BOOM!
The heavy oak doors at the front entrance of the Funhouse were blown off their hinges by a military-grade breach charge, sending splinters and iron shrapnel flying forty feet across the arcade floor.
Frank Castle—The Punisher—stepped through the settling dust. He was wearing a dark tactical vest with a faded white skull painted across the chest, holding a suppressed M4 carbine, his eyes cold and hard as granite.
"Jack," Frank’s gravelly voice growled into the dark, echoing off the rafters. "Step out. No jokes. No speeches."
Jack didn't step out. Instead, he slammed a giant crimson red lever on the side of the control booth.
CLICK-CLACK-BZZZZZT!
The mirror maze instantly detonated with thirty magnesium flare boxes in a blinding, violet-and-yellow flash-bang display! Simultaneously, the floorboards of the entry hall electrified with six hundred volts, sending blue sparks flying toward Frank’s tactical boots!
FLASH-BANG-BOOM!
"WHAT THE—" Frank grunted, his night-vision goggles fried in a split second as he took a defensive leap backward onto a non-conductive wooden crate, firing a spray of suppressive rounds into the purple fog.
RAT-TAT-TAT-TAT-TAT!
From the top balcony, Jack reached down, slammed the emergency lockdown shutter switch, and dropped a heavy steel security gate right behind Frank, trapping the Skull in the flash-bang mirror maze with two hundred pounds of industrial confetti and squeaky horn traps.
"Enjoy the carnival, Frankie!" Jack screech-screamed over the roar of the alarms, waving his lavender velvet sleeve in the air. "The cotton candy is free, but the exit fee is your mental sanity! HAHAHAHA!"
Jack turned around, grabbed Natasha by the wrist, and yanked her toward the secret rear service hatch where the stolen laundry van was parked.
"Jack, what are you doing?!" Felicia yelled, scrambling down the ladder after them. "We spent four hours building those traps! Aren't we going to fight him?!"
"Fight him?!" Jack cackled, hopping into the driver's seat of the laundry van and hot-wiring the ignition with a silver butter knife. "And miss our tea time in Queens?! Not a chance, Kitty! We got higher priorities! We got... MILFS TO FLIRT WITH!"
VROOOOM!
The laundry van tore out of the alleyway, tires screeching against wet asphalt, leaving Coney Island behind as they sped north on the Brooklyn-Queens Expressway.
Thirty minutes later, Forest Hills, Queens.
The tree-lined street was quiet, smelling of rain and fresh-cut grass. Sitting on the second floor of a modest red-brick apartment building was a cozy living room lit by a soft amber floor lamp.
Aunt May was in her floral apron, humming a quiet tune as she pulled a hot baking sheet of fresh chocolate chip cookies out of the oven.
KNOCK-KNOCK-KNOCK!
HONK-HONK! (An air-horn sounded softly through the wood).
May blinked, wiping her hands on her apron. "Oh, dear... Peter didn't say he was bringing friends over this late."
She opened the door.
Standing on her welcome mat was Jack.
His face was chalk-white, his eyes smudged in hollow black circles, and his crimson lip balm scar stretched ear-to-ear. He was wearing his ruined lavender velvet blazer, holding a slightly wilted bouquet of yellow dandelions he'd pulled out of the neighbor's garden bed.
Flanking him on either side were Natasha Romanoff—looking like a gorgeous, lethal SHIELD assassin trying to blend in—and Felicia Hardy, who was currently pinching her own nose in utter disbelief.
"Good evening, beautiful!" Jack rasped in a smooth, dramatic baritone, sweeping his arm out and offering the dandelions with a deep bow. "Are you May Parker? Or did I accidentally wander into the finals of the Miss Universe pageant?!"
May froze for a second, looking at the white face paint, the bright crimson mouth, and the bloodshot eyes glowing with [12.5% SYNCHRONIZATION] madness.
Then, bless her sweet, oblivious heart, May let out a gentle, motherly gasp.
"Oh, my goodness!" May exclaimed, putting a hand over her cheek. "Are you children from the theatrical performing arts school down on 4th Street? Peter told me you kids do that street pantomime! Come in, come in! You look absolutely freezing!"
Natasha stared at May. Felicia stared at May. Jack stared at May, his crimson smile expanding past human limits.
"Pantomime?!" Jack gasped, stepping right into her cozy living room, his boots leaving wet tracks on her floral rug. "Yes! Exactly, Auntie May! We're... avant-garde street clowns! And I'm the lead tenor!"
Jack sauntered right into the kitchen, leaned over the stove, and took a deep, dramatic sniff of the cooling tray.
"Mmm! Chocolate chip!" Jack purred, his raspy voice vibrating as he turned back to May, winking at her through his black-painted eye. "You know, May... a gorgeous woman like you shouldn't be slaving over a hot stove all by herself. Where's that nephew of yours? If I was living here, I'd be rubbing your feet and buying you diamonds!"
Felicia choked on her own spit, slapping a hand over her mouth. Natasha stood by the hallway, her jaw slightly unhinged, watching Jack shameless flirt with Spider-Man’s aunt.
May giggled—an actual, genuine, flattered blush creeping up her cheeks. "Oh, stop it, you sweet charmer! You're making an old woman blush! Here, take a napkin before you touch those, they're still hot."
[SYSTEM QUEST PROGRESS: "MILF & COOKIES"]
Flirt recklessly with Aunt May: COMPLETED!
Acquire warm homemade chocolate chip cookies: COMPLETED!
Progress: (1/3 Objectives Done)
Jack grabbed six cookies, stuffing three straight into his mouth while wrapping the rest in a napkin, his white-painted cheeks bulging as he chewed with pure, unadulterated bliss.
"Mph! May, these are divine!" Jack muffled, leaning in and planting a loud, greasy, white-paint-smeared kiss directly on May’s cheek. "You're a national treasure! If Peter ever gives you attitude, you call me! I'll put him in a headlock!"
"Oh, you're such a delight, Jack!" May beamed, patting his white-painted cheek, entirely unbothered by the greasepaint left on her skin. "Do come back anytime!"
Jack turned around, grabbing Natasha’s arm and dragging her back out toward the hallway before Peter Parker could web-sling through the window and lose his absolute mind.
Down on the sidewalk, standing beside the stolen laundry van under the yellow streetlamp, Jack took a huge bite of a warm cookie, pointing a finger at Natasha.
"See that, Red?!" Jack cackled, his crimson grin covered in chocolate crumbs. "That is how a real gentleman operates! Charm, grace, and baked goods!"
Natasha looked at the white smudge of lipstick on May's window, then looked at Jack, shaking her head with a rare, quiet, genuine laugh escaping her lips.
"You are a terrifying human being, Jack," Natasha murmured.
"Next stop..." Jack rasped, his eyes glowing as he looked toward the Manhattan skyline, "...Stark's whiskey, and then I'm coming for that chest touch, Red! DARE TO STOP ME! HAHAHAHA!"
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