T H E P U N I S H E R

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F R A N K C A S T L E ♦ Vigilante
♦ N E W Y O R K C I T Y ♦ Working
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CHARACTER CONCEPT
"Some people ask me how I sleep at night.I tell them I just close my eyes"

FRANK CASTLE'S first job was enlisting in the USMC. He completed boot camp, and went onto learning how to kill, if in a tight spot, perhaps in a residential setting, or mid-to-close range. He did so well in his Infantry school that he was recommended for Sniper School. The special two-man dive was elite. He was pushed to his physical limits, and he had to lie on his stomach and navigate and search across common and uncommon territories for at least two days. His eyes had to be checked every month, like so did his weight and blood. There was also P.T. and versatile weapons training. Then, one day, Frank was handed a medal, a salute, and $5,000 for becoming a Marine Sniper.

He was called upon to serve the U.S. armed forces all over the globe, and then five years was up and Frank was heading home. Frank’s skills when he was ready to punch it in were combat preparedness, identity theft, language(s) inventory, etc.

While home, Frank was touring with his family in the park. Before he knew, a mafia hit went down with them sitting in the middle. His wife and child were killed. Frank was hurt so bad that he began experiencing anxiety and sleep disorder.

He took the meds, and they helped calm him down, but pills didn’t give him answers.
He was in a city where murders come a dime a dozen. So, since he was a victim, an assassin, and a justice seeker, Frank took on the alias to kill as many of those dime-a-dozen murdering pieces of shit that he could.

CHARACTER MOTIVATIONS * GOALS
I FOUND OUT ABOUT Punisher by noticing him on the shelf.
It looked like I would like him. So, I picked up a copy or two and right away I liked it. I liked how dirty it was, and how there was the dark bulldog humor. He is my favorite antihero. But I want to take him up a notch and include more humor, more modern amenities, and more twists and turns.

CHARACTER NOTES
TO CLARIFY MY VISION, I would like some characters from the same scene as my character. Daredevil, Wolverine, etc. There’s not much to it. It can be a big fight, a run-in, a double target, or a team-up, etc.

CHARACTER NOTES
NONE AT THIS TIME. The Punisher has lived a long, hard life and friends and enemies go as fast as a buck. Some have been constant.

SAMPLE POST
Outside in the night, one man walked alone and had always walked alone… in the shadows, carrying .50 pistols and knives and maybe a grenade or two. He looked down alleyways and observed hobos blowing plumes of cocaine smoke, sometimes he would watch hobos suffering epileptic-like reactions from injecting heroin. And, in the streets it was no different, only the territory codes were different. Good people could issue an emergency call for a prostitute, or there was a camera that could identify a shooter in an attempted murder case. But, outside in the shadows in the gambling houses and in the alleys, no one was good and no camera was operating.

The Punisher’s Wolverine-themed automatic alarm clock ringed at exactly 2:30 a.m. He rolled over the bed and sat his feet on the floor, still sitting on his bed. He was well-groomed, but his hair and a gap in his back after two drug dealers jumped him, running away after they stabbed him in his back. This he could feel… so he stood up, did some stretching, preformed some calisthenics, and tidied up his hair. He was finished getting into his black ops BDUs when the phone signal intruded.

“Hello?”

“Is this Mr. Frank Murdock?”

“Yep.”

“OK sir, your address is 991 on 9th street, do I have that right?”

“Yes.”

“You have a package and I cannot locate you.”

“I’ll meet you on 8th. Give me ten minutes”.

Punisher snatched open the drawer table sitting beside his bed, and put on one of his black tank tops. He had several things on his mind, so before he unlocked his door and ran into the street he lit up a generic cigarette.

The delivery truck swooped around the corner like he was toting a Ferrari. They had a dress code, a time item is due, and instant assistance from the area authorities at the push of a button inside the vehicle, but go without a speed limit.

He was slowing down halfway through the second street from 9th and there was a man smoking a cigarette and looking down the street the driver was coming up. The receiver of the package was Frank Castle, who titled himself to this particular courier as, “Frank Murdock.”

“Hello,” stated the truck driver. He let go of a moment, and asked Frank if the package was redeemable. The bullshit vigilante nodded, and signed and handed the guy a fistful of paper currency. The two went their ways. On his way back to his shithole, Frank stopped at a dumpster and examined the contents, cutting it open, and finding a Nokia flip phone, a manual to use the phone, and a silver cross attached to a silver chain, which didn’t look cheap. He ditched the box, and put the phone and the manual in his pocket. As for the cross, he understood that it could be several different possible employers. One from Chicago come to mind, just like one’s in Florida and like at least two he regarded in New York.

Frank never kept his contact information the same. He had a few people that worked his number when necessary. He started out a vigilante… to hurt those that were decent and innocent, returning to how his family was taken. Now, he was getting paid to murder.
He was home. He took off his cap, and lay down his revolver from inside of his BDU’s. Next, he went into a specific kitchen drawer and got a tiny canister from it, which he sprayed the silver cross with. And, there was his answer: 4N4

The number represented the Aryan Brotherhood, a dangerous challenge to society, and mostly operated on in prison systems. It was a mill… everything is the same. The information and the ration, was a phone call away. There should be some time, he thought, so he reinserted his gun into his pocket, and put the Nokia away. Then, he headed downstairs, and to the store.

He lived life alert, and didn’t witness any suspicious people or cars, so he got back to his apartment with a six pack and some Fritos. It was 1 a.m. when the phone started ringing. Frank was sleeping well, but he awaked and answered. The number was restricted.

“Hello?”
“Is this Frank OPS?”

“Yes. You’re the guy who sent me the phone?”

“Yeah, I am.”

“…”

“Oh, the name of your register---“

“Right, now forget it. What do you want from me?”

“I hear that you like to kill, and you’re not scared.”

“Am I cheap?”

“I heard you like $5,000. But, there’s going to be some traveling. We don’t know exactly where he is.”

“I’ll do $8,000.”

“OK. This guy is an informer. He cannot live. He snitched on two boys inside of our lockup. And, then, a guy selling guns and robbing creeps pulling in a G a week, the Brotherhood wants this motherfucker dead. But you know, we would cut him into pieces… but we want him dead, so he’s not worth it… How will you put him up?”

“I’ll execute the guy and set him on fire, and then I can throw him into the river. That’s a way I can do it.”

“OK, well, that’s alright. You’re real. But are you going to Ohio, find this guy, fuck his world up like that, and still keep on keeping on?”

“Yeah, sure. But my fee is $8,000. How do we exchange our assets?”

“It’s the second number in the phone. Call him, and set it up.”

CLEK
TO BE CONTINUED