Roman

Sensation & Wonder: An Absolute Comics Roleplay [DC & Marvel One Universe Style Game]

Got a direction for Frank set out now, and I can really bring him into the game. Now just to catch up on the IC again. Really enjoying some of the stuff coming out in this game so far.

Sensation & Wonder: An Absolute Comics Roleplay [DC & Marvel One Universe Style Game]

_{SEASON ONE Sensation & Wonder}

PUNISHER #2

---

_{Hell's Kitchen. New York.}

Frank woke up in much the same way as he'd fallen asleep that morning; sharply and unwillingly, followed by settling in to a cold routine. He stood, picking up the book from the floor next to the bed where it had fallen and folding the corner of the page he last recalled reading before setting it down on his pillow. He undressed, feeling clammy from sweating fully-clothed in his sleep, and pulled a large trunk from beneath his bed to fetch another uniform. Nothing extravagant: black utility trousers, a white tank top, a black denim jacket. The cap, black with a small logo on the front, was the only thing the company had paid for; most of his first paycheque had gone on buying something his boss deemed acceptable. Something black and "tough-guy-looking", he'd said. Frank disliked his boss.

Still, he dressed as instructed all the same, all black with heavy boots and his flashlight swinging on his hip again. No weapons, company policy - they were watchmen, not guards, and insurance was pricey enough without employees looking for fights - but Frank had sworn-off weapons just over a decade ago. The brass knuckles were just for self-defence. Hell’s Kitchen was a rough side of town, only getting rougher despite all the ‘good’ that horned bastard thought he was doing.

Frank checked his watch. 2130. He’d slept late. Better get a move on.

-

The job this week had been boring but well-paid, relative to Frank’s other jobs. Better thank watching the door on another failing dive bar at least; some abandoned ex-factory near the waterfront. Been empty a couple years, but last week someone had bought it, a nice chunk of dilapidated real estate, and this week they needed someone to watch it while they figured out what to do with it. The chain-link fencing around the perimeter had gone up in a day, and the day after that had been spending ‘evicting’ the squatters within. Frank had gotten the post Sunday just gone, and the last three nights had been uneventful.

He relieved the afternoon watch in his usual way; appearing near-silently in the door to the impromptu ‘office’, spooking the shit out of the early-20’s ‘roid-head who had his feet up on the desk and his phone propped up against a coffee mug, watching some livestream of a young blonde in some kind of costume. Frank vaguely recognised it from some freak he’d seen in the news a few months ago. Kids today had no respect.

The ‘noon guard pocketed his phone quickly, paling beneath Frank’s glare despite the finely-crafted muscles he obviously spent most of his time and money on. Despite standing a good few inches taller than Frank, he still felt small. He scooped up the one walkie-talkie provided to the job and handed it to Frank, squeezing past the older man as he looked to make a sharp exit. Frank had a way of making rooms uncomfortable to be in.
“Nothin’ t’report, Pete. All quiet.”
Frank nodded and stepped aside, clipping the talkie to his belt next to his flashlight and taking a seat on the folding chair. It was as close to a formal relief as Frank was going to give. The ‘noon guard lingered awkwardly, as if pausing to collect some words. Frank just stared straight ahead out of what once probably housed a glass pane, looking out onto what was once probably a production floor. The ‘noon guard left, and Frank breathed an infinitesimal sigh of relief. He rarely felt like talking, and tonight the stale, rust-scented air sat even more uncomfortably than usual in the back of his throat.

-

Four hours went by slowly. Frank had made a couple rounds of patrol since he'd started, but right now he was simply enjoying the last dregs of coffee from his thermos. With his watch rolling past 2AM, Frank crossed and uncrossed his legs. His bladder was filling, and the on-site toilet was on the other side of the building. Irritating; he was comfortable, and it was chilly tonight. Nevertheless, it was get up and walk, or piss himself. Frank was older, but not quite that old yet. He got up, grunting as he felt his knee pop. Old scars. He ambled across the ground floor, assorted gravel and broken glass crunching beneath his boots. His torch swung at his side, un-needed; while the bulbs in the building had burnt out long ago, Frank was well-used to moonlight and muzzle-flashes being his only illumination. The former filtered through the skylights nicely and he found his way easily.

He pushed through a door at the rear of the building into the cool night air, letting the distant cacophony of the city drift in. New York, the city that never sleeps. The crisp air felt good in his lungs and he savoured it, taking long, even breaths. Despite the background ambience of New York proper, there was a detachment from it at this building that afforded an almost peaceful atmosphere, and offered a clarity of thought that wouldn’t be possible once enveloped fully in the din of so-called ‘civilisation’.

So Frank was displeased when a distinct, tell-tale clinking off to his right let him know someone was scaling the chain-link fence that was meant to ward off this exact kind of intrusion. He sighed, pausing in his purposeful plod, and turned carefully on the spot in the direction of the noise. There was the crunch of someone hitting the ground on the inside of the perimeter, followed by more clinking and two more landings. There was a swollen pause of silence, and then Frank saw them cutting across the yard towards the main building. Three figures, with dark jackets and beanie caps. Two were holding crowbars. Frank sighed, and quietly followed at a steady pace.

The trio pushed forwards into the factory, moving carefully but with little regard for the amount of noise they were making. Frank trailed behind, imperceptible in the darkness and silent as the grave. By the way they were looking around, they were obviously expecting a night watchman, but they weren’t thorough in their investigation. Frank felt almost bored at how easy it had been to follow them across the old factory floor without being noticed. The lead of the three was distracted, though, fidgety. He kept adjusting his jacket - obvious firearm in the inner pocket, one Frank simultaneously wished he would and wouldn’t be forced to use - and checking a scrap of paper that creased a little more every time he retrieved it from his pocket. They passed the ‘office’, and even gave it a cursory sweep - but they weren’t here for the guard.

Instead, they approached a seemingly random factory press, and the biggest of the three - nearly a foot on Frank, and probably the better part of forty kilos - braced himself against the rusted old manufacturer and heaved. There was a terrible screeching roar of metal-on-metal, but Frank was nearly impressed to see that the damn thing moved, and then all of a sudden noticed the machine was sat on finely-carved rails in the floor. Frank cursed himself for not noticing sooner, for not taking better recon on the job before he’d accepted it. He was getting complacent in retirement.

There was a pause as the sound faded, echoing off rotting walls and rusted rafters. Frank didn’t breathe. The trio muttered amongst themselves, and each gave another cursory sweeping of the eyes across the factory floor; but Frank knew how to wait, and the trio thought whoever was supposed to be here wasn’t interested. Either that, or impatient and stupid.

With the machine press out of the way, the crowbars came out, and the larger two dug the prying ends sharply into deep grooves in the floor. There was some pushing and tugging and grunting and swearing, but slowly, surely, a great lid began to lift, and soon enough all three men were beneath it, heaving it up from out of the ground and pushing it back on rusted hinges. The trio paused again to collect themselves and take some gulping breathes - which they immediately regretted as the unmistakeable scent of old sweat and stale blood ballooned out of the hole like mustard gas seeping across a trench. Frank’s nostrils flared, but he didn’t gag and retch like the men he was watching. Instead, he zeroed in on it, like a grey old bloodhound catching the scent of a hunt again. The crowbars were cast aside as the men descended the steps down, covering their noses with their arms. Frank scooped one up as he followed them into the pit.

-

At the bottom of the stairs, Paulie flipped the lightswitch, and was surprised when the fluorescent tube in the ceiling actually flicked on. Vin, despite being maybe half Paulie’s weight, shot him a look. Paulie just glared. Like the noise hadn’t screamed out their presence here anyway. Guard wasn’t here, just like they were told he wouldn’t be here by Ace. Pete Castiglione was Ace Security Solution’s latest hire, and he was just some washed up bootcamp reject with a vocabulary better than his IQ. Ace told Pete to jump, Pete asked how high, and either he wouldn’t bother you at all or you can just chuck a couple hundred his way and he’ll go sit in a dark room until you’re done. And what’s a couple hundred compared to what they were getting paid for a little bit of clean-up?

Paulie wondered what ‘vocabulary’ meant.

He hadn’t shown anyway. No sign of him as they entered the factory, no sign of him after moving the machine, no sign of him after lifting the trapdoor. It didn’t even look like he’d turned up to his shift. That was Pete’s problem, though, not Paulie’s or Vin’s or Karl’s. Ace would dock him the night’s pay and then pocket it.

Paulie was broken out of his wondering by Vin hitting his shoulder, and Paulie scowled.
“Find what we came to find or watch the stairs. Don’t just fuckin’ stand there like a retard.”
“Fuck off, Vin. Find my ass.”
Karl chuckled as he overturned a soiled mattress. He tried to ignore the handcuffs beneath it, stained with drops of blood, just like he was trying to ignore the faint sight of scratch-marks on the underside of the lid when they’d lifted it.
“What we lookin’ for again Vin?” Karl asked as he let the mattress fall again. Vin swore and smacked Karl.
“Some kinda stash. Few valuables, some photos. Ace said there was a tape, though. Said if we walk out without the tape, we’re done in this town.”
Karl considered the threat for a moment, then nodded, and resumed his search. Paulie leant against the wall, absentmindedly scratching his chin.

Vin looked around the room. It wasn’t very big, and only sparsely decorated; a handful of mattresses, a couple chairs. There was a desk in the corner, but no drawers. Drawers would have been too easy, he supposed. There was a drain in the corner of the room, and a vent above it.
“Paulie, make yourself useful. Boost me up.” Vin commanded, gesturing at the vent in the wall. Paulie trudged over and cupped his hands for Vin to step in, hoisting him up until his shoulders were level. Vin balanced himself, then grabbed the vent with both hands and wrenched it back; a couple yanks, and it popped out. Vin grinned in success and stuck his arm in shoulder-deep; after a few seconds feeling around, he gripped something and grinned again, pulling it free.

It was a small plastic bag, duct-taped shut. Inside the bag were some bracelets, rings, necklaces - assorted jewellery, but nothing extravagant or overly mature in its style - a small pouch of photos - the top one was a provocative image of an attractive young woman, but the rest weren’t visible - and a black, un-marked videotape.
“Bingo, boys. Payday tonight.” Vin said, affecting an air of triumph as Paulie lowered him down. “Let’s get out of he-“

Vin stopped mid-sentence as he turned back towards the stairs and came face-to-face with Pete Castiglione. Pete had cast an eye over the squalid little pit already, and his face bristled with rage and disgust; now, Pete’s gaze fell to the baggie clutched in Vin’s hand, and the content within. Pete’s face contorted into something Vin could only describe as demonic. Carefully, Vin rested his other hand on the pistol in his pocket. Frank rolled the crowbar in his hand, feeling the weight and the swing of it.

“Pete? Pete Castiglione? You’re on watch tonight? Ace - your boss - he said you would be. Said you’re a reliable guy. Said you don’t talk much, but you’re smart and money-orientated. Well, Ace asked us to come and pick up some bits. Said if we ran into you, that you’d be smart enough to know we’re not causing trouble, just here to collect some stuff the old owners left behind. Smart guy like you would take an easy couple hundred to let us get on with our business so you can get on with your business.”

Vin liked to talk, Frank thought. Liked to think he was in control. Liked to think he was faster with that .45 in his pocket than Pete Castiglione would be with his crowbar. Liked to think he was never wrong, despite rarely being right. Liked to be backed up by men bigger than him with less brains, like Paulie and Karl. Unfortunate.

“You’re wrong.” Frank said. “My name’s not Pete.”

“What?”

“It’s Frank.”

“Huh?”

“Frank Castle.”

“Oh, fuck.” Vin could only whisper.

The last thing Frank saw before he threw his crowbar at the lightbulb was three men, making their peace with God, illuminated only by the moonlight and a muzzle flash.

Sensation & Wonder: An Absolute Comics Roleplay [DC & Marvel One Universe Style Game]

What's everyones favourite Superhero film?

@Sep

Under The Red Hood is still one of my favourite animated Batman features.

I feel like Kickass 1 is underrated as well, even if they blew it with keeping Big Daddy's story legit instead of the reveal from the comic.

I really enjoyed Gunn's The Suicide Squad.

Into the Spider-Verse is one of the most visually amazing films I've ever seen.

Guillermo's first Hellboy is extremely solid.

Nolan's The Dark Knight goes without saying.

Watchmen, especially the director's cut, is an incredible adaptation and very well-written.

And these days, finally, I am more and more forgiving of Constantine starring Keanu Reeves, and feel more and more that despite mis-casting Reeves (who performs as admirably as I feel he was capable of at the time), and the obvious mistake of transplanting the character to the US, it's actually a decently-written Constantine story that hits good pillars and themes of the character and despite Reeves not being right for John, the rest of the cast makes up for it and Reeves is at least watchable.

Sensation & Wonder: An Absolute Comics Roleplay [DC & Marvel One Universe Style Game]

<Snipped quote by DocTachyon>

Roman's British, hardly even a person.

@Hillan

He’s_out_of_line_but_he’s_right.gif

Sensation & Wonder: An Absolute Comics Roleplay [DC & Marvel One Universe Style Game]

One of my favourites is the Winter Soldier’s theme from the MCU. It’s impactful and sinister and I often listen to it when attempting a big lift at the gym:



Additionally, I really like the Netflix Daredevil theme:



It’s a shame but aside from the obvious that’s already been stated, DC don’t have as many great themes that spring to mind as quickly as Marvel ones do.

Sensation & Wonder: An Absolute Comics Roleplay [DC & Marvel One Universe Style Game]

<Snipped quote by Sep>
Predictable answer is predictable, but I think I listen to parts of this every week.



This one is a close second.

@Master Bruce

Additionally I feel like as good as all Batman themes are, this remains one of the most underrated:

Sensation & Wonder: An Absolute Comics Roleplay [DC & Marvel One Universe Style Game]

Almost thirty years later and it still slaps.

@John Table

In the same vein:

Sensation & Wonder: An Absolute Comics Roleplay [DC & Marvel One Universe Style Game]

oh, you guys

Sensation & Wonder: An Absolute Comics Roleplay [DC & Marvel One Universe Style Game]

32 IC posts in and I finally get Frank on the board. I think that's a new fastest post for me in these things.

Boring establishing post but I a) want to use Frank to react to what's going on elsewhere in the 'verse, and b) want a slower build-up to Frank coming out of 'retirement'. I think I set the scene for both of those things with this intro post, and I'll work on a follow up tonight and over the weekend.

Sensation & Wonder: An Absolute Comics Roleplay [DC & Marvel One Universe Style Game]

_{SEASON ONE Sensation & Wonder}

PUNISHER #1

---

_{Hell's Kitchen. New York.}

Frank nodded in silent but polite approval as the diner waitress paused beside him with a fresh pot of coffee. The smell of burnt beans hit Frank's nose immediately as the liquid tar splashed into his stained mug, and no sooner than she had stopped pouring had he already brought the chipped rim to his lips and practically inhaled half the contents of the mug. The waitress, by now well-cognizant of the man's coffee habits, waiting patiently as Frank set his mug back down on the table, and then topped it up once again before sauntering away. 'Pete Castiglione' was a well-known coffee fiend, and often drank his way through two pots alone whenever he breakfasted at Sally's Spoon; luckily for Sally, his tips more than covered the cost of beans and water, even if the other patrons thought he was taking advantage of the Free Refills rule.

Frank shovelled more eggs into his mouth with a fork while his other hand thumbed through both the Daily Bugle and another, more reputable paper, catching up on the latest happenings in the country. Half of it - particularly Jameson's rag - often just pissed him off, but hell if the anger didn't work better than the caffeine at keeping him fuelled up after a long night shift. The Daily Bugle's front page was a double-splash: Spider-Man stopping a bank robbery by another nutjob throwing boomerangs, and Superboy being plastered all over social media wooing some Cape groupie - with his own foiling of armed assault in the city reduced to a mere contextual footnote. Both Frank found equal parts disappointing and frustrating. The 'rang freak was a repeat offender, as were so many of the scum Spider-Man ever claimed to 'stop', and Superboy's stunt of heroism was treated more like inane celebrity gossip than an ineffectual, profit-motivated remedy to deep systemic issues.

Frank never had any repeat offenders. Of that, you could be damn sure.

His other paper had a front page full-spread of Lex Luthor's trialling expedition to the edge of space, which had had far more trouble coming back to Earth that it had encountered leaving it. Were it not for the timely-as-always intervention of Superman, Luthor would now be a charred red smear, scraped across some field or seabed or forgotten piece of tarmac, and the world might be rid of one more despicable leech. Instead, a billionaire was once again bailed out, and Superman once again had his praises sung, and the President once again managed to spin the alien's 'heroics' into a 'symbolic representation of the strength of America'.

A black man forced to bail out a soulless billionaire to the greater detriment of the common people. Yeah, symbolic of America sounds just goddamn right.

Frank flicked through the rest of the paper with disgust bubbling below the surface as he finished his breakfast, using torn scraps from the Bugle's pages to wipe his fingers and mop up spilled ketchup. There was the usual fodder - fluff pieces, non-events reported on by writers the editor didn't like, today's Marmaduke (to which Frank spared a single chuckle that sounded more like a cough than an expression of amusement) - and scattered throughout were other, smaller pieces on the activities of more so-called 'heroes'. Star City faced its usual line-up of gimmicky rejects, and Flash played his usual games, no doubt quipping all the while in order to cover up his sheer lack of guts to stop the same domestic terrorism occurring a mere fortnight later. The Bat in Gotham stopped a crew organised by a recent release from Arkham - a crew that had never needed to be there if the Knight had done what was needed - and in another part of that disgusting city, a good man had been murdered. The police probably wouldn't find the culprit, even if they weren't being paid off to avoid solving the crime. But one of the Batman's many failures probably would, and even then they had been taught half-measure methods.

A part of Frank wondered if the cowardice of capes was simply a means to keep themselves relevant. If there were more men like Frank out in the world, he thought, there would be far less need for men like Batman or Superman. When Frank had waged his war, back when war needed to be waged, all he had seen in those that had come to stop him - all he continued to see in them now - was wasted potential and fear.

He stabbed his last rasher of bacon with his fork and ate it whole, pushing the paper aside as he mopped up egg yolk from his place with a slice of bread and then drained the last of his coffee. He took a breath as the last of his breakfast-slash-dinner sunk into his belly, and then stood, fishing his wallet from his back pocket and rifling through to leave a few crumpled ten-dollar notes wedged beneath his empty mug. On his hip, the company-issued flashlight - large, metal, one of those old-school torches that took a couple hefty batteries to power a weak bulb - swung on its clip as he turned and left, pausing as he pulled the diner door open to wave cordially to Sally on his way out. In his jacket pocket, his hand clenched reflexively around his company-forbidden brass knuckles as a cop car cruised by; the officer in the passenger seat caught Frank's eye, and his face slowly contorted to match Frank's disdainful scowl as the vehicle drifted around the corner, driver unaware.

Frank uncurled his fingers and ducked down the side of the diner, hustling down the alleyway taking a shortcut back home -'home', such that it was. A studio apartment, four stories up. No wider than Frank's height if he stretched his arms above his head; behind a shoddy drywall and cheap door there was a toilet and sink, but no shower, and the kitchenette was a mini-fridge and two cupboards beneath a counter, atop which rested a microwave and a hotplate. Frank didn't need much else. He ate his biggest meals at Sally's, and the hotplate made a pot of coffee just as well as any fancy Breville contraption. He kicked his boots off as he closed and locked the door behind him, trudging to the 'bathroom' to shit and take a whore's shower; then he was laying on his bed, still fully clothed, a book in his hand and eyes skimming the words, Frank trying to convince himself he was reading and relaxing rather than slowly drifting off to sleep.

Three paragraphs in, Frank stopped pretending, and slept. He dreamed the only dream he ever dreamt; one of his first bloodbath, and greatest failure.