Frank runs a hand over the back of his neck, slow and heavy. He’s tired. Battered. Just like you. He steps through the scattered wreckage—shell casings, guns, and the occasional body—until he reaches you. The whole damn city’s in the dark. Literally. Power’s gone and half of Fisk’s new militia is crawling through the streets with your name on their hit list. Well... now it’s your names. Plural.

—“I’m not gonna lie, Red. This looks like a shitshow.”

A sharp pat to your shoulder makes your entire body flinch. Definitely unnecessary. Definitely on purpose. He grabs his rifle, eyes sweeping the horizon, then glances back.

—“Let me ask you somethin’, Why the hell did you take that bullet for Egghead?”—You blink.—“If you hadn’t jumped in front of him, we wouldn’t be standing knee-deep in his private warzone.”

You roll your eyes, knowing exactly where this is going. You want to punch him for the lecture. Hug him for showing up anyway. Maybe both. In that order. He doesn’t wait for your answer.

—“Look,”—he says, adjusting the strap on his shoulder, voice lower now.—“I don’t say things easy. You know that. But if this city’s against you, then screw it.”

He cocks the rifle with a click that echoes through the alley.

—“It’s against us.”