The Punisher: Call of the Battlefield (True Grave & Verikatt)

My name is Frank Castle. I'm a Vietnam veteran and former agent with the CIA. I had a wife, two kids, and a house in the suburbs; hell, I even had the stereotypical white picket fence. But, it was all taken away from me one day while we were taking a walk on the boardwalk. John Saint, a mobster from the seedier side of the city, didn't take kindly to my interference in his business. He organized a hit on me, and didn't care who was caught in the crossfire.

Before I knew it, there was a hail of bullets headed right for me and my family. There was no way to defend ourselves, no chance for escape. We all fell, and it was nothing but black. I woke up three days later in the hospital, but was informed that my wife and children didn't make it. Everyone kept telling me what a miracle it was that I survived, but it was feeling far from miraculous. I didn't understand why I had not died; I took enough bullets.

I was filled with grief and rage. I couldn't rely on the cops to find the killers of my family, so I took it upon myself. It was then that my life as Frank Castle ended, and my life as The Punisher began. I found John Saint and made him pay, but the bastard was more tenacious than I thought. He survived and continued to cause trouble under the name Jigsaw. I got arrested on purpose and sent to Ryker's Island prison, where I finally put Jigsaw in a body bag.

It had been two weeks since The Punisher's now famous escape from Ryker's Island maximum security prison. The police were busy hunting him down, but having no luck. Frank had made his way back to his apartment, and was standing at a desk where he had pinned up a number of pictures from his last crusade. All but one face had been crossed out, the face of Wilson Fisk, alias The Kingpin. He had thought the big man too powerful to take on now, but he was rethinking that. Jigsaw was out of the way, and that meant he could now focus his attention on the biggest name in New York's organized crime scene.

But, for now, he needed to focus on other things. It had been over two weeks since he had patrolled the streets, and he didn't want the scum to start feeling too comfortable. There was a crack house not far from where he lived, different from the last one he had hit, yet the same. He walked over to his mounted arsenal, thinking over what weapons to bring on this assault. Junkies were not his most dangerous enemies out there, so he decided just to bring the pump-action shotgun and a pair of .45 caliber semi-automatic pistols. After loading them up, he left his apartment and began heading down the stairs, using his long black overcoat to hide his shotgun from view.

Jane got up and looked out the window.

She could hear Frank leaving his apartment and frowned. At this time of day, there was only one thing that he would probably be doing. He was going to do what he did best. He was going to do damage to somebody who was bad. She should know. Frank had helped her before. She had hoped that he wouldn't feel the need to go out.

Jane had known Frank for a little bit now. She still remembered the day he had moved in. Her and her neighbors thought he was part of the mob or a gangster or something. Little did she know it was the opposite of what they were thinking. Frank had stood up to the gangsters and mobs as he tried to work out the pain of losing his family. He was just starting to open up and become part of her extended family when they came after her and the others in the building. Frank had stopped them but it was costly and painful. She was the only one left now, besides Frank, in the remodeled building. Frank had insisted on doing the repair job himself after a certain point and he proved to be quite adept at it. So much so that Jane had asked him to do her apartment also.

After the remodeling job, Frank showed her where he had put some extra weapons in case she needed them. He had even showed her how to operate the weapons so that she wouldn't be totally defenseless ever again. Now he was on the way to take matters into his own hands again.

Jane put her hand on the window and watched him get into his car. She didn't know if he was ever aware that she watched him leave and came back home but she would do it anyway. Somebody had to look out for him when he was looking out for everybody else. He had his duty to perform as he saw fit and she had hers.

True Grave said:

My name is Frank Castle. I'm a Vietnam veteran and former agent with the CIA. I had a wife, two kids, and a house in the suburbs; hell, I even had the stereotypical white picket fence. But, it was all taken away from me one day while we were taking a walk on the boardwalk. John Saint, a mobster from the seedier side of the city, didn't take kindly to my interference in his business. He organized a hit on me, and didn't care who was caught in the crossfire.

Before I knew it, there was a hail of bullets headed right for me and my family. There was no way to defend ourselves, no chance for escape. We all fell, and it was nothing but black. I woke up three days later in the hospital, but was informed that my wife and children didn't make it. Everyone kept telling me what a miracle it was that I survived, but it was feeling far from miraculous. I didn't understand why I had not died; I took enough bullets.

I was filled with grief and rage. I couldn't rely on the cops to find the killers of my family, so I took it upon myself. It was then that my life as Frank Castle ended, and my life as The Punisher began. I found John Saint and made him pay, but the bastard was more tenacious than I thought. He survived and continued to cause trouble under the name Jigsaw. I got arrested on purpose and sent to Ryker's Island prison, where I finally put Jigsaw in a body bag.

It had been two weeks since The Punisher's now famous escape from Ryker's Island maximum security prison. The police were busy hunting him down, but having no luck. Frank had made his way back to his apartment, and was standing at a desk where he had pinned up a number of pictures from his last crusade. All but one face had been crossed out, the face of Wilson Fisk, alias The Kingpin. He had thought the big man too powerful to take on now, but he was rethinking that. Jigsaw was out of the way, and that meant he could now focus his attention on the biggest name in New York's organized crime scene.

But, for now, he needed to focus on other things. It had been over two weeks since he had patrolled the streets, and he didn't want the scum to start feeling too comfortable. There was a crack house not far from where he lived, different from the last one he had hit, yet the same. He walked over to his mounted arsenal, thinking over what weapons to bring on this assault. Junkies were not his most dangerous enemies out there, so he decided just to bring the pump-action shotgun and a pair of .45 caliber semi-automatic pistols. After loading them up, he left his apartment and began heading down the stairs, using his long black overcoat to hide his shotgun from view.

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Frank parked his car a couple blocks from the crack house so that he could walk the extra distance. When he arrived, he saw that it was grungy and dilapidated, just like any other crack house. With no one else in the alleyway, he brought out his shotgun and pumped it. He approached the boarded up door and kicked it, splintering the wood and forcing the door open. There was nobody on this floor, so he decided to head upstairs. On the next floor, he saw a few people sitting at a table smoking crack.

Stepping into the room, he aimed and fired his shotgun, tearing the head off of one junkie and spraying his friend with blood. A pump and a second shot later, his friend had giant hole in his chest. A third pump and a third shot sent a third junkie flying over the couch with his legs balanced on the back of the couch. He grabbed the fourth junkie by the back of the neck and forced him over by a window.
"I'm new here. Fill me in."

"I don't know shit, man. Please let me go!"
The Punisher turned him around and grabbed him by the throat, putting him through the window and holding him outside.
"Please stop!"
The Punisher raised and lowered him, loosening and the tightening his grip again.
"All right, what do you want to know?"

"Who runs this place?"
"His name is Psycho. I don't know his real name. Now please let me go!"
And Frank did just that, though because it wasn't a long fall, the junkie would survive with a broken leg.
"I'm feeling generous tonight, so you get a second chance."

Frank headed up to the next floor, hosing down any junkies he found along the way. Some had guns and attempted to fight back, but their passing knowledge of firearms was no match for his training and expertise. There were a few innocents in the crack house, and those he let go. He was only here for the guilty, those who would hurt others to get a fix. He battled his way up to the top floor, where he saw a man in a blue hoody and a skull mask overseeing some people cooking methamphetamine. Frank had only a few shots left in his shotgun, so he decided to make them count.

Taking aim, he fired at the propane containers, taking cover as a fiery explosion engulfed the room. Psycho was far enough away that he was able to make a run for it, though he could only run to the roof. Frank used the last of his shotgun bullets to dispatch some junkies, then stowed it in his overcoat to draw his pistols. When he got onto the roof, there were a few men lollygagging on the roof.
"Get that fucker!" Psycho shouted, and the lazy men shambled to their guns.
Taking cover, he let them fire, then rose and returned a volley of shots that hit their marks and caused them to crumple.

Frank approached Psycho, who was reaching for a gun. Frank shot the gun as it was produced, then fired a second shot to his head that should have finished him. However, the skull mask seemed to be made of metal, and the bullet did not penetrate.
"Better luck next time, Punisher!" Psycho shouted as he reached for the gun.
Frank adjusted his aim and fired a shot into his heart before kicking him off of the roof. The satisfying crunch of bone on pavement ensured that Psycho would never trouble innocent people again.

Frank took the elevator down and left the building. Once back in his car, he drove to his apartment complex. He made a beeline straight for his apartment and shut the door behind him before locking it. He placed the shotgun on the table and the pistols back in their place in his armory. Opening a fresh box of shotgun ammo, he began to reload the shotgun.
"That ought to send the punks a message."

He was back. Jane knew that from the sound of the car pulling into the parking space. She didn't need to look out the window to see that it was parked in his space. This was the time of night/day that Jane dreaded most. It was the time when she wanted to take action but also didn't want to. Her indecisiveness usually kept her in her own apartment instead of walking to the other end of the hallway and knocking on his door. Another reason why she didn't normally just show up unannounced was she didn't want to get shot. Frank went through more doors than anybody else she knew.

Jane didn't need to work anymore, thanks to Frank and his refurnishing job with the complex but she still wanted to. She was still on vacation from the restaurant where she worked as a waitress and made a vow that sometime in the next two weeks off she would go and speak to Frank. Tonight might be the time to do that.

Jane heated up the lasagna that she had made, knowing that the aroma of the food would reach Frank before the sound of her footsteps did, and dished up a plate. She picked up her coffee pot and armed with coffee and nourishment, left to go to his apartment. She moved the plate of lasagna back and forth as she did so to further get the aroma's down the hall and finally reached his door. With both of her hands full she didn't have much of a choice but to knock on the door with her foot.

"Frank? It's me...Jane. Dinner is ready. Open up."

She waited. Sometimes this part could take forever but usually he ended up opening the door. She'd give him a couple of minutes before she'd knock again.

(Her name is Joan.)

Frank had just finished reloading the pump action when he heard a knock at the door. That combined with the smell of food meant that Joan had most likely made him dinner again. The woman was nothing short of persistent, and had been pivotal in getting him to be a part of a community again. Nevertheless, he still checked the peephole every time. There had been one time when he thought Joan had made him a batch of cookies, and it was the Russian instead. It took the landlord weeks to get his apartment fixed.

He could see that it was indeed Joan this time. He opened the door and and looked at her.
"Come on in," was all he said before turning away.
Frank put the gun back in its place and put his overcoat on the hanger. His black, form-fitting shirt showed off his muscular frame as he sat down.
"Sorry I haven't checked in. I've been busy."

Frank cleared off the table so that she could set the stuff down. He was just now realizing how hungry he was.
"How have you been, Joan?"
Frank poured himself some of the coffee.

Joan smiled at Frank.

"I've been pretty good. Took some vacation so not been doing too much. I still have two weeks left on it. And you?"

Joan put down the lasagna and the coffee cup. "No answering until you get some food in you. You probably...took care of business...on an empty stomach again. You know you have to stop doing that. Who was it this time? What did they do"

Joan had a purpose for asking. It was hard to get Frank to open up and talk about it sometimes but it was pivotal for what she wanted to do. She wanted to help but she had to know how he did it. Getting him to talk was the first step in that.

True Grave said:

(Her name is Joan.)

Frank had just finished reloading the pump action when he heard a knock at the door. That combined with the smell of food meant that Joan had most likely made him dinner again. The woman was nothing short of persistent, and had been pivotal in getting him to be a part of a community again. Nevertheless, he still checked the peephole every time. There had been one time when he thought Joan had made him a batch of cookies, and it was the Russian instead. It took the landlord weeks to get his apartment fixed.

He could see that it was indeed Joan this time. He opened the door and and looked at her.
"Come on in," was all he said before turning away.
Frank put the gun back in its place and put his overcoat on the hanger. His black, form-fitting shirt showed off his muscular frame as he sat down.
"Sorry I haven't checked in. I've been busy."

Frank cleared off the table so that she could set the stuff down. He was just now realizing how hungry he was.
"How have you been, Joan?"
Frank poured himself some of the coffee.

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Frank grunted in response to her answer.
"Busy," he said in response to her question of how he was doing.
He did as she asked and ate some lasagna. He had to admit that the woman could cook. He tried not to dwell on it because it brought back painful memories of his time with his wife.
"Junkies, and they were selling drugs."

Frank continued to eat, needing to refuel. Joan was right, he had been famished. He hadn't had much time to eat between the prison break and the junkie shoot. When he was finished, he took a sip of coffee.
"You should leave this place, Joan. Almost abandoned complexes like this attract druggies and gang-bangers from all over. I don't want you to get hurt or killed."

Jane chuckled. "I'm not worried too much about the junkies and stuff. If you're here you'll take care of them. I had the opportunity to leave when I....I inherited some money recently."

Jane thought this would be a good time to bring up what she wanted to do. At least she knew that he had some good food in him if he decided to leave.

"You know what I want to do? I want to help out with putting away the bad guys. THey have done enough to me and my friends that I'm tired of just sitting on the sidelines. I mean I don't see me doing what you do. But i know I can help."

She paused and filled up his coffee cup and then sat down across the table from him. "I'm good at computers. I mean REALLY good. I'm a people person. People tell me things. I thought that somebody might need help with doing some researching. Everybody needs help."

Jane got up from the table, leaving the coffee and lasagna with Frank and kissed him on the top of his head before he could protest. She then whispered "think about it" and left his room to go back to hers.

She wouldn't push him. You couldn't push Frank. She might just start and leave clues for him. She'd have to think on it some.

True Grave said:

Frank grunted in response to her answer.
"Busy," he said in response to her question of how he was doing.
He did as she asked and ate some lasagna. He had to admit that the woman could cook. He tried not to dwell on it because it brought back painful memories of his time with his wife.
"Junkies, and they were selling drugs."

Frank continued to eat, needing to refuel. Joan was right, he had been famished. He hadn't had much time to eat between the prison break and the junkie shoot. When he was finished, he took a sip of coffee.
"You should leave this place, Joan. Almost abandoned complexes like this attract druggies and gang-bangers from all over. I don't want you to get hurt or killed."

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Frank sighed.
"I can't always be there to protect you, Joan. Even I am just one guy. I know it's hard to leave when we've put so much work into the place, but I don't want you getting hurt on my account."
He just about spit out his coffee when Joan said she wanted to help him put away the bad guys.
"Joan..."

She refilled his cup and began filling him in on her computer specialties. He had to admit, she did know her stuff. But putting her life in danger was just not an idea he was comfortable with. She kissed him on the head and told him to think about it.
"All right, I'll think about it."
Frank sipped his coffee and did think about it as he heard the door to Joan's apartment open and close.

Joan was smiling as she went back into her apartment. She knew that she caught Frank by surprise and that was good. He needed to be shaken up sometimes. She also appreciated the fact that he couldn't always be there to protect her. That was part two of her plan. One step at a time.

Joan brought up her computer and started to do a search of some news. It didn't take long before she found another story that disturbed her. One that she knew Frank might be interested in. She started to take some notes on it and the more she read the more she hated it.

There was a middle school that was undergoing renovations and had been closed. While doing so, they found three bodies semi buried under rubble. After an investigation was conducted it was determined that the bodies had been "dumped" by the local crime lords years ago. The breaking down of walls uncovered the bodies. Jane knew that the story was being buried. The clothing on the bodies didn't match the styles worn years ago. They were more modern. It was little things like double stitching on the jeans that gave it away. One of the bodies was a young female who looked like she had been assaulted before being killed. Yes, this might be something that Frank might want to look into.

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