Player Name: Byrd Man

Character You Wish To Play: Matt Murdock/Daredevil

Moral Alignment: Hero

Affiliation: The Campisi Crime Family as well as various criminals and mobsters in New York.

Character Origin & Backstory:

Matt Murdock was born in the early 80's, son of Maggie Murdock and heavyweight boxer "Battlin'" Jack Murdock. Jack was an up and coming contender in the boxing scene with an outside chance at the title. He became enamored with the trappings of success, doing drugs and partying until late hours of the night. Maggie left Jack when Matt was three and never looked back. Matt's early impression of Maggie as a devoutly catholic woman who couldn't stand Jack's ways caused Matt to idolize his mother and condemn his father.

When Matt was eleven Jack had a shot for the heavyweight title of the world. The day before the fight mob figure Roscoe "The Fixer" Sweeney offered Jack a chance to take a dive. Strapped for cash and filled with the Fixer's promises, Jack took the dive in the sixth round and retired from boxing the next night. He soon opened up "Jack's Place" a tavern in Hell's Kitchen bought with Fixer's money to be used as a mob front. Matt saw his father's ties to organized crime figures tighten and began to hate the man. He ran away from home at the age of twelve and ended up an accident when a chemical truck nearly hit him and instead splashed toxic waste in his face.

The accident took his sight but it also gave him more. It heightened his other four senses to the point of superhuman and gave him a radar sense that negated any disabilities a lack of vision gave him. Jack felt guilt over driving his son away used his money to pay for anything the boy needed or wanted, including a tutor named Stick. The old blind man was hired to teach Matt to adjust to his blindness, but Stick taught him how to thrive. He recognized the hate and yearning in the boy, the passionate need to be better than his father. Stick channeled those feelings into training. He showed Matt how to live and operate in the world as if he were any other person, and he also taught Matt the secret skills of martial arts and Ninjutsu.

Matt went to Columbia University after high school to major in pre-law. The excuse he gave his father and the rest of the world was that he wanted to become a defense attorney. While it was true, it was also part of a much larger plan he had worked out with Stick. During Matt's time at college Jack began to work more and more for the Fixer's bosses with the Campisi Crime Family. Jack's Place began to be used as part of a large mob scheme to flood all of New York City with new and improved heroin from Asia. A DEA snitch fingered Jack as a dealer and he was brought into custody. He agreed to roll on those above him, but before he could an unknown assassin dressed as a police officer slit his throat with a razor-edged playing card while Jack was in police custody.

Matt graduated from law school first in his class just six months after his father's murder. Angelo Campisi, head of the crime family Jack worked for, took pity on the young man and threw some low-level defense cases his way. After Matt got the defendants off, Campisi began to use his legal services more and more. Before long he relied on Matt's legal advice on nearly all matters both large and small. Matt was made an unofficial consigliere of the Campisi Crime Family. Word began to get around New York and Matt Murdock was hired by other gangsters to defend them. All the media outlets in the city say Matt Murdock is the dirtiest lawyer in New York, if not the country. They say he manipulates the law to get his guilty clients acquitted. That's what the media says. By day the most amoral man in New York learns all the dirty little secrets of the mob as their adviser. By night, he becomes the thing they fear the most.

He becomes the Devil.

Powers and Abilities

Matt is blind, but his other four senses have been augmented to superhuman levels. The senses work together to create a radar sense that makes up for his lack of vision. The heightened senses also makes him into a human lie detector, capable of reading anybody's pulse or any small micro changes in their biology when they lie. Stick's training also turned Matt into a master acrobat and martial artist skilled in the art of Ninjutsu. Matt also has one of the best legal minds in the country, an expert on the American justice system that makes him a competent and formidable trial lawyer and legal adviser. His intelligence and experience in criminal law has also led to Matt developing a keen detective mind.

Sample Post

Murdock Law Firm
Midtown
9:45 AM

"'If Justice personified is blind, then Injustice personified most certainly is. That personification is a blind man. This blind man sits by the phone day and night, waiting for the call from some of the city's most dangerous and corrupt individuals. He talks about the lofty ideals and notions of justice in the courtroom, but one look at the last name on his client's list -- Campisi, Manfredi, De La Rosa, Blackwood -- and you know that Matt Murdock's talk is just that.' It goes on and on like that for another two pages. Bunch of talk about the mistrial with De La Rosa, then the stuff about the Crusaders... and then a last saying you should be disbarred."

"So, usual Daily Bugle boilerplate," I said to Karen. "Remind me to sue them for libel when I get the chance."

"Yes, sir."

That paper has attacked me so much over the past year that I could barely notice Karen's pulse rise anymore when she reads their editorials. They're not the only place that likes to attack me. Papers, websites, TV stations, even other lawyers and politicians all have an anti-Murdock stance. At least those not in the pocket of my clients.

"That's all, Karen, you can go."

Karen Paige, a paralegal and my only staff member quickly and quietly left the room while I leaned back in my chair. My office is on the fortieth floor of an impressive Midtown skyscraper. They say it has one hell of a view of Lower Manhattan. Guess I'll take their word for it. Someone once asked why I paid so much for the corner office with the view when I could have gotten another office building on the same floor without a view for a hundred thousand dollars cheaper. I didn't dignify them with a response. In this business, both of what I do on the books and off of them, you show strength by your decisions. A blind man wasting a hundred grand on a view he'll never see is part of my strength. I bought the office because I could.

Syosset, New York
6 PM

"Matt, my boy," Don Campisi said cheerfully.

His old and withered hands felt like sandpaper scrapping against the skin of my hands. He patted the back of my hand and put the other hand on my elbow to guide me across the lawn. He thought of it as a favor, but I could get around the yard better than he could.

"I'm so glad you made it out," he said once we were both sitting in lawn chairs. "I know it's a hell of a drive out of the city, especially for you."

"Well, I didn't hear any moaning under the car when I stopped, so I guess I did alright."

Campisi laughed at my joke before moving on to small talk. He had to tell me all about his kids that I didn't care about. I nodded at the right times and said the right things. After about ten minutes he finally got down to it.

"I want you advice on something. You know Joey Bags? Works with that crew out in Red Hook? He and Paulie came to me a few nights ago with an idea on a score. Those fucking biker pricks you repped last year, what were they?"

"The Crusaders."

"Yeah, them. They got a club over in Bensonhurst. Joey Bags and Paulie are gonna have a sit down with them tonight. They want to use these Cruasder fucks to mule coke and dope across the country. They're always going on these cross country rides to Piss-ant, Florida or somewheres out in California. They don't go on the interstate, and they can make drops and deliveries to our people in Miami, Kansas City, or wherever. Instead of a fucking pick-up truck carrying two hundred pounds, fifty bikers carrying six pounds a piece make drops over the course of a week. "

My mob lawyer hat was on. I needed to play through the motions to get what I wanted at the end.

"Could be risk involved. One of these bikers could try to rip you off, get a wild hair up his ass and decide to rip off you and his club."

"He does that he's dead," Campisi said coolly. "And not just by our people. His own people. Those biker fucks, they don't play around if you betray them."

I knew that all too well. I represented their president on a murder charge last year. One of their members was talking to the ATF. He suddenly had an accident that cut his tongue out forced it down his own throat, or at least that's what I made the jury believe.

"I think it'll work," I said with a nod. "I'm just hurt and offended I wasn't consulted on this. Blackwood is my client, after all."

"It's Paulie's show, you know he is with you. Thinks cause you're a mick you can't be trusted."

I didn't say it, but I thought that maybe Paulie was on to something. Maybe he was the only member of the Campisi Family with a bit of sense.

St. Patrick's Cathedral
Manhattan
11:20 PM

I had twenty grand in my jacket pocket when I went in St. Patrick's. The twenty grand was my cut on the deal with the Crusaders, as well as my retainer for doing the don's legal work. Going into churches always made me think about my mother. Maggie Murdock was like a ghost. I had no idea where she was, and I often wondered what she was doing if she were still alive. I thought many times over the years about hiring a PI to track her down, but always thought better of it.

The twenty grand in my jacket didn't feel that big, just two hundred one hundred dollar bills. The cash felt light enough when I took them out of my jacket and stuck them in the poor box. They say all the good Catholics tithe ten percent. I had to be a great one, I tithed a hundred percent. Before I left I asked a priest to light a candle for my mother.
Maybe it was good to never meet her. That way she could be that devout catholic woman I knew all those years ago. She could never be corrupted like my dad was. She was frozen in time as a good woman. I made a final prayer and prepared myself to go to work.

Red Hook, Brooklyn
2:14 AM

"We don't fuck with drugs," Arthur Blackwood, president of the Crusaders Motorcycle Club, said with a scowl. "No selling at all. Why the hell should we stick out neck out for you? Because you say you'll pay?"

The two mobsters looked at each other. Paulie D'agistino, the underboss of the Campisi Crime Family, rubbed his chin while Joseph Baggato "Joey Bags" stuck his hands in his pants pockets and shrugged.

"That," Joey Bags started. "And, we both know your club is going under. The days of the outlaw biker gang ain't what they used to be. You're hurting for money, the ATF busts your balls day and night about that little weapons trafficking business you got. Fact of the matter is you need this. Say yes."

Blackwood looked behind him, where three of his fellow bikers sat parked on their motorcyles in the back alley lot. Blackwood shuffled his feet and exhaled before finally nodding.

"Fine," he said. "When do you want to get started?"

"I'm surprised in you, Mister Blackwood," a voice echoed around them.

Paulie and Joey pulled pistols from their waistbands at almost the same time the Crusaders did. The two sides looked across the lot for any indication of the voice's owner.

"The hell was that?" Paulie asked, looking at Blackwood. "You trying to pull something on me?"

"Me? What about you?! You're a goddamn informant or something?!"

"Excuse me," the voice continued. "I was talking here. So rude. As I was saying, I'm surprised, Blackwood."

Out of the shadows, a red blur slammed into Joey Bags and knocked him to the ground. Both sides opened fire, Blackwood fell to the ground as bullets fired above him. The figure jumped away before the bullets could reach it. The figure swung back into the shadows and up onto the roof of the warehouse.

"I thought you were on parole," the figure said, coming into the halogen lights of the parking lot. It was the devil... or a man dressed like it. "You certainly don't look reformed to me..."

The devil man jumped from his spot and dove into the middle of the Crusaders taking them on with a pair of sticks at close range.

Player Name: The New Yorker
Character Name: Matthew Miyahara
Moral Alignment: Walking the Line
Affiliation: NYPD (briefly with IA during recruitment), Columbia Law School, Lehman University

Character Origin & Backstory

Matthew Miyahara was born to a brilliant scientist and a former Japanese Special Forces Commander, Beth and Hideo respectively. The married couple moved to the United States after a frightful encounter with Yakuza members in their home. In reality, Hideo was forced to move, for the sake of his family and his honor on the force, it was an order. When they came to America they did not have a child. In 1989 Hideo was 37 and Beth was 31. As soon as they hit the rainy shores of Seattle they conceived Matthew, So they hit the road and headed east. Beth already had a job lined up at the blooming Fisk Industries*, and Hideo had family in New York anyway. They moved into a quiet brownstone in Riverdale and began creating a home for a toddler. Matthew was born in 1990 May, 27th in that brownstone’s living-room surrounded by family. And so he was raised in this family of three in the Bronx and so he was nurtured by his brilliant mother and strict father. Hideo was stern, certainly, but also very loving of his family. He thought of them, almost, as art, something he helped create with his blood, sweat, tears. And it was in his blood, sweat, and tears that he was forever snuffed from this world, taking with him a portion of the art that was his family. He was followed shortly after by his wife, some suggest she killed herself, Matthew holds that it was foul play, though no body has ever been found. By ’98 Matthew was orphaned and his grandfather and mother became his legal guardians, they were his father’s parents.

Matts Grandfather Daisuke, known locally as Stick, was one of the first and only heroes operating in the Bronx in the ‘60’s and ‘70’s. He prowled the rooftops in light armor refitted with armor plating from a Samurai suit. The history of Daisuke is long and fantastic but very few know of it, and Daisuke never speaks of it. Matthew only learned of his grandfather’s alter ego through researching into the most obscure newspaper articles and tabloid headlines in order to barely scratch the surface. After understanding the greatness of the man he called “pop-pop” at the age of 13 Matthew was proud, he reeled, asked his Grandfather to teach him the intricacies of the Japanese martial arts. Matt was never old enough for his father to teach him anything and he was, shamefully, disinterested at the time. Matt felt like this would help him better remember his father, by consuming something his father held so dear. And so Daisuke taught his grandson the art of Jujutsu, Kenjutsu, Ninjutsu, and Aikido.

By 14 Matt is enrolled in Bronx Science, one of the best High schools in the Bronx. By 16 Matthew graduates Bronx Science. Matthew was home schooled by his mother while she was alive, she imparted great wisdom onto him and fostered a feverish interest in knowledge in the young man. That most likely led to his successful academic career. At 16 Matt wants to enter the police academy, he is turned down and is told to go to college instead, he does so. A full scholarship sweeps 16 year old Matthew Miyahara out of the Bronx and into Columbia Law School under incredibly special circumstances, he is to take supplementary classes at Lehman, near where he lived. For 4 whole years Matt devotes himself to his simultaneous BA in Political science, and Doctorate in Criminal pathology. At 20 years old Matthew Miyahara is a well-trained, Pathologist with the skills of a samurai. He gets a fast-track through the NYPD and passes through the academy with flying colors. During his internship in the Academy he works with Internal Affairs in order to help take down two crooked instructors, they ran a drug scam with some of the students. At 21 Matt is on the force and is not too well liked, he finds a dead rat in his locker at the end of his first month. Matt is enjoying his time on the force, on the beat, despite his co-workers attempt at the opposite. Matthew responds to a call of shots fired at the midtown docks, a call that will change the rest of his life.

Powers and Abilities

-Genius level intellect: Matthew is incredibly perceptive, and not just in a strictly sensory way. He knows when things don’t fit, he can tell when something doesn’t make sense, and how the dots connect. He also has a huge wealth of information and knowledge regarding legal, political, and scientific matters.
-Acrobatic dexterity: Matthew’s training with his grandfather has made him lithe and agile. He is able to make huge leaps, climb over vertical surfaces with ease, and perform acrobatic tricks.
-Martial arts: Matthew is skilled in joint-locking, “soft skill” force indirection, stealth, swordsmanship, and all the other, tiny skills involved therein.

-Radar senses: Once Matthew is blind he gains the ability to perceive things around him by the use of an electromagnetic pulse radar which mutated in his brain. He isn’t seeing anything, just receiving feedback from this mutated electromagnetic pulse mechanism in his brain.

Sample Post

The muffled, tinny voice from the radio crackles the atmosphere of the interior of the Police car Matthew drives down 53rd and 6th. The crimson light from the taillight speeds along the black road behind the white and blue steel beauty as it hovers past closed restaurants, and a doctor’s office, and a Starbucks. Matt’s bony hands clutch the steering wheel until his knuckles are white and his fingers are red. He quickly lifts the radio receiver to his mouth and clicks the button on the side.

“10-4, I’ve got that, Stace”

Matt turned into 47th and let the car glide down the little road without any extra speed. Matthews’s partner held onto the dashboard like he was afraid he might go crashing through the window pane. He was a portly man who looked to still be capable in a fight. His white mustache crossed his upper lip like a badge itself.

“Ease up there, cowboy.” Terry McGillan said quietly, not wanting to instigate.

“It’s an emergency, Terry.” Matt said, smile on his face. He turned up into 8th and around anther corner toward the docks.

The two boys in blue exited the vehicle in proper police protocol when dealing with a shooting call, guns drawn. They eased up to the chain-link gate and tested it, it didn’t open.

“Ah, damnit, don’t tell me I gotta hop this goddamn fence.” Terry blurted, holding his gun to his side like some kind of play thing.

Matt holstered his gun, and without saying a word, mounted the fence. He flopped onto the other side unscathed and went to retrieve the keys that were likely in the guard house a few feet away. He wasn’t even near it before he heard a single gun-shot, then another. A white flash illuminated the far off dock and Matt could see some standing figures etched in the distance. He sprinted down the concrete road to the dock and the gunshots.

“Hey! Hey, hold it! Son of a bitch—“ Terry huffed and sped to the radio in the car, he called in back-up.

Matthew’s sprint was even and fast as all hell. His pistol was in his hand, his index finger readily extended near the trigger. Now that he was closer Matt could see two standing figures drenched in the shadows of the sepia colored lamplight. One tossed a body into the river and the other held what looked to be a bat. On the ground were three bodies, laid out like dolls, a woman kneeled like an angel under the bat-wielders shadow. Matt quickly stopped in place, no more than 25 feet from the scene and pointed his gun forward. He was sweating a little and his vision shook but his hand was gratefully steady. The barrel lined up with the chest of the man holding the bat. The man lifted the bat behind his head and twisted his body.

“Freeze! Right now! Police!” Matt’s voice was load, clear, commanding. He felt a little good about himself.

The man with the bat let his bodyweight take over then, the bat swung around his body like a comet to a planet and crashed into the head of the woman kneeling. Her body slumped to the floor and Matt was certain he saw a piece of her skull skitter across the concrete.

The man who was previously dumping a body wheeled around and his hand lifted from his coat. Matt shifted his weight and brought the pistol’s barrel to the left, his hand went a little too far and so he brought it back and fired. The man to the left twitched and almost fell to the ground, his gun hand dropped to his side and he fell to one knee. The man to the right, holding the bat, sprinted off down the dock lane. Matt fell to one knee and took better aim, just as the man with the gun, who remained near the bodies, tried to do. Matt fired two more shots, the second capped the man. Matt rose and sprinted toward the bodies.

What he found there was a heart-splitting disaster. Two men and two women dead, all beaten and shot. Matt looked at the latest victim, most of her head was leaking onto the floor, she had familiar almond eyes. Matt searched her nametag only to be struck with utter shock. Miyahara was her last name, Janice Miyahara. Matt stood, he was wrapped in his blues, the badge on his chest gleamed dangerously in the lamplight. Two more cop cars wailed at the entrance, the red and blue lights breaching the darkness.

Matt sprinted down the dock lane like he’d never sprinted before, he was propelled by the thirst for knowledge, just as he’d always been. This time is was deep, it was emotional, and it was for his family. A figure just disappeared behind a truck, seemingly a gas truck, it’s metal cylindrical train shining. Matt approached it quietly, yet quickly. He turned the corner that was the truck only to receive a personal greeting from a bat. It swung in the air trying to hit is head, instead it knocked the gun from his hands as he recoiled backwards. The bat swung into the trucks train instead. A big dent formed around where it was struck. Matt drew his billie club and blocked another attack. The man wore a leather jacket, corduroy pants. Matt smacked the guy in the stomach with his club and tried for the head, the man ducked and hit Matt in the rips, he grabbed the cop by his collar and threw him into the back of the truck, knocking the air out of his lungs.

Matt thought about his grandfather’s training, it was always about presence. About maintaining a consciousness even when you should not have one, a presence. Matt maintained consciousness and so blocked the incoming, lethal bat attack. He lifted his club over his head and knocked the bat into the train once more, this time directly at the point where it’d already been hit. A small rupture expelled gas and then whatever incredibly dangerous toxic waste the train was housing. The waste completely covered Matt’s assailant, knocking him to the ground and drowning him in the stuff. Matt was able to get away with only a spray on his face. However, when he got the goop from his eyes, and it wasn’t painful to open his eyelids any longer, he did so, only to find darkness.

“I’m… oh, hrmm… I’m blind.” Matthew sobbed as Terry ran up to him, crouched on the floor.

“You’re going to be alright, kid.”

“No, no, no, no, no! Fuck, Terry!” He screamed loud enough for every cop and pedestrian in the area to hear him. He yelled and no tears streamed from his white eyes though he felt like crying until he was dead. Spittle fell to the floor as he writhed in Terry’s grasp as he knew right then that he’d never see again. Terry felt like he’d lost his son all over again, and so he cried when the boy could not.

Player Name: DeathstrokeSW



Official SHIELD Intelligence Report

CLASSIFIED-Director Fury's Eyes Only



Name: Franklin "Frank" Castle (born Castiglione)

Height: 6'2"

Weight: 210 lbs.

Relatives: Maria Elizabeth Castle (wife, deceased), Franklin Castle Jr (son, deceased), Lisa Barbara Castle (daughter, deceased)

Known Associates: Linus Lieberman, AKA Microchip, Rachel Cole-Alves (Suspected)

Abilities and Specializations: Advanced Hand to Hand Combat, Improvised Weapon proficiency, Expert marksman, proficiency in field medicine, Interrogation and Torture expert, high tolerance for pain, expert tactician

Service History:

May 1997- Castle, Age 18, signs up with the US Marines

August 1997-Castle completes boot camp, and goes home to Queens, where he meets his future wife, Maria, whom was working as a doctor at a nearby hospital. Over the next several months, she teaches him basic anatomy and basic medicine, while the two begin a romantic relationship. He extends his tour until 2004

September 2001-following 9/11, and the president's declaration of a war on terror, Castle is deployed to Iraq, and it is there his combat skills are honed.

April 2002-On temporary stateside leave, Castle is approached by a MARSOC recruiter and accepts.

August 2002-Completion of his Special Forces training. He is then reinserted into Iraq as part of a Black Ops unsanctioned team meant to destabilise enemy operations

December 2003- Castle's unsanctioned team encounters an IED, their tank overturns. The Taliban then lays down fire, killing half of the 12 disoriented men and wounding three more. Castle himself is grazed. For the next four hours, a firefight ensued that ended with Castle's entire team dead, and Castle himself "very, very angry." Castle managed to dismount the .50 caliber machine gun from the roof of the tank and set up a firing position. He then managed to massacre the entire team of enemy Taliban and signal the Rescue Helicopter sent when the team missed their routine check-in.

January 2004-Sgt. Castle is brought stateside, and in a ceremony, given the Congressional Medal of Honor.

February 2004-Frank Castle is honourably discharged from active military service.

Post-Service History

March 2004-Castle, aged 25, marries his girlfriend, Maria. The two then go on a two month holiday.

December 2004-the Castles' first child, Lisa Barbara, is born. Castle, discontent with living as a civilian, tries various jobs, including EMS. He finally settles as a cop, working in his home city of New York.

May 2007- Frank welcomes his second child, Frank Jr.

[Agent's notes: From forensic evidence, the Castles' life was routine for the next few years]

Incident Report-December 9, 2010

In the words of Frank Castle, taken from his police statement:

"We-oh God-we were out for a walk, as a family, just to enjoy one of those rare days when I'm off and Maria didn't have to work at the hospital. So we went towards Central Park. About 25 minutes in, we came across them. Four armed assailants, most likely organized crime, executing a hit. They were about to clean up when they saw us. [...] They opened fire. My son-My SON went down first. Do you know how old he was? [...] He was three! Three for Chrissake! N-next was Lisa-my daughter[.....]She was six[...]she wanted to be a ballerina....she was even wearing a tutu underneath her coat-wouldn't leave home without it. My wife...My wife! She fell last[...]She-When they tried to shoot me they were empty, so they ran. They [...] those [expletives][....]when you catch those bastards[...]kill 'em."

Post-incident intelligence:
After the investigation turned up no real leads, Frank Castle dropped off the radar for five months. No credit cards, quit his job on the force, and sold his house.

June 2011-He turned up with a sigil. On the six month anniversary of his family's death, three bodies, all belonging to organized crime, turned up beneath a spray painted skull. Since then, Castle has left an increasing body count of criminals under the moniker of the Punisher

August 2013- 26-year-old Marine Corps Staff Sergeant Rachel Cole returns from her second tour in Afghanistan. She is discharged with honors, and is a former Silver Star recipient.

September 2013- The Alves-Cole wedding nearly ends in disaster, but Rachel's training and military friends averted death.

Present Day

Video Recovered from Mafia Don Jack Fratteli's crime scene

The camera switches on, a dimly lit room its focus. Frank Castle, the Punisher steps into view, dragging a heavyset man bound to a chair by chains. He is set underneath the only light in the room. Fratteli is visibly terrified, and evidence of torture is clear on his face. Frank Castle is the first one to speak. "Sorry about the cliche lights. I know it's not exactly the be-all-end-all of torture rooms, but it serves its purpose." He sighs, nonplussed. "You're gonna tell me everything, Jack." A hand goes through his hair.

Fratteli looks up at Castle, a spark of defiance in his features. He may be fat, but he is a member of La Cosa Nostra; a staunch believer in the old ways, in Omertà. "F--- you, Punisher!" Castle sighs and cracks his neck. "Ok. Remember, you asked for this." He reaches offscreen and pulls out a blowtorch, the flame already activated.

Without pause or hesitation, he presses the flame down to Fratteli's knee. Fratteli screams out in pain, unable to silently bear this. Castle bends closer to his subject's ear, yelling over the screams. "Funny, isn't it? The burnt nerves are actually numb. It's the area around the burn that feels the pain. Lemme tell ya, it hurts like a mother!"

The screaming continues, while Castle looks on, unfazed by the twisted agony of the ageing crime lord. When he finally puts the blowtorch away, Fratteli is flinching with pain. He still screams despite the fact that the air should have left his lungs already. A booted toe kicks the chair out from under him. The so-called "silver-tongued don" lies on his side, still chained to the chair, still screaming. Another kick turns screams to coughs.

Castle crouches down. Already terrified eyes fix their gaze at the skull emblazoned on his chest. "Why are you doing this? To me? To the other Families?" Fratteli spits out, anger outweighing the fear of the gun now pointed at his forehead.

Castle utters a single word, the trigger pulling back slowly.

"Punishment."

The video abruptly cuts off as the sound of a gunshot is heard, the battery apparently dead.