoved at him relentlessly? He's killed lots and lots of people, but some of them he actually regrets. Those killed under Loki's control--
Natasha's hardly the only one with a ledger gushing red. And maybe a lot of them deserved it. Maybe they didn't. That wasn't his to decide, except for the times he decided he got to decide. And the times when the Ronin took to the streets, a weapon without a wielder, a dog without a leash.]
Trick is, government sanctioned, or don't get caught.
[Or be on a team of fucking super heroes, but that one comes with fine print and plenty of asterisks.]
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When he shifts again this time, it's stiffly. Unhappily. His fingertips press tight into the ceramic of his mug, his hold on it carefully rigid. )
Nah, see, I did government sanctioned. ( That's the bitch of it, isn't it? ) Turns out the shit they were sanctioning was worse than anything I ever did on my own. Those thirty-seven or however many, I don't regret a single one.
( The clear, unspoken implication: the same is not true for the men he was commanded to kill. Ahmad Zubair will haunt him until the day he finally dies for real. )
As for not getting caught... I'll start wearin' a mask when I start being ashamed of what I'm doing.
( And that ain't today. )
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Clint shifts in his seat, and it doesn't help his lungs but it doesn't make them worse, something he's learning in every way he sits. He should not be upright at all, frankly. He should be in the back of an ambulance, and it wouldn't surprise him if he started dry drowning right here in front of his newfound ally(???) and die for real this time. But his shoulders ease. That's something.]
Governments usually don't know shit. [Ask him, he's one that fought on Team Cap and got chucked in jail about it. Something something Accords something. Fuck that political shit. He knows enough secrets to topple whole governments, the US included, but it's not his damn business. He can't be wielding that kind of power like it belongs to him.
He offers up a hand across the table.]
Clint.
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Clint offers his hand over, and thus the final assessment was made: Hawk Guy's alright.
He releases his coffee to meet him half way, and the pair of them shake hands over top of a sticky, ugly-patterned IHOW table. )
Frank Castle.
( You know, just in case the news elected to omit his real name in favor of sticking with that title they love to use so much. Punisher, big bad Punisher. Stupid, if you ask him, but he didn't come up with it, so whatever. It is what it is.
When their hands fall away, it feels a little less like having coffee with a stranger, and a little more like having coffee with a potential ally. He doesn't hold a candle to Curt — no offense, pal — but it's still nice to have a familiar face around that he's pretty sure won't try to kill him in his sleep, if for no other reason than because it'd be a real shit move after the whole mouth-to-mouth resuscitation thing.. )
You stayin' in the Blocks?
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Yeah, look, it was never a perfect system, but it was one Clint believed in wholeheartedly.
Castle. Yeah. Frank Castle, that was his name. Is his name. No need to go with their other names. Maybe on missions, but, y'know, that's real damn presumptuous. Is the world ready for a Hawkeye-Punisher teamup?
Well, this isn't their world, and it would likely be more Ronin and Punisher, and the only real difference there is one wears a mask and went international. Whatever. It's better, now. They're easing into it while they feel each other out. Guy saved his life; a lot of crimes could be pretty forgivable at that point.]
Hard to afford anything else.
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Imagine that shit. The Punisher working with a goddamn Avenger. Somebody call Murdock and tell him to eat shit.
He raises his chin a little in acknowledgement, in fresh understanding. )
That why you were diggin' around in there? Lookin' to sell off the meds for cash?
( He's not judging. You do what you gotta do to get by; based on the bulletin that went out ain't like they belonged to anybody. Somebody like Red would probably turn 'em over to a hospital for free, but people have to eat. People have to survive. It's not a shining beacon of heroism, but it's realistic. )
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But the question raises a question of his own. Because Frank was clearly not there for the potential cash prize. And the rifle he had slung was--not good for up close and personal business, for sure, but maybe that's just what he had on him, like Clint lost the sword.
He tips his head as his hands cradle the mug to let the warmth seep in.] You?
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Been tracking a handful of assholes for a few days. They monitor the forums, watch out for new fluxdrifters organizing supply runs to diffusion zones. Jump 'em after they get the goods, beat 'em down, take it for themselves, steal their cars. Leave the victims behind for whatever's out there to have.
( It's smart. A clever strategy, effective, easy. The newer the fluxdrifter, the less equipped they are to handle a raid like that. Easy pickings.
He was solving the problem. )
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They were in the building, then. Probably waiting for someone like Clint (or, someone less prepared to fight than Clint) to come do what he did. Might be that Frank Castle saved a couple people tonight.]
Altruistic.
[Maybe the idea of killing assholes shouldn't seem altruistic to an Avenger. But the Ronin most certainly approves. Even if Castle doesn't see it as altruism, what is he getting out of it, exactly? And if he's following a code of his own, he's not out there being a fucked up son of a bitch for no reason. There isn't anything he can read about it that's inherently selfish or self-serving in the act.]
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In absolute deadpan: )
Where were you when I needed a character witness?
( Not that it would've mattered. Not that it would've helped. Frank's trial had been going just fine until he tanked that shit himself. Soaked it in gasoline, struck the match, lit it on fire. He'd have torn down any character witness that spun his actions into any positive light, because he had business waiting for him inside that prison.
Still. Can't say it isn't nice to hear.
And it's not exactly inaccurate, either.
What does Frank get out of this, outside of a bad reputation? Not a whole god damn lot. An outlet, maybe, for all the anger he's got built up in him. A momentary reprieve from the ghosts of his family reminding him of all the bad in the world, and all the people that are still in it willing to do to others what was done to Frank. People taking children away from their parents, people killing wives and husbands, people leaving behind that same hollow, yawning emptiness he feels. If he gets anything out of this at all, it's just the satisfaction in knowing there's one less instance of that to go around.
Maybe what the Punisher suffers from most is bad PR and a self-sabotaging disinterest in improving that. Guess that depends entirely on your perspective. Matt Murdock would disagree. Clint Barton, evidently, might not. )
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