[center][img]http://i.imgur.com/kxtPWp5.jpg?3[/img]

[b]Part IV[/b]

[i][url=https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qgz__d0VC5k]"In the fields the bodies burning, as the war machine keeps turning."[/url][/i]
― Black Sabbath
[/center]


[b]Boston
Now[/b]


James McCaleb looked through the two-way mirror at Special Agent Rachel Cole. They put her in the room shortly after she went to Boston SAC McCray with an honest to god break in the Bunker Hill Butcher case, their first one since the whole nightmare started. Using legwork, or so she claimed, Cole had discovered an apartment in the Charlestown neighborhood the killer was using to kill his victims. A crime scene unit discovered DNA evidence matching four of the five victims and DNA from an unidentified person, presumably their killer. 

"How you doing, Rachel?" McCaleb said as he came into the interrogation room. "I'm Special Agent in Charge James McCaleb."

"I know who you are," Cole said once McCaleb was sitting at the table across from you. "Head of the BAU, serial killer hunter."

"That's right,' McCaleb said with a nod. "I read your jacket, you know. You applied to come to the BAU but instead got sent packing to Alabama, how'd that make you feel?"

"Angry," Cole shrugged. "But I got over it. Now, why are you interrogating me instead of working the breakthrough?"

McCaleb smiled. She had a point and he tended to agree with her for the most part. He'd been at the Bureau for close to thirty-five years and had been chasing mass murderers and serial killers for most of that time. As part of his profiling training he had learned to read people pretty well. And he could tell that Rachel Cole had nothing to do with the serial killer.

"So, you had a hunch and played it out and it worked out," said McCaleb. "What else do you have for me?"

"Like what?"

"Like a profile," said McCaleb. "If you've been following this case on the sly, then you probably have an idea of a profile on our unsub. What have you got?"

"Well, for starters he's smart. But he probably has a job where he doesn't get a chance to show off his intellect. That job is probably something that lets him be out and about a lot, a chance to stalk his potential victims. He probably has a family, but they have no idea what he likes to do in his spare time."

McCaleb nodded thoughtfully. Those three observations fit with the BAU's profile of their unsub perfectly.

"We're thinking it might be a city employee," said McCaleb."

"That fits," she said with a nod. "Bureaucratic work. Maybe part of the sewage department, or maybe a trash worker.'

"Rachel," McCaleb finally said after a moment's silence. "How would you like to do something more than catch bank robbers?"




[b]Saigon
1973[/b]

[url=https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=N4bSBLctK0g](Mood Music for this part)[/url]

The Carousel Club was the kind of place that gave the bars in Saigon a bad name. GIs downed drinks while Susie Q by CCR pounded from the speakers and half-naked Vietnamese women go-go danced on makeshift stages around the room. Even more scantily clad women walked through the room, flirting with GIs and reminding them that for a small price they were all theirs. 

Frank Castle walked through the raucous crowd with a cigarette in his mouth. He wore a field jacket that hid the name CASTLE on the breast pocket of his Marine fatigues. He hoped nobody would see him or remember his face, but it was obvious the second he stepped in he was overthinking it. The men here were more focused on having a good time with the drinks and girls and not looking at yet another soldier.

Frank walked from the bar area into the backroom. It reeked of opium and piss. Soldiers were laid out on cots, some actually smoking opium while plenty more had medical tubes tied around their arms and hypodermic needles by their side. This was the side of the war nobody back home ever knew. The shit here was so bad that plenty of guys went running to opium and heroin to ease the pain. It was a form of escapism that was a lot more intense than the partying going on outside, but it was all the same. Pleasure -- be it sex or drugs or drinking -- took your mind off being in the bush and fighting this horrible war.

"You looking for something?"

A small Vietnamese man was at Frank's elbow. He flashed a row of yellow teeth at Frank.

"I Uncle Ace, and I fuck you up for right price."

Hoang Tich Tran, aka Uncle Ace Tran, was the owner of the Carousel Club. According to the government intelligence apparatus, he was also a Communist sympathizer who used his club to gather blackmail and intel for the North Vietnamese Army.

"I'm here for you," Frank said as he pulled out a pistol with a suppressor on it.

Uncle Ace's eyes got wide as Frank fired two shots into his head. The junkies around him stayed in outer space as Uncle Ace flopped to the floor and twitched as he died. Frank tucked the gun back into his jacket and calmly walked back into the bar and joined the party.


[b]Boston
Now[/b]


Frank Castle looked down at Chris O'Keefe as the man begged for his life. He'd snatched O'Keefe off the street after the man left his job. He'd worked for Code Enforcement for the city of Boston and had access to the city's work trucks. He cruised around town all day on jobs, inspecting homes and picking out his next victims. Castle walked up behind O'Keefe, grabbed him by the armpits, and they disappeared from the street without anyone noticing. Now they were at deserted boat ramp near the harbor. 

"Please," O'Keefe pleaded. "I've got a family."

Frank's eyes glowed emerald green as he heard music in his head, a song from a long time ago. Two lifetimes ago.

[i]What goes up must come down
Spinnin' wheel got to go 'round[/i]

"What about all the women you've killed," Frank said coldly. "They had families too."

He held his hand out and O'Keefe reached for his throat. He gurgled and tried to fight whatever it was that was restricting his windpipe. Frank remembered the song from a seedy dive bar in Saigon. It struck a cord with him because it reminded him of Karma. Back then, he prescribed to what he called the Big Wheel Theory. Karma and justice was a big wheel that kept spinning. Sooner or later, it caught up with you. That's what the Punisher had been, and now what the Spectre was. He was the wheel incarnate, an unstoppable force that you could never stop or slow. In the end, the wheel always catches up and overcomes you.

"This is God's vengeance," Frank said, the Spectre raging inside of him. "And this is divine retribution."

Frank balled his hand into a fist. A loud crack echoed as O'Keefe's neckbones were snapped in two. He fell on to his side in a slump. Frank looked down at him. The Bunker Hill Butcher was dead by his hands. But hopefully he had led the FBI agents on a trail that would lead to his eventual discovery. In the end, the wheel had crushed Chris O'Keefe. Castle turned away from the body and started to walk away. There were others who needed God's vengeance.

The wheel had to keep turning.