ALIAS: THE PUNISHER
"
Gratta ad Bellum" Latin meaning "Welcome to War"Real Name: Frank Castle
Nationality: Second Generation Italian American
Species: Supernaturally Enhanced Human
Occuption: Retired United States Marine/Retired Police Officer/Current One Man Army
Place Of Living: New York City, New York, USA
Character Notes:
- Thanks to an experience from a battle with the Super Soldier Johnny Nightmare in the war in Afghanistan, there is a supernatural force preventing Frank from staying dead
- He has all the skills one would learn while going all in on the United States Marine Corps
- He is one of the best, if not incredibly brutal battlefield interrogators in the armed forces
- A little bit of trivia, his favorite gun is the M60 Machine Gun
- The Characters that i'll be using are, but aren't limited to:
--Amy Bendix: A young woman down on her luck who is currently couch surfing until she comes across a situation that makes her run for her life
--Andy Lorimer: A Police officer who used to work with Frank on the force, but he is now on the trail of a murder spree while looking into his father's death
--Big Jesus: A small potatoes criminal who loans himself out for jobs in order to send money to his brother in prison
--Charlie Schitti: A low level employee of Fisk Industries, he sees everything and knows a great many of Wilson Fisk's business practises
KEY EVENTS
1980- Frank Castle is born to Louisa and Mario Castle, itailian immigrants to America
1981- Frank begins watching the news even as a baby about criminal proceedings and high profile situations
1990- Mario Castle is called into service of the armed forces for the Gulf War, inspiring his son to one day be a hero like his father
Mid 1990- Service members notify Frank of his father's death, and not long after Louisa reveals she has cancer
2000- After a long hard battle, Frank says his goodbyes to his mother along with his pregnant fiance Maria
Mid 2000- Frank joins the police force, secretly hoping to take a chunk out of the criminal element. Here he meets Andy Lorimer, and is partnered with Bruce Greenwood
2001- For several days Frank is among many first responders dealing with the effects of 9/11, and after a long conversation with his now wife he enlists in the United States Marine Corps
2002- Frank comes to Afghanistan with his unit and partners up with Billy Russo, Steve Goodwin, and his commanding officer Cleve Gorman
Several Months Into The Year- Frank and his unit are sent to fortify a town from the enemy are immediately set up for three days straight until only Billy, Steve, and Frank are left. All this violence has pushed Frank to the edge of his humanity and the Punisher peeks out. On the fourth day, a Super Soldier known as Johnny Nighmare arrives and the three men experience the worst possibilities of their lives. Frank has to kill him, but in so doing, births The Punisher.
2003- Frank's superior officers send him to a blacksite to get intel of several high value targets, this is where he learns the art of "enhanced interrogation" his skills rivaling that of a mercenary for hire, Baraccuda who is rumored to be a cannibal.
2004- Frank is relieved of service and returns home a completely changed man, Maria notices immediately and does not like it
A Few Months Into The Year- In an attempt to reconcile with his family, Frank takes them to Central Park, and in a series of events seconds before Maria is about to serve him divorce papers, a gang war erupts killing everybody including Frank
2023- Frank awakens from a nearly 2 decade coma and after learning of the death of his family, he vows to wage a war of vengeance.
CHARACTER CONCEPT
My version of the Punisher combines several aspects of the different iterations and given my own little flair, from Punisher: Born, Punisher: Purgatory, Punisher: Max amongst others. Thanks to an interaction with Johnny Nightmare (a super soldier deployed in Afghanistan) Frank cannot permanently die, when he’s brought back he heals just enough to keep moving forward. He is a literal unstoppable one man army. I will explore his past as a marine vet while also exploring his war on crime and the other characters involved, particularly developing the many mafia families in the Punisher comics.
PLOTS AND GOALS
I want to play Punisher and his supporting characters because for as long as I've remembered, I've enjoyed reading Punisher comics, I actually own the first half of the first volume of stories, which numbers I believe in the low 100’s. Another reason is that while Punisher Purgatory gets a bad rap, I love the idea of Punisher as a supernatural force. As for a direction I want to go, I don’t want to spoil anything, but I have an idea where I drag Frank through mud, blood, and bullets of the world and push him to his limits until I finally ask him at the end, after everything he’s done: does he deserve to be with his family? Who knows, you’ll have to find out.
SAMPLE POST
VOL 1: PARA
ISSUE 1: THIS NEW WORLD
FRANK CASTLE
FROM THE WAR JOURNAL OF FRANK CASTLE, MONDAY
To those find my journals, this is not an admission of guilt of criminal wrongdoing or the manifesto of someone who is politically charged, I, Frank Castle solemnly swear that my actions are made with a sound mind and a clear conscious.
Frank paused his writing to take a drink of his stale, bitter black coffee as he tried to get comfortable in his booth at Joan’s Diner, he looked around to make sure nobody paid the baseball cap wearing, sunglasses indoors, leather jacket wear man who was built like an Ox any mind, but there was nary anybody inside save for a couple of patrons in the corner keeping to themselves. “Back at it,” he whispered, halfheartedly whispering to the sounds of the light rain drizzle against the window pane.
This Journal holds the following accounts of my actions as I see them, unapologetically so. This is my war, I'm behind enemy lines with no possible ex-fil, no allies, and little to no tools of the trade save for my Dan Wesson DWX, it’s time to stock up and get to work. Entry from War Journal #1, page 1.
Frank took his wallet out of his pocket and noted that thanks to his hospital bills that he was running on a thousand dollars, which apparently today meant very little. He laid a ten dollar bill on the table before getting up and walking out the door. The rain did very little to wash the carbon dioxide from his nostrils as he started to walk down the sidewalk, noting how on this side of Bronx that graffiti was rampant and there was seldom a lonesome woman out in public. He thought about hailing a cab to get to his family home, but something nagged at him to keep putting one foot in front of the other.
In the distance he couldn’t tell the direction, but a police siren could be heard and it was moving away. Frank scowled to nobody in particular, but there was all this stimuli just begging him to react, and for a few blocks he was adrift in his own thoughts until the feeling that kept him going had a reason to be. A man ran out of a store holding a big bag and ran down an alley across the street, Frank looked back at the door he came from and a clerk peered out, exclaiming that he was a thief, and what did Frank do? He smiled, he jogged across the street, passing people who knew better than to get involved and slipped his hand into his left shoulder holster under his big black leather jacket and stepped into the alleyway, where he saw the crook dumping his bag of cash into the back of his getaway car.
“Step away from the vehicle!” Frank announced loudly, making the already excited thief jump in place, he pulled out his gun and pointed it head level at the man.
“Who the- who are you bro?” the guy dropped the bag and pulled out his own gun, aiming it sideways like he thought he was in the movies.
Frank raised an eyebrow, but otherwise didn’t flinch. “You’ve never fired that thing, have you?”
“Man, shut the- shut up!” the thief exclaimed nervously, Frank watched his hand holding the gun was getting shakey, “who even are you?”
“Me?” Frank asked, and pulled his jacket to the side, revealing a bulletproof vest that he spray painted white in a way to look like a giant skull on his chest. “I’m the Punisher.”
The thief started to say the word, “who?” but as his mouth opened, Frank fired a round and watched unfazed as the lifeless body fell to the ground, blood and cash pooling on the asphalt.
AMY BENDIX
THE LEXINGTON HOTEL, NEW YORK CITY
The kitchen was moving like a well oiled machine, nobody made a peep as the head chef barked about orders to everyone, including the young nineteen year old Amy Bendix who was hired out as a server from her friend’s catering company, tonight was all about the mayoral race for a new up coming politician, but Amy being a little air headed knew not his name. She just really needed the money after being let go from the mailroom of The Daily Bugle, and now she was couch surfing with her friend and serving hors d'oeuvres to some of the most powerful people in New York, so with her large gold plated tray of small finger food she walked out into the large gathering and began making her rounds. She managed a coy smile every once in awhile, but not a single person said thank you, nor made eye contact with the servant woman, as she finished with her unknown number of platters and gathered drinks, she joined several other waiters and waitresses who aligned the ivory walls and looked up upon the banners displaying the man of the hour: Wilson Fisk.
The boss of the catering event came over to the group of waiters and watresses, and rather rudely told them that their jobs were far from over, so Amy got right back into the monotony, hearing whispers about the things that Fisk plans to do for the city via the elegantly dressed butt kissers and brown nosers. One couple discussed how Fist had invested into a new community outreach program called FEAST, but that was putting it politely instead of the snobby rich person talk like they were beneath those who struggled. The man of the hour himself had yet to arrive to his own campaign party, instead one of his organizers, a man in a dark blue suit with smoothed back raven black hair and a disarming smile was in his stead, shaking hands and doing photo ops with WHIH reporters amongst others.
“Would you like another?” Another Amy asked a patron who would quickly guzzled down a glass of wine, but was shooed away so she decided to make her way over to Fisk’s organizer, “Hello sir, I saw you haven’t had anything to drink for awhile, can I interest you in a beverage?”
“Oh, thank you,” The organizer spoke in a dismissive manner before returning to his boss’s patrons, “As I was saying, Mr. Fisk has been in a very giving mood as of late, he just donated an incredible amount of money towards the F.E.A.S.T Foundation, and has also partnered up with several other prominent men and women of the city to help usher in new era after that horrific time we all had with M-Day.” He paused and looked about the room where many of them shook their heads.
Amy head murmurs of “Damn mutants” and “Good on Mr. Fisk” amongst the crowd as she continued to do her job, halfheartedly listening to the Organizer’s crowd work.
“In fact,” Continued the Organizer, “Not many of you here know that Mr. Fisk’s father once ran for a seat in our fair city council, so you could say that good will is in Mr. Fisk’s DNA.”
Amy stole a glance over at the press pool where the likes of Allsworth Tonight, WHIH World News, and CNCB News were eating away at his every word.
“Just in case you all are tiring of me talking, Mr. Fisk should be arriving within the hour, and you can hear about his multi-layered plan to bring about great, prosperous change for each and every one of you here tonight.”
It was then, in a quick moment between words that Amy started to hear the sounds of protesters coming from outside. Were they always there? She wondered to herself, or was she too getting swept up in the moment?
ANDY LORIMER
Andy watched the rain fall down his father’s tombstone, and bent down to place the bouquet of flowers he had bought on the way here, it was the second anniversary of his father’s murder and Andy was pissed that the man responsible was walking free on a series of technicalities. Andy himself was a police officer and he knew from firsthand experience that a lot of the criminals today were slipping through the justice system in favor of catching the big fish, the so called super villains. As he quietly paid his father his respects, his police walkie crackled to life, “Any units in the area? I got a call about a 10-54 out near Joan’s Diner in kzzt district, any available cars, please respond.”
Andy picked up his radio and began heading back to his cruiser, “this is Cruiser number 1610, headed to location now.” He looked down at the cold cup of coffee that sat in his cup holder and shrugged before taking a swig. “Are there any 10-66's I should be aware of?” He asked as he pulled out of the cemetery and out onto the road.
“Civilian who called reported seeing a man walking the sidewalk in a bulky black trench coat, and sporting a buzzcut. Otherwise you’re as in the dark as the rest of us, Cruiser 1610.”
“Understood,” Andy reported in as he drove through the city, he could tell as he passed the homeless encampments and the gated-up businesses that this area was in desperate need of some help, but from who and from where he had no idea. It was a twenty-minute car ride he arrived at the alleyway and got out of his car with his investigative notepad, and approached a nervous looking man who seemed like he was the one to call it in.
“Sir, did you call the police?” Andy asked calmly,
“Yea-yeah,” the man nervously bobbed his head and looked behind him and gulped before returning his attention to Andy, “the gunshot came over here I-I think.”
“Okay, and when did you hear it before reporting?” Andy asked, ready to write down on his pad, he took a look around and noticed not many people had been fazed by a gunshot.
“On-Only a few minutes,” the man nodded once again.
“Okay, I need you say here while I go check it out.” Andy pocketed his notepad and began to approach the possible crime scene...
BIG JESUS
Robert “Big Jesus” Jessup knew who he was and the world he lived in he knew his place, he was a hired gun, small potatoes who worked at the kiddie table of the criminal underworld of New York and he preferred it that way. He never knew more than what his job was, and that way he figured if he even thought of snitching then he couldn’t, one of the officers interrogating him one time told him that was called plausible deniability, but it wasn’t just the name of the for him. Big Jesus’ brother found himself in the hot seat over at Ryker’s so now here he was acting as muscle in a parking garage that had poor as hell lightning for some big wig businessman who was making a deal with a new up and comer.
Unfortunately this up and comer was late, despite his boys guarding the meeting spot, but as his boss was getting antsy a Cadillac Escalade that was shiny as Hell pulled up just long enough for a middle aged man with a shiny balding head and a frightened, nervous look about him. Handcuffed to his hand was a black briefcase, “Hello,” the man nodded at Big Jesus’s boss,
His boss, Alberto Bernedetti who was of siciliano descent didn’t speak, instead he grabbed his walking cane and managed a couple steps towards this man and looked him in the eye. “I thought I was dealing with Fisk?” he grumpled, who the Hell are you?”
“Me?” The nervous man motioned at himself, “My name, it doesn’t matter. Mr. Fisk sent me to make arrangements with you for a profitable business venture. His words, I attest.”
“What do you mean, arrangements? What kind of venture would I be interested in that Mr. Future Mayor is too busy to come to me directly?” Bernedetti spoke with an angry tone.
The man making the arrangements fished in his pocket for a key to unlock his handcuff to the briefcase, “Mr. Fisk regretted being unable to attend this meeting, but with the contents of this case, with a partnership between Fisk Industries and Bernedetti Construction he has plans to make this city a benefit for people,” he paused and added the last bit with a wink, “such as yourself.”
“What are you-” Alberto stopped talking as once the man got the briefcase open, he was staring directly at plates of gold...
CHARLIE SCHITTI
Charlie was a nervous man in everything he did in life, but as he rode the Elevator up to his boss’s penthouse suit at Four Seasons in Tribeca he was sweating more than normal, and that was not a good look to be paired with his boss’s temper when he was interrupted at home. The elevator dinged and he was met once the doors opened by a two man team, one patted him down, but didn’t find any weapons. “Like I'd be stupid to bring them here.” Charlie said offhandeded, but the man ignored him, and the other made him sign a visitor log before motioning to make him look at the cameras positioned above the door in the hallway. After they finished, Charlie gulped, never ready for his boss’s wrath and knocked raptly several times, he looked back at the security team who were stoic as ever then he heard a beep noise two times, which meant the door electronically unlocked.
Charlie walked inside and was met by a very homely scent of vanilla, which momentarily disarmed him as he walked into the open floor plan and was met by a beautiful Italian woman dressed in tight formal wear, her dark brown hair down to her neck and she looked at him dismissively. “He’s not going to be happy.”
Charlie straightened up and looked abashedly down at his feet, “Apologizes Ma’am, I meant no disrespect to you or your husband I was just-” he started to try and explain himself but she interrupted him like an upset mother would to a child.
“First off, never call me Ma’m, it’s Mrs. Fisk. Secondly,” she paused and walked towards Charlie until she was an arm’s length away, “My husband’s men know the rules and never to come here, especially during the day! Thirdly, who even are you?”
“I’m-” Charlie could barely get a word out before she walked away ignoring him,
“Wilson,” Mrs. Fisk called out, “you have a visitor”
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