Many cannot be used, and there is even a risk of self-destruction. Even Frank does not dare to guarantee that these powerful and terrifying arms won't affect him.
Therefore, although he is somewhat tempted, he hasn't touched them for now.
When the time comes to get specific intelligence from Grey Wolf, he'll reconsider these items.
What level of terror would a war expert, carrying an arsenal on his back, reach?
Frank Castle answered that question for the curious onlookers.
Poor means precision sniping; rich means artillery bombardment!
The unlucky gang has the fortune of becoming Frank's demonstration of his abilities.
Midnight.
Frank donned a tight black outfit, emblazoned with a large skull.
With a cigar in his mouth, he reached back into his space backpack, pulled out an RPG, and without hesitation, fired it at the gang's villa stationed dozens of meters away.
"Whoosh..."
With a long screech, the missile roared as it launched.
