My name is Frank Castle, and before The Reach, I was a lot like you. Stable career. Loving Wife. Ugly dog. Pair of beautiful kids. Living the dream. It can change in an instant at the end of a gun. We were innocent, having a picnic in the park. But we were in the way. Drug deal gone wrong. They died like animals. Sometimes I wish I died, too. Instead I woke up in a hospital a year later.
Next is the part you’ve heard. I had to hurt the men who hurt me. Open and shut revenge. Simple. Except for the part where it didn’t stop. Every door I kicked down, I expected to die on the other side of. Live like that long enough, without anything else to live for, and it quickly becomes all you know. At the beginning I would plan obsessively. Every weapon, every angle, every perp checked meticulously so that I knew, without doubt, that
these were the men that deserved punishment. By the end, it was as simple as running into the next room and putting two between the eyes of the next gangbanger I saw. Simple revenge. Haha.
Only reason I figure I got away with it -- being The Punisher, wearing that skull-lookin’ armor, announcing my presence everywhere I went with a burst of machinegun fire -- was on account of the war. The PD and the Feds were spread thin, which gave every scumbag in the city license to do as they pleased. They needed support, and I was all that was coming. Maybe they thought I was helping hold the city together, even as I burned it down.
Next is the part you haven’t. My last weeks of it are the haziest of all. I remember the chug of the gun and seeing, for the first time, the colors of human and Reach blood swirling and mixing on the cracked concrete. I remember that they
got me, hit me with some new weapon. I thought when I finally ran into The Reach, I’d die on the spot. Get a plasma hole bored through my guts or become a denatured pile of slime. Instead, I woke up in a cell.
I
knew The Reach was experimenting on humans, we all did, but I didn’t think that meant they’d have a gene lab buried under Manhattan. Nothing they did to me seemed to take. I think they only kept me around as a control, a tough old bastard to measure their successes against. Even then, I expected to get binned fast. I know what happens to test animals. But their new subjects were few and far between. Fewer and fewer as the weeks and months dragged on. The Reach scientists spent more time in the facility than ever. They seemed cut off… But they were holding on.
This was the pattern for almost five years -- until last month. An asset transfer from another facility, a rare occasion. A thing sealed in a glass tube, running and shifting inside in inky black detail. The scientists were excited. They tried it on all kinds of things. Poured it over blocks, rocks, technology, weapons, even a few houseplants. No change. Until they started trying the animals. It would sink into their flesh, like it was disappearing against their skin. Then the shaking, the vomiting, the screaming. Then the sleep. You could watch, over an hour, as each strip of muscle and skin and sinew receded and faded until there was nothing left of the animal but a bleached skeleton and a quivering black mass sheltering in its ribcage.
They tried it on us next. There weren’t many of us human prisoners left. Only the hardest and the toughest. But it was the same for each of them. Bleached bones and a grinning skull staring at me from across the lab. Until me. It was almost natural coming onto my skin, pushing its tendrils through the gaps between my cells. It was destroying me. But it was rebuilding me. It
spoke to me. There was a voice in my head. It needed to know only one thing. Was I ready to slaughter its captors? Or would it eat me like the rest, and try another?
My name is Frank Castle. Its name is Ven’ahm.
Together, we are The Punisher.