Both start in hell: but their talents are multiplied a hundredfold.

Frank's voice wavered for the first time, becoming hoarse and trembling, like an echo from a grave.

His wife's gentle smile, his son running on the grass, and his little hand reaching out to him, babbling incoherently.

Those images never left his mind; they flashed through his mind every night as he pulled the trigger, like the cruelest curse.

"My love..." Frank murmured those names, the muzzle of his gun lowering inch by inch.

"You're lying." He suddenly raised his eyes again, his voice turning menacing once more.

"No one can bring the dead back to life! You can't fool me!"

Shen Jue wasn't angry. He simply took a step closer to him, his shoes crushing a few bullet casings with a soft crunching sound.

I'm not asking you to believe me right now.

"But you can stay here and watch how I turn these sinners back into human beings, and watch how this world is gradually filled with love."

"If you still want to kill with your gun, then you can decide whether to kill them first or me first."

Frank stood there, his chest heaving, the muzzle of his gun hesitating slightly in mid-air.

He never hesitated to face any enemy in his life.

But at this moment, he couldn't bring himself to take that step.

Furthermore, after witnessing Shen Jue catch a magazine of automatic rifle bullets with her bare hands, Frank hesitated about whether to continue the fight.

Who knows if his defensive grenades can actually harm Shen Jue?

If it were Frank before his wife and children died, and he encountered Shen Jue, a mutant who could ignore light firepower, alone and unprepared.

He'll only think, "You're already catching military rifle bullets with your bare hands, what else can I do?"

Give Shen Jue whatever he wants. Frank is just an ordinary retired special forces soldier. Without powerful weapons, how can he possibly fight against a superhuman like Shen Jue?

But now, Frank, who is repeatedly sinking into the hell of killing that torments himself and others, will not hesitate to pull the trigger or seek a more powerful weapon, even if the enemy is a demigod or god from ancient mythology.

Faced with Shen Jue's temptation, Frank was caught in an extreme struggle and dilemma.

He gritted his teeth, his throat feeling like it was filled with rusty iron filings, each word hoarse and torn: "Who exactly are you?"

The wind blew in through the broken window, stirring up the gunpowder smoke and dust on the ground.

Frank's breathing was heavy and erratic, the veins on his forehead throbbing. He stared intently into Shen Jue's eyes: "What's your purpose?"

Shen Jue did not avoid his gaze, nor did she take another step forward. She simply stood amidst the scattered bullet casings, her expression calm to the point of being almost compassionate.

A few scattered sirens drifted from afar, like noise seeping in from another world, muffled and distant.

Frank could smell the gunpowder and blood on his body, mixed with sweat, rushing into his nostrils in waves.

He suddenly felt the gun in his hand become very heavy, as if he were holding an entire unredeemable past.

Shen Jue's gaze fell on his finger pulling the trigger, lingered for a moment, and then moved back to his face.

"I'm just an ordinary person who's angry about the current state of America," Shen Jue said slowly.

Frank, unable to contain himself any longer, raised the muzzle of his rifle and said, "You mean to say..."

"An angry ordinary person caught a whole magazine of rifle bullets I fired in a single second?"

"Is this considered an ordinary person?"

"Are you some kind of mutated superhuman or mutant?"

Upon hearing Frank's words, Shen Jue smiled and said, "You just don't understand how powerful an angry ordinary person can be."

"A muscleman like you, even with an automatic rifle, will only taste defeat when facing an angry ordinary person."

Frank's lips twitched; he thought Shen Jue was joking with him.

"It's okay if you don't believe me," Shen Jue said, her tone like that of someone comforting a wounded beast.

"The important point is that my commitment remains valid."

"And my goal is simply to make this world a better place."

"If we all give a little love, the world will definitely become a better place."

Shen Jue concluded solemnly.

Without realizing it, Frank had already put down the rifle in his hand.

He seemed to have made up his mind before asking, "What do you need me to do?"

"Murder? Or robbery of some unfortunate soul?"

"Child," Shen Jue shook her head and said, "what are you thinking about?"

"We are here to fill this world with love and peace."

Frank shook his head slightly in confusion, while the sirens grew closer. Shen Jue smiled, and everyone present surrounded him as they left.

Punisher Frank hesitated for only a few seconds before steeling himself and following Shen Jue.

Nighttime, inside a secluded factory in Brooklyn, New York City.

More than a dozen brand-new mobile food carts were neatly parked on the cement ground, their paint gleaming softly under the lights.

Several former gang members were busy checking the list and handing car keys to those waiting in line.

The tattoos on the arms of those gang members were still showing from under their rolled-up sleeves, but their expressions were gentle and warm.

They repeatedly confirmed the address, number of people, and operating hours of each family.

Among those who received the food cart were young women and silent men.

They wore faded old clothes and had rough fingers.

A Black mother, holding her child, trembled as she received the keys, repeatedly saying thank you.

A Latino man vigorously wiped the corner of his eye with his sleeve, pretending to wipe away sweat.

Gang members even provided the start-up capital for operating the food truck.

Bundles of small-denomination banknotes were packed in kraft paper bags and solemnly placed into each person's hands.

There were also boxes of fresh vegetables, bread, meat and bottled sauces piled up next to it.

A gang member whispered in accented English to a single father that the onions should be kept in a cool place and the beef should be refrigerated that night.

His tone was so serious that he sounded more like a concerned grocery store owner than a gang thug.

Frank the Punisher was standing behind a long stainless steel table at the very back.

He was wearing a black short-sleeved shirt, his chest and arms stretching the fabric taut, and there were still old scars on his neck.

The cutting board, knives, spice jars, and fryer on the table are ready.

When Shen Jue asked Frank if he knew how to make various American snacks, Frank nodded almost unconsciously.

Then Shen Jue sent him to teach those who had acquired the food trucks how to make snacks.

Frank looked up and glanced at the men and women in front of him, his gaze still cold and hard, as if he were counting soldiers rather than cadets.

But surprisingly, he relaxed for a moment.

Although he had already obtained the information that Shen Jue could completely alter the consciousness and thoughts of others.

But Frank was not afraid; instead, he became even more determined to integrate into Shen Jue's group.

As long as Shen Jue doesn't directly alter his consciousness, he needs to know Shen Jue's true purpose.

Of course, Frank definitely didn't join Shen Jue's side with the hope that there was even a one in ten thousand chance that Shen Jue could revive his wife and son.

Meanwhile, Shen Jue was sitting in a coffee shop in New York, drinking a cup of coffee with sugar cubes.

A petite, furtive figure lurked outside the coffee shop, watching Shen Jue's every move.