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“Look, I know you’re busy, but I’d like you to look into something.”
“If it’s about your nightly activities, I’m not interested.”
“It’s not. It’s a favor to a friend.”
David Lieberman pauses, his hand still steadying the pour-over coffee carafe. The hot water sloshes in the kettle. Upstairs, he hears Leo’s triumphant roar and Zach’s shriek of despair as his sister beats him at Mario Kart for the fifth time. Faintly, he hears Leo crow, “I am inevitable!”
“LEO,” David yells. On the phone, Frank Castle makes a noise like he flinched. “HOW MANY TIMES DO I HAVE TO ASK YOU TO—PLEASE—NOT QUOTE THE PURPLE ALIEN MASS MURDERER???”
“SORRY, DAD,” Leo yells back. “I DIDN’T MEAN TO TRIGGER ANYBODY!”
“Sorry,” David says, in normal volume, “what were you saying, Pete?”
“What the hell, Micro. Your kid uses Thanos catch phrases?” There’s always a chance that someone is listening to the phone call. Hence, Frank is Pete and David is Micro.
David sighs. “It’s a coping mechanism. Plus, the memes of The Blip have really desensitized people to how traumatic it was for some of us. The average kid on the internet has no idea what it was like, unless their parents got dusted. Most of them were more accustomed to Blip World than Normal World.”
“But Lilith’s parents did get dusted,” Frank points out, unnecessarily. On their phone calls, Sarah is Sandy. Leo is Lilith. Zach is Chad. They all picked their own codenames. Sarah loved Grease as a teen, so Sandy was the obvious choice for her. David remains concerned that Leo’s pick came from the legend of the first demon. He’s equally concerned that his son would pick the most insufferable WASP name he could think of.
“And that’s why I may have to pay her and Chad’s therapist with my immortal soul,” David says, with forced cheer. “And that’s probably why her and Chad won’t move out until she’s thirty. But thank God you, Chaucer, and Red were there to help them through it.” Chaucer was the rather odd codename Curtis had picked for himself. “Anyway, what’s up?”
Frank’s sigh sounds like radio static. “That’s actually what I called to talk about.”
“A therapist?” David asks, eagerly. “Oh, I have a recommendation for one—”
“Red, Mirco. I called to talk about Red.”
David deflates. “Oh.”
Frank chuckles. “Don’t sound so disappointed.”
“Sorry. Go on?”
“Red’s friend was targeted by a bunch of mouth-breathers online. They leaked a video of her and some guy who was in on their operation—”
“Wait, what?” David finishes pouring the water over the coffee grounds, then sets the kettle down. “Are you talking about a sex tape? They leaked this woman’s sex tape? Without her permission?”
“It wasn’t a sex tape,” Frank says. “She didn’t know she was being filmed.”
“Oh, god. That’s revolting.”
“They did it because she’s She-Hulk,” Frank says, quickly, as though to rip off a Band-Aid. “Her identity isn’t a secret, unlike Red’s. I guess these guys are a bunch of limp dicks who get off on trying to ruin a woman’s life because she’s more badass than they’ll ever be.”
“A common story on the internet,” David sighs. “The incel hatred of anyone who isn’t equally as miserable as them can be a powerful force.”
“So, this group played this sex video of Jen Walters at a party where her coworkers and her parents all saw it,” Frank says. “And they leaked a bunch of other personal documents at the same time.”
“Sick bastards,” David said. Frank grunts his agreement. “Why are you telling me this, Pete? It’s awful, but I don’t know Jen Walters.”
“The website that brings all these yahoos together is still up,” Frank says. “Jen took out the main instigator, but the rest of the group is still out to get her. And she doesn’t know who they are, so she can’t press charges.” David hears a door slam on the other end of the phone. “Micro: Last week, they decided to go after Red, too.”
David tries not to gasp dramatically, but he can’t help it. “They can’t! If they find out who he is--”
“I think it’s safe to say they haven’t, for now,” Frank says, “They know his plain clothes identity because he’s been seen with Jen a few times. But if they put two and two together and get four—”
“They could expose him,” David breathes. “And then they would know—everybody who wants him dead would know who he is—”
“Exactly,” Frank says. “And that would put everyone around him in danger, too.” David can read the implications of what Frank didn’t say: That ‘everyone around him’ includes David, Sarah, and the kids. It also includes Karen Page, Foggy Nelson, and many others.
In the awful, yawning chasm that was the five years after The Blip, Matt Murdock and Frank Castle had put aside their considerable differences to form a support network of their remaining friends and allies. There were no enhanced-human atheists in those trenches, it turned out: Once it was clear the Avengers were out for the count, every superhero-adjacent person in New York City had turned to Daredevil and The Punisher to organize. Vigilante focus turned from the cessation of criminal activity to the preservation of all life. After all, life on Earth had suddenly been halved by a maniacal tyrant.
Leo and Zach, re-traumatized and reeling from the loss of both parents, had found a kindred spirit in Murdock. Matt was functionally an orphan. He knew what it was like to be utterly alone in the world. At the time, Leo thought she was old enough to keep herself and Zach safe. She had kept Zach in the Liebermans’ house. Despite his own emotional burden of losing most of his friends in The Blip, Murdock had still showed his legal teeth and fought off debt collectors, real estate vultures, and Child Protective Services on Leo’s behalf. At his behest, a few of Murdock’s elderly neighbors had gone over every other week and helped the kids cook and clean. Frank and Curtis had given as much of their paychecks to the kids as they could spare, supplementing Leo’s own meager wages from her job as a mechanic. David could never repay them all for how they had protected his children.
Surprisingly, this is the first time Frank has asked him to help Matt. Daredevil remains fairly self-sufficient on his side of town, with the occasional assist from Luke Cage, Jessica Jones, or Danny Rand. As far as David knows, The Punisher’s truce with Daredevil ended after Thanos was killed. This is a request motivated by Frank Castle’s urge to protect Matt Murdock. Plus, David knows the idea of a bunch of disenfranchised men ganging up on one excellent woman really grinds Frank’s gears. It grinds David’s gears, too, if he’s honest with himself. He doesn’t stomach injustice well. He never has.
“So, I’m just curious,” David says, as he pours his freshly made coffee into his Captain America-themed mug, “what’s the name of this website?”
Frank snorts knowingly. “Intelligencia. Prick website name to go with prick users.”
“Tell me about it. If they were actually as intelligent as the name implies, they’d do something worthwhile, like exposing pedophiles or hacking corrupt corporations.” David crosses quickly from the kitchen to his office, careful not to slosh hot coffee all over his hand. “Okay. Intelligencia.” He sets the coffee down, slings himself into his gaming chair, and boots up his desktop. Within a few keystrokes, he’s found the website. He peruses the content: Lots of hate comments, endless tirades against female superheroes, a few posts in the forum dropping the names, addresses, and work histories of women these men deem ‘problematic’. There are pictures of women obviously taken without their knowledge. He sees the video Frank described: Jennifer Walters, unknowingly giving these freaks a show with a generically handsome man. The engagement on that post is off charts, easily gaining the highest number of thumbs-up and comments. He quickly navigates away from it.
Some of the most recent threads are about the enhanced humans and vigilantes Intelligencia users actually admire. Abomination is on there. Hulk is on there. The Winter Solider is on there. Ironically, so is Daredevil, although a few comments bemoan the fact that Daredevil prioritizes the protection of women, children, and the elderly over pounding evildoers’ faces into, ‘the consistency of tomato paste’. David does not tell Frank about the how often these guys reference The Punisher and his methods as a sign that he is an ‘Apex Predator’ and ‘a true Sigma male’. He has common sense, after all. He does say, “Wow. I can’t tell if these guys are sexual sadists, or if they’re so deep in the closet they pretend their disdain for women and admiration for male vigilantes is all about their own raging testosterone.”
“Those two things aren’t mutually exclusive,” Frank points out.
“They’re all gay sexual sadists?” David says. “That’s your takeaway?”
“No, but I’m just saying. It is possible.”
David sighs. “I’ll say it again: Sick bastards.”
“Keep scrolling, Micro.”
There are a few new forum posts featuring the male love interests of the website’s much-hated female superheroes. He starts to see the posts about Matt Murdock. There are pictures of him at the courthouse, walking beside She-Hulk. There are a few pictures of him working a case in LA, the shots taken from behind a dumpster. The accompanying comments are just as awful as he thought they’d be. It’s ironic, David thinks: Matt Murdock has gotten more action than all these men put together, but because he’s been seen with Jennifer Walters, they assume he’s a weak and emasculated failure. A ‘simp’, a ‘cuck’, a ‘beta male’, whatever new incel verbiage they can throw at him. Although the words are not directed at David himself, he can’t help but be insulted on Murdock’s behalf. The man is practically a saint, and these lowlifes dare to think they’re better than him.
A few posts down, he sees a dashcam video. Matt is standing on a busy freeway David can reasonably identify as the 405 in Los Angeles, watching the driver in the video roll away, leaving him stranded. The driver laughs uproariously and says, ‘I hope a car hits you, bro! They do ninety here! Good luck, fucking simp!’ The comments attached to the video are filled with vitriol for Matt. Context for the video is unnecessary: Clearly, this driver was hoping his abandonment would seriously injure or kill Murdock.
Just like that, rage overrides rationality. David’s computer-oriented brain flips into predator mode. He switches over to his code analysis program. The website breaks into its digital parts. He steers through the code carefully. “Hmmm, no major firewalls. Amateurs.” He descends into silence, the click of his mouse and the chatter of keys the only noise.
“Micro,” Frank’s voice says, in his ear. David startles. He forgot he was on the phone. “You think you can do something about these guys?”
“Mm-hmm.” David scrolls through the code to the access point of the user interface. Looking at the way the website is structured, it should be easy to worm his way into all its nooks and crannies. “I think I can handle it, yeah,” he says, with barely suppressed delight. For David, there’s no mood enhancer like a harmful website with abysmal security.
Frank pauses. He can’t see the evil grin that slid onto David’s face, but he might be able to hear it in his voice. “Um…Good?”
“Oh, buddy,” David says, with a heartfelt laugh, “is it ever.” He slams aside the pathetic security bot that tries to stop him from cracking open the interface. “I’m going in,” he says. “Give me about ten hours.”
“You think you can take a whole website down that fast?” Frank sounds impressed. “I mean, I know you’re good, but that seems quick.”
“I’m not going to shut it down,” David says.
“What? Why not?”
“Because I’m going to use it to destroy them.” David punches rapidly through the second security bot’s defenses.
“I like the sound of that,” Frank says.
David chuckles darkly. “You would.”
“When you say, ‘destroy’—"
“I don’t take prisoners, Pete. Not under these circumstances. There will be no survivors. They’re all going down.”
“Digitally speaking?”
“No, literally,” David says. “I’m going to find all their real-world names, locations, and professions. And all their bank accounts, for funsies.”
Frank whistles. “And do what with that information?”
“Nothing they don’t deserve,” David says, as he pulls out his dedicated red-herring laptop. His desktop has plenty of power for this task, but he’ll need a second VPN server signature bouncing around the website to confuse anyone who might try to stop him. The cheap laptop he got at a Black Friday sale is the sturdiest little decoy he has. “One ill turn deserves another, after all. Wouldn’t you say, Pete?”
“Wow,” Frank says. “I’m not sure if I should be proud or say a Hail Mary for those poor bastards.”
“Don’t bother,” David says. “They did this to themselves. Besides, you know you’re an enabler for bad habits. Don’t get all holier-than-thou on me, now.”
“I didn’t buy you that fancy computer. You did.”
“Lilith hoarded the components for me during The Blip,” David argues. “I couldn’t let her labor of love go to waste!”
“Sure. But you know what people usually have gaming computers for, Micro?” Frank pauses for effect. “Gaming.”
“That’s what gamers want you to think,” David mutters, as he logs into the laptop’s browser and turns on the VPN extension. “At any rate, Intelligencia is a clear and present danger to the bizarre social circle we find ourselves in. It would be stupid to let them get away with this witch hunt.”
“Interesting choice of words,” Frank says, dryly. “You seen the shit Doctor Strange has been dealing with?”
“I actively avoid it,” David says. “I don’t cross the Brooklyn Bridge anymore unless I absolutely must. But seriously: We have to get these guys before they get us.”
Frank sighs. “If we don’t, it’ll come back to bite us, for sure.”
David nods. “Right. It’s better to get the jump on them before they get too close to Red’s alter ego.”
“Yeah,” Frank says.
“Of course,” David says.
“Sandy’s going to kill me for dragging you into this,” Frank says. “Probably literally, one of these days.”
“She might,” David agrees. “And she’d get away with it, too.”
“Yeah, because you’d be her alibi.”
David laughs. “If I had to pick between you and my wife? Yeah, you’re going under the bus. Adios, muchacho.”
“Fair enough.”
“I’d drive that bus myself, if I had to.”
“Yeah, okay.”
David hums. “Actually, getting behind the wheel would probably be easier than trying to throw you under it. You’ve got like fifty pounds of muscle on me—”
“Micro, you’ve overdone the bus thing,” Frank cuts in. “I’m also not going to point out the obvious fact that you’ve almost committed vehicular manslaughter before.”
“Yeah, I did that for you! Be grateful!”
“I’m also not going to point out the fact that I repaid you for all of that during The Blip.”
“You’re a real noble guy,” David says. “Almost kingly in your character. That’s why you gave me the deets on Intelligencia. Because it was the right thing to do.”
“Sure,” Frank says.
“Right,” David says.
There’s a moment where David knows they’re both silently grinning. He pulls up Intelligencia and sets up the automatic IPN signal jumps on his laptop’s VPN. Then he opens the VPN on his desktop in a separate window. He takes a sip of his coffee. “If I never have to drink instant coffee out of a tin thermos again, I will die a happy man,” he tells Frank.
“That pour-over crap takes too long,” Frank says. “If I wanted to meditate, I’d buy a Tibetan singing bowl.”
“Yoga would probably do you some good,” David says. “I do it a couple times a week with Sandy, and I swear I’ve got fifteen extra degrees of rotation in my spine.”
“I’ve done yoga.”
“When?” David demands. He’s somewhat offended; this is the first time he’s ever heard of Frank practicing yoga.
Frank clears his throat. “Look, we were all very different people in The Blip, Micro. Sometimes, your options were, ‘Learn how to do Flying Lizard Pose or go insane’.”
“Did Red teach you yoga, Pete? Did I miss out on learning Warrior Two from a guy who can actually kick people’s asses?”
“It doesn’t really matter now,” Frank says. “That’s all ancient history. Life’s back to normal. Sort of.”
“Fine. Be mysterious. But I fully expect you to join me and Sandy on the porch for a vinyasa flow one of these days.”
“You want me to watch your wife do downward facing dog?” Frank puts all the skepticism he can muster into the question.
“I didn’t say anything about watching. You’d be too busy doing.”
“Okay, everything about this conversation sounds wrong. I’m hanging up.”
“Thanks for the project,” David says, quickly, before Frank can make good on his threat. “I haven’t had a chance to enact this level of digital justice in a while.”
“You’re doing us all a favor,” Frank says. “And you’re one of the few people I know who can. By the way, if you find out any of these losers live in Hell’s Kitchen—”
“Pete,” David cuts in, “as much as I would like to unleash you on some hapless neckbeard who’s only ever seen a gun in Call of Duty…You know Red would not approve.”
“Red doesn’t need to know,” Frank growls. “And he won’t, unless you tell him.”
David sighs. “Come on, man. It’s not right to go against his wishes in a situation like this.”
“I’m pretty sure Red wouldn’t approve of you selling their bank information to overseas scammers either,” Frank says. “But here we are.”
“No, no, that’s not the same,” David’s quick to point out. “My punishment will fit the crime. They played stupid internet games, so they’ll win stupid internet prizes. I’m going to emotionally devastate them and expose their personal details online. That’s exactly what they’ve done to these women. No more, no less.”
“They endangered Red in real life,” Frank says. “That freeway stunt they pulled could have killed him. They were hoping it would.”
David can’t contest that fact, so he tries a different tactic. “But he didn’t die. So, let’s stick with serving them the repercussions of their actions. We’ll give them consequences for the things that actually happened to their female victims. That’s more than enough to ruin their lives.”
“All right, Micro. I’m not going to argue with the expert, here.”
David opens up another browser window, creates a new Intelligencia user account, and enters the most egregious forum thread. He copies and pastes the usernames of the foulest participants onto a word processor document, saving them for later. He moves down the line, ranking the users according to their levels of depravity. Some names are as frequent as water dripping from a faucet. He ignores the usernames that only appear once or twice; after all, anyone can join a forum and then decide it’s not for them. Frank stays on the line, occasionally humming. Beyond the humming, David can hear the metallic sounds of a gun in disassembly. “You know,” he says, “I’m pretty sure a Tibetan singing bowl is way cheaper than a Kalashnikov.”
“Kalashnikov’s cheaper if you stole it from a gun runner,” Frank says. “Hypothetically.”
“Allegedly,” David says.
“Exactly.”
“There are really about fifteen main instigators on here,” Micro says. “I’ve nailed the guy in the Uber already. He’s Target Alpha. I’ll keep it going until I’ve sussed out the major players. There are a few guys on here that hold the money and resources to enact these plots in real life.”
“But they’re not necessarily the most vocal people on the site,” Frank guesses.
“They probably aren’t,” David agrees. “People with money and connections usually have jobs. They can’t spend all their time on a forum.”
“But they’d still be in the fifteen main users?”
“I think so.” David leaves an anonymous comment on one of The Punisher threads to bait the main players into a response. “I’m going to analyze their profiles and how they reply to comments, do a little psychological profiling, and lay down some traps. If I can convince one of them that I want to get involved on the street level, he might send me a payment or give me a real-world contact that I can work from. If I can trap one of them, I’ll have actual evidence of malicious intent to send to the police.”
“And if this guy wants to meet you in person?” Frank asks.
“We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it, Pete. I’m hours away from the initial contact. Right now, I’ll hunt down some of these lesser evils and queue up their information. When I can trap a bigger fish, then I’ll doxx the little fish at the same time.”
“You want to kill them all with one stroke,” Frank says.
“I’m going to try my best.”
“Do you need backup?”
David smiles. “Thanks, man, but I’ve got it covered.”
“All right. I’ve got to go.”
“Don’t work too hard,” David jokes.
“Working hard or hardly working?” Frank quips back, then he hangs up.
David sets down his primary phone. He reaches into the top desk drawer and pulls out his second burner phone. The little skull-shaped charms he attached to its shiny red case rattle ominously. He pulls up his contacts list. There’s only one set of numbers in the whole library. He types his message quickly, then sets the phone down and hunches over the keyboard. He won’t have to wait long for an answer, but he might as well work while he does.
