How do you kill a man who has no fear?

You can save yourself the evil eye with him, the lawyer chuckled after a while, as there was still silence between Castle and Devon. It doesn't help.

"It helps," came from Frank, his voice sounding distant because Nelson had reminded him of something that was quite far in the past and therefore in the back of his mind, almost forgotten, "Look me in the eye, Wade Wilson .... and feel the pain of long overdue repentance. "

"All right....," Devon shook his head in disapproval with raised eyebrows and looked at Nelson as a silent question if all was well with the Punisher, "All right."

"There's more between heaven and hell than we think. And the guilty will burn," words Devon had never expected to hear and especially not from a Frank, causing her to look at him uncertainly as if he had finally lost his mind, "He was suddenly there....the Rider. A motorcycle and a burning skeleton on it. For some reason, Wilson survived, even though it said he was on fire."

"You're talking about Slade," Devon replied, though a little irritated thanks to one little fact, "Carter Slade. Not a motorcycle, a horse. He's the Ghost Rider. He's been the Rider for over fifty years, but he doesn't transform anymore. Not for a long time. Wow, something big must have happened for him to..."

"It was a motorcycle. I'll still be able to tell a horse from a motorcycle," Devon was interrupted by Castle's cool tones, "Whoever it is, maybe Fisk falls under his jurisdiction if you bring it to his attention."

It is said that legends have shaped the West and that stories help us to explain things that are bigger than ourselves. Incomprehensible or too frightening to believe. Powers that affect our lives. Events that defy explanation. Souls that rise to the highest spheres or sink to the lowest. This is how legends are born. Such is the legend of the Ghost Rider. They say there is one in every generation. A cursed soul, doomed to seek out the devil's commissions around the world. Once, a Ghost Rider was sent to the village of San Venganza for a contract. It contained the names of a thousand evil souls, but the power of the contract was so great that he knew the Devil must never get his hands on it. So he did what no horseman before him had ever done. He defied the devil.

"There's a new one," Nelson summed up Devon's monologue and what Frank had witnessed, "In New York? What isn't here now?"

Real gods, for instance. There were no gods, only beings who were seen as gods.

The Rider. A new Ghost Rider. They couldn't count on it. Of course there could be a new one, no question, but not that he would be of any help. And certainly not that he would be at their side.

At the end of the day, though, there was some good news. New toys. Their equipment was on the way. At least Hammer had been reliable.

By showing him what fear was.