( Benny's as insightful as ever; the man he examines he reads accurately in a single look. This guy's seen hell, lived it, clawed his way out of it — but part of him still exists there, left behind but impossible to fully sever. It's in the grim line of his mouth, it's in the rigid, militaristic set of his shoulders. It's in the weariness hidden in the lines between. Weary, but never resting, never done.

Certainly not done now.

Never seen so many all at once; there's a subtle grimace, a flit of his eyes away from Benny and back over toward the pack of hovering raiders, then back again. )

Yeah, I might have a thing or two to do with that.

( It's an unhappy admission. He's not too pleased about what this brings to light; Frank Castle's not generally a man that comes to a hunt unprepared. He tends to strategize for every eventuality. He did not strategize for this one.

It's alright, he can adapt, pivot. Make smart calls in light of new information; he decides a plan of action quickly, and delivers it with a half-decent amount of confidence. )

Here's the deal. In a minute, I'm gonna go out there and draw their fire. Gonna make it big, should get all their attention. Soon as they're on me, you book it the other direction, okay, head down that corridor to your right. Saw a fire exit. You're gonna wanna block it behind you in case you catch a couple strays. They catch you, they're gonna take everything you got — including your car, and then you're shit outta luck, so... don't get caught.