The injured boy smiled despite the pain he was in, and reached down and petted the friendly cat. "Hello, whats your name?" The boy gently asked the cat who had came up to comfort him.<br/><br/>Mickey clicked the button and the countertop switched back into place with the register. Frank had already armed himself appropriately, should things get ugly...which he knew they would.<br/><br/>The kid had been put in the back storage room, so he wouldn't get caught in the crossfire.<br/><br/>Mickey explained things to Akame and her apparently mutant cat. "This part of town is pretty rough, though all of New York is pretty much that way. Seems Frank pissed off some gangs in the area with what he just did." Mickey glanced out the window at the charred bodies of the thugs who were harassing the kid Timmy.<br/><br/>Mickey's face turned grave and very serious. "People in this town, they laugh at the law. The rich ones who buy it and twist it to their whims. The other ones, who have nothing to lose, who don't care about themselves, or other people. All the ones who think they're above the law, or outside it, or beyond it. They know all the law is good for is to keep good people in line. And they all laugh. They laugh at the law. But they don't laugh at him." Mickey nodded at Frank, who was turned from them, staring out the shop door.<br/><br/>"In the criminal underworld he's just known as The Punisher, someone who takes out the trash of this rotten town, corrupt officials and lawmen, drug peddlers, rapists, murderers, child molesters...none of them are safe anymore." Mickey said taking a swig of his flask.<br/><br/>"No matter how many of them I destroy, there is always another one taking his or her place. But I wouldn't be able to live with myself if I turned a blind eye." Frank explained, simply staring out the door.<br/><br/><br/><br/>A group of thugs stomped into the store, looking around...a thug wearing a beanie and a tank top with several tattoos wandered over to the counter and glared at Mickey, while the others began stuffing alcohol bottles...cheap crap brands mostly, into their pants...obviously intending on stealing from the wheelchair bound man while the punk talked with him.<br/><br/>"A bunch of our boys were just slaughtered outside of your store....you have a good view of the street....you must've seen something." The thug said, implying that Mickey should've came out and told them of his own accord what happened.<br/><br/>Mickey's attention flicked to the hoods stuffing his stock down their pants, "Those cost money ya know!" He began wheeling his chair from behind the counter, but found himself blocked in by the punk.<br/><br/>"You tell us what happened out there, or we trash the place!" The punk threatened.<br/><br/>Mick laughed drunkenly, "You think I'm worried about a couple bottles of liquor?" He took a swig from his flask.<br/><br/>The young man glared and lifted up his shirt, revealing a glock sticking out of his pants.<br/><br/>Mickey gave the gun a short glance, and stared the hoodlum in the eyes. "That supposed to scare me? I've blown holes in bigger and better men than you, kid. I was fighting behind enemy lines before you were even sucking on your mom's tit." Mick had begun reaching underneath the seat of his wheelchair, while the punk's attention was focused on his glaring eyes.<br/><br/>There was the sound of bottles shattering, the punk instinctively turned his head to the shelves, and Mickey retrieved the magnum pistol from under his seat, blowing a hole through the side of the arrogant punk's head.<br/><br/>Frank grabbed the two thugs who had been stealing cheap liquor before they could react to their friend being shot, and threw them out into the street.<br/><br/>He went out there and shot one of them through the back of the skull as he was trying to scramble away. He grabbed the other one from behind and began using him as a shield as he approached the new gang of thugs.