Sep — Roleplayer Guild

Knock, knock, knock, knock. Came the rap of a knuckle against the door, lowering the mug from his lips Frank looked passed the rim of the mishapen mug towards the clock hanging on the far wall. 09:03. The same exact time every single day. He nodded his appreciation as Dog let out a single bark and ran for the door, skidding to a halt before it and letting out a single woof, his tail wagging beneath him clearing any dust, debris or mud that hadn't been swept up and revealing the faintest of impression on the floor. The door opened, accepting Dogs clear invitation, and Frank returned to nursing his bitter coffee. Allowing it to wash out the creeping cold sensation from the night before, he acknowledged the red-haired teenager that walked into the house as she crouched over to give Dog a pet.

"Come on Major, lets get you ready for your walk Sir."

Frank arched an eyebrow and placed the mug down on the counter-top, the mishapen mug only had the faintest of decoration remaining on it. A '#1'. Whatever writing had been beneath that was long faded and gone, faint scratch marks from where a scouring pad had been run along it repeatedly. Sighing as he shook his head.

"His names Dog."

Pulling the harness off its hook, the young woman lowered it over Dogs head, reaching around to clip it on around his waist. A look of firm defiance upon her face as she looked straight at Frank, not at all intimidated by the cold stare thrown back at her. The stare that had been the last many men had seen.

"I can't just shout Dog when I have him off the leash at the park, can I?" A sad look crossed over her face. "No. He's the Major, after my dad." Looking up from Dog the indignant expression returned. "You can tell me its not his name all you want, but once I'm out the door its not upto you."

"I could always get a new dog walker."

She snorted derisively as she stood up reaching for the leash. Dog was now stood ever so impatiently at the door, tail wagging slowly but consistently.

"You're not exactly known to be a social butterfly Frank, besides-" She bent down, hooked Dog up and opened the door. "-The Major wouldn't let you." Door closing behind her.

The door closed, and the silence was defeaning. Frank closed his eyes and allowed himself a moment to breathe. To calm. He picked up the nearby remote, and hit the power button. A burst of static and then the television came on, some morning talk show. He allowed it to run in the background, not really paying attention as he continued to nurse his coffee for another ten minutes. After which he poured the remainder into a flask, topped it off out the pot and placed the mug beside the sink. As he turned back around he froze, as he was confronted with a face from his past. It was more lined now, and a grey hair speckled across his face and head. 

The mans mouth moved, but the sound didn't reach him through the fog. It was muffled, faint. Hidden behind the years. "-Frank Castle."

It was as if his head had been pulled back above water, his eyes managed to focus on the face of Sid Paxton on the television. Frank just now noticed the cover of the book sat behind him, his stomach sank as he read the title. He always knew this day would come, and the chill returned to his spine as he understood what was coming next.

To Kill the Punisher.

There are certain things in policing, that you hope that you'll never experience in your career. This was before the age of capes and heroes, before there was literal aliens and monsters there were just the monsters of our own making.

Nobody lived in New York City in the 90s without hearing about Frank Castle. The man the newspapers and the media called The Punisher. Everyone was aware of him, his one man mission to seemingly rid the city of anything resembling organised crime. As a cop fresh on the beat I knew that my time was going to come. A 10-35. A suspected Punisher crime scene. Sirens blaring our RMP pulled up outside the factory, it was already surrounded. Several Ambulances, or what we called buses, hung back the paramedics ready to go. Though nobody had any belief that the paramedics would be necessary. 

Boots on the ground had already reported no survivors and several million dollars worth of hard narcotics. Likely a drug smuggling or refining operation. "Paxton, with me."

I nodded as I followed Fowler under the police tape, I didn't even notice the exchange of money between him and the officer lifting the tape. We walked in together, the warmth of the late-spring sun instantly vanished as we crossed the threshold of the building, and my stomach jumped up and turned itself inside out at the scene before me. I could feel the bile in my throat rise defiantely, ignoring all calls for it to stop.
_________________________________

"You okay kid?"

The words barely noticed as I ran back out the building, and promptly painted by shoes with this mornings breakfast burrito. I felt a pressure on my back, as Fowler clapped it twice. The whiteness in my face was quickly replaced by red as my cheeks became flushed. The heat from my roiling stomach moved up to my cheeks. There was no point in attempting to hide my embarassment. I had just shown how green I was, and everybody in the area while appearing to look busy had no doubt noticed.

"You just cost me five dollars kid. Thought you were made of sterner stuff."

I smiled weekly back at him, a look of disgust crossing his face.

"Sorry boss, I just wanted to check how my breakfast was doing."

He looked down at the pile of sick, and back up at me.

"A lot worse now, go get yourself cleaned up, then get this cleaned up. If a detective sees this they're going to chew my ass for you contaminating their crime scene."

The first time I dealt with the Punisher, and I spilled my guts. Not the story you were expecting when you bought my biography I'm sure, but I feel like its important to show you where it starts. This way when it ends, it will make a lot more sense.

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