[center][img]http://i.imgur.com/kxtPWp5.jpg?3[/img] [url=https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=x0FAosDi4XA]"Ain't found a way to kill me yet, eyes burn with stinging sweat. Seems every path leads me to nowhere."[/url] -- Alice in Chains [/center] [b]New York County District Attorney's Office 1:31 PM[/b] "The verdict's in! Last call for bets!" Adrian Chase looked up from his computer and peeked above the partition of his cubicle. The DA's office was a flurry of lunchtime activity as the junior clerks, prosecutors, and even the executive ADA's crowded around the television in the corner. Chase stood and walked through the office towards the television. He couldn't hear the news report over the chatter, but he could read the ticker below the anchorwoman. SYMINGTON VERDICT REACHED. Chase unknotted his tie slightly and sighed. Sam Symington was human garbage. A Wall Street hedge fund manager, Symington had risen himself up from an also-ran to an actual power broker over the last five years. At the height of his power, the man had more accumulated wealth than the combined GDPs of several European nations. Six months ago he bought a biotech start-up that had started selling a new malaria vaccine that cost pennies to produce. Symington, a major shareholder in another company that had its own vaccine, put the company out of business. As the owner of the copyright, he ceased production on the cheap vaccine while the other company celebrated having no competition int he market by quadrupling the price of its vaccine. The outrage over the move led to a closer examination of Symington and his business practices. It turned out Symington's empire was built on a nonexistent foundation. He made money from conning investors in a massive Ponzi scheme. City, state, and federal authorities were in on the investigation and all gladly filed charges against Symington. In the end, the feds won out and were prosecuting him on a laundry list of charges that would result in Symington spending the rest of his life in prison. "What are the going odds?" Adrian asked one of the clerks as he passed by his cubicle. "It's down to even money," the kid said with a shrug. "Not much of a payout if you ask me." Adrian scowled. "How is it even money? This is a slam dunk case." "US Attorney righteously fucked up," the kid laughed. "A bunch of the evidence they had on Symington was improperly filed and handled. The chain of evidence was compromised. The judge was pissed, but he had no choice but to throw out like ninety percent of the proof they had on Symington." Adrian shook his head as the kid walked towards the TV. He'd been in the DA's office for ten years now and things like what he just heard shouldn't have shocked him. He'd long ago realized that there were a different set of rules in this world for those of influence. Men like Symington and their downtown lawyers exploited loopholes and worked connections in the criminal justice system to their advantage. If Symington were a kid from Harlem busted with a crack rock, just crack and nothing else, he'd do ten years minimum. But Symington was rich and white and now, because of some bullshit, he was facing a good chance of acquittal. He walked towards the television and looked on from the back of the crowd as the picture showed the jury filing into the courtroom. A plan was already beginning to form in the back of Adrian's mind. If the court did indeed acquit Symington, that would be okay. Tonight, he would hold his own court and he knew in that court, Symington would be found guilty. ----- [b]US Federal Criminal Court Part 21 2:05 PM[/b] "Has the jury reached a verdict?" "We have not, your honor. We are deadlocked and cannot reach a unanimous decision." "Do you need more time?" "We do not. It is our belief that we cannot reach a unanimous decision." A gasp went out in the court at the news. The jury foreman looked ashamed, as did nearly all of the jury save for a few stoic faces. FBI Agent Marcus Fischer did not show relief at the news that the jury was deadlocked. This was what Symington wanted. This is what Fischer got paid twenty thousand dollars for. It was the first time in his twenty-five year career that he had ever taken money. He knew it was wrong, but his wife was sick and it was fucking impossible to turn down twenty grand in cash for doing something as simple as misfiling a few evidence control forms. The judge sighed loud enough for the entire court to hear him. He gripped his gavel so hard that his knuckles were white and when he spoke, it was clipped and short. "I'm declaring a mistrial. We have a hung jury. Based on the evidence, or lack thereof, I am recommending to the prosecution that they not attempt a retrial. Court is adjourned." The judge slammed the gavel down and was already halfway to his chambers by the time the galley was on its feet. Calloway, the US Attorney prosecuting the case, looked green in the gills as Symington, his lawyer, and two bodyguards started to leave the court. There were boos and shouts directed his way. Symington kept smirking that same little smirk that he'd worn the whole time of the trial. Fischer felt sick as he watched the man leaving the court. Symington scanned the crowd and found Fischer. He winked at Fischer and disappeared out the door with his lawyer and bodyguards in tow. ----- [b]McNeil's Auto Body Shop Red Hook, Brooklyn 4:47 PM[/b] Frank Castle's hands were a blur of motion as he stripped his Colt 1911 down to its parts. At this point it was simple muscle memory. He did it purely on instinct while his brain was on autopilot. It seemed like eighty percent of his life was conducted through muscle memory. He ate because he had to, he slept because he had to, and he rarely did anything that was not related to his war. He'd considered himself a soldier even after coming back home from Afghanistan. He'd never been a big military guy when he was growing up, his parents weren't particularly patriotic. He signed up with the Marines after high school because he didn't have the grades for college and he wanted job security to provide for his wife and family. But once he became a Marine it all clicked. He found something he never knew he was looking for: purpose. The Marines gave him stability and comfort and a place to achieve something. Even when he went overseas he was at home with the Corps. And then he discovered war. And he discovered that he was a creature of war. Battle was his element even more so than the Corps. He was truly at home knee deep in the shit. Shortly before he left Afghanistan he was actively seeking trouble, wanting to get that thrill by any means necessary. He was a warrior in need of a war. And now he had his war. It came at a terrible cost, but he had a war that he knew would never end for him. There would be no meddling politicians or confusing geopolitical alliances in this war. It was a war of black and white. He was on one side and the enemy on the other and he would not accept anything less than unconditional surrender. DING! Frank waited until he finished putting the pistol back together before he checked his burner phone. [i]Court tonight. Same time, same place. -- A[/i] Frank put the phone down and started to strip down the Colt again. ----- [b]Battery Park Manhattan 1:09 AM[/b] "-- The courts failed, the FBI failed. The system as a whole failed Symington's victims. I say we finish what they couldn't. It's a no-brainer, guys." Adrian Chase looked around at the three people gathered in the darkness around the park bench. Outside of a need, they very rarely all met together. Court was an exception. This was court, where one pled their case to the other three as to who was next. By virtue of his profession, Adrian had the advantage when it came to arguments. Right now he was telling them why Symington should be next. As always, Castle seemed emotionless as he listened to Adrian's pitch. Yorkie nodded occasionally and took drags off his cigar. Rachel didn't comment as he spoke, but he could tell she didn't agree with him by the look on her face and her body language. "I don't know," she said after Adrian finished. "This guy is a scumbag, but do we have proof he's a killer?" "He ain't the type to get his hands dirty," Yorkie grunted. "But he ruined a lot of people's lives and took their life savings. That ain't killing, but it's damn close." "Right," said Adrian. "And the malaria vaccines crap. How many people are going to suffer and potentially die from that?" "We've never done anything like this," Rachel said cautiously. "Never targeted anyone like this." "That's why we need to do it." Adrian pointed a finger at Rachel and kept jabbing it in the air to make his point. "Our usual targets, drug dealers and pimps, are just symptoms of a disease. Guys like Symington are that disease. They're a hundred times worse than the worst mob boss, they steal and corrupt and take and take and take and keep getting away with it. I signed up for this to make a difference, and this is how we make that difference. If we're going to punish people like the Scargetti Family, we also have to punish people like Symington. Let the world know that we don't care about money or influence. If you do wrong then you will be punished." "Enough," Castle finally said. "I say yes. Y?" "Yes," said Yorkie. "R?" "No." "A, do I even need to ask how you vote?" "I say yes," said Adrian. "Of course." Castle nodded. "3-1 vote. This Symington guy is our target. R, Y, and I will work recon in the next few days. A? Get with Microchip and get us intel on this guy outside of his day to day routine. I'll want a plan of action from you by next week." And just like that, Adrian thought, it was over. Where the courts had failed, the four punishers had succeeded. Adrian argued the case and by a 3-1 vote, Symington was found guilty. Now it was time to plan his execution.