yeah definitely, and its perfect timing, tomorrow is the begining of my weekend so ill get to work on the main thread
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awesome, im thinking we get two more interested persons before i put this up in the main advanced and start working on a character sheet. Thanks for showing interest by the way.
im thinking of doing a drifter who comes from a bloody past trying to escape his old life, would it be ok if i eventually hook him up with a bartending job at Fox Hole or should i go over to the Bandit Bar?
hello, is this rp still open per chance?
Hey, i was wondering if this is open now, or is it still closed?
Dear ___, Congratulations you have been pre approved for selection into The Clockmaster’s University For Magical Aptitude. Upon completion of reading this letter you shall be transported to a land beyond time and space known as The Immortal Hills. There you shall be joined by others with similar auras as yourself and go through our rigorous interview process before you are to be greeted by Grandfather of Time, the Clockmaster himself Alus Arador. This is a boarding school, where you will learn and live and create a life for eight years in the Immortal Hills, but in reality only five minutes shall pass upon your transportation, and all educational materials will be provided for you. Once more, congratulations on your selection as only eight million people (or Maggies that normies call us) have any sort of magical aptitude. See you in a moment.
Your Homeroom Teacher Ms Monik Maglon
___
Hello all and welcome to my interest check. This is an idea I've had cooking for awhile and will be styled in an adventurous slice of life university for young adults (in the story, but it would be preferred if you were an adult too) where students aged 18-25 will be going to a magical boarding school. Said students, since this is set outside of time and space will be from 1880’s to modern time. So you could be a wizard gunslinger from the wild west if you so wanted to. As a quick side note, I’m going to try and steer this roleplay towards a “no wand, no pond” setting, just a catchy way of saying it’s not at all like Harry Potter.
I am also open to lore additions or story ideas, I want this to be a democracy, but I do have a skeleton of a story. Also here is the list of classes you’ll be taking
Alchemy- Potions and other magical brews that enhance your abilities
Ancestral History- This is like a world history class, but it’s going to be more about the history of magic and each character’s lineage
Enochian Language and Literature- This is basically like language arts class, but for the origins of magic where you will learn to speak and read magical words
Artificing Workshop- Here you will make objects of power, want to make a flaming sword that when you cut your opponent you cut their soul? You can. You want to make an armor that absorbs magical energy? You can. There are no limits so long as it doesn’t break the game or the story
Magical Civilization History- Every civilization in history has some kind of magical idolitry, and we can make other stuff up too
Conjuration- In this class you’ll learn to create anything from a grain of sand to a loyal follower, or maybe an entire cosmos if you get powerful enough
Technomancy- You'll learn to use electronics and magic together, the nerds in the school love this class
Anti-Dark Magic Defense- It's like Defense Against The Dark Arts, but harder and deadlier and you even learn about dark magic
Magic Of The Green- You will learn to connect and strengthen your bond with the world around you, spread your aura to every bit of plant-life that you can
Defense Against Eldritch Horrors- The eldritch gods exist in this story and it is this class’s responsibility to teach you not how to fight Cthulu, but survive
Counseling- Not exactly a class, but at some point your character will get PTSD from something and this is where they go
Evolution Of Magic- Magic is always evolving in a fluid like state, this class teaches you the ways you can currently use your magic, as well as ideas for future use
Musical Magic- If you saw Doctor Strange 2’s music fight scene, that’s example of this class’s applications but it is also like the school band
The First Response- This class is about emergency and field battle medical care, not everyone might be gung ho about fighting so we need some medics in this world
The Art Of Illusions- This class is about learning to identify, cast, and protect against illusions while also doubling as an art class because they are considered works of art
Monster Study- Like Care Of Magical Creatures minus Hagrid but you’ll be going on field trips like a safari across The Immortal Hills with it’s different biomes
Occultism- Because this is a land outside of time and space, the barrier between the living and the dead, destiny readings and other divination like practices is pretty thin.
There will be three meals a day and a living quarters for each class teleported in
There’s also some clubs like Dueling Club and Student Council that I know of right now but feel free to make your own. That’s it, hopefully you guys like this idea.
Your Homeroom Teacher Ms Monik Maglon
___
Hello all and welcome to my interest check. This is an idea I've had cooking for awhile and will be styled in an adventurous slice of life university for young adults (in the story, but it would be preferred if you were an adult too) where students aged 18-25 will be going to a magical boarding school. Said students, since this is set outside of time and space will be from 1880’s to modern time. So you could be a wizard gunslinger from the wild west if you so wanted to. As a quick side note, I’m going to try and steer this roleplay towards a “no wand, no pond” setting, just a catchy way of saying it’s not at all like Harry Potter.
I am also open to lore additions or story ideas, I want this to be a democracy, but I do have a skeleton of a story. Also here is the list of classes you’ll be taking
Alchemy- Potions and other magical brews that enhance your abilities
Ancestral History- This is like a world history class, but it’s going to be more about the history of magic and each character’s lineage
Enochian Language and Literature- This is basically like language arts class, but for the origins of magic where you will learn to speak and read magical words
Artificing Workshop- Here you will make objects of power, want to make a flaming sword that when you cut your opponent you cut their soul? You can. You want to make an armor that absorbs magical energy? You can. There are no limits so long as it doesn’t break the game or the story
Magical Civilization History- Every civilization in history has some kind of magical idolitry, and we can make other stuff up too
Conjuration- In this class you’ll learn to create anything from a grain of sand to a loyal follower, or maybe an entire cosmos if you get powerful enough
Technomancy- You'll learn to use electronics and magic together, the nerds in the school love this class
Anti-Dark Magic Defense- It's like Defense Against The Dark Arts, but harder and deadlier and you even learn about dark magic
Magic Of The Green- You will learn to connect and strengthen your bond with the world around you, spread your aura to every bit of plant-life that you can
Defense Against Eldritch Horrors- The eldritch gods exist in this story and it is this class’s responsibility to teach you not how to fight Cthulu, but survive
Counseling- Not exactly a class, but at some point your character will get PTSD from something and this is where they go
Evolution Of Magic- Magic is always evolving in a fluid like state, this class teaches you the ways you can currently use your magic, as well as ideas for future use
Musical Magic- If you saw Doctor Strange 2’s music fight scene, that’s example of this class’s applications but it is also like the school band
The First Response- This class is about emergency and field battle medical care, not everyone might be gung ho about fighting so we need some medics in this world
The Art Of Illusions- This class is about learning to identify, cast, and protect against illusions while also doubling as an art class because they are considered works of art
Monster Study- Like Care Of Magical Creatures minus Hagrid but you’ll be going on field trips like a safari across The Immortal Hills with it’s different biomes
Occultism- Because this is a land outside of time and space, the barrier between the living and the dead, destiny readings and other divination like practices is pretty thin.
There will be three meals a day and a living quarters for each class teleported in
There’s also some clubs like Dueling Club and Student Council that I know of right now but feel free to make your own. That’s it, hopefully you guys like this idea.
Dear ___, Congratulations you have been pre approved for selection into The Clockmaster’s University For Magical Aptitude. Upon completion of reading this letter you shall be transported to a land beyond time and space known as The Immortal Hills. There you shall be joined by others with similar auras as yourself and go through our rigorous interview process before you are to be greeted by Grandfather of Time, the Clockmaster himself Alus Arador. This is a boarding school, where you will learn and live and create a life for eight years in the Immortal Hills, but in reality only five minutes shall pass upon your transportation, and all educational materials will be provided for you. Once more, congratulations on your selection as only eight million people (or Maggies that normies call us) have any sort of magical aptitude. See you in a moment.
Your Homeroom Teacher Ms Monik Maglon
___
Hello all and welcome to my interest check. This is an idea I've had cooking for awhile and will be styled in an adventurous slice of life university for young adults (in the story, but it would be preferred if you were an adult too) where students aged 18-25 will be going to a magical boarding school. Said students, since this is set outside of time and space will be from 1880’s to modern time. So you could be a wizard gunslinger from the wild west if you so wanted to. As a quick side note, I’m going to try and steer this roleplay towards a “no wand, no pond” setting, just a catchy way of saying it’s not at all like Harry Potter.
I am also open to lore additions or story ideas, I want this to be a democracy, but I do have a skeleton of a story. Also here is the list of classes you’ll be taking
Alchemy- Potions and other magical brews that enhance your abilities
Ancestral History- This is like a world history class, but it’s going to be more about the history of magic and each character’s lineage
Enochian Language and Literature- This is basically like language arts class, but for the origins of magic where you will learn to speak and read magical words
Artificing Workshop- Here you will make objects of power, want to make a flaming sword that when you cut your opponent you cut their soul? You can. You want to make an armor that absorbs magical energy? You can. There are no limits so long as it doesn’t break the game or the story
Magical Civilization History- Every civilization in history has some kind of magical idolitry, and we can make other stuff up too
Conjuration- In this class you’ll learn to create anything from a grain of sand to a loyal follower, or maybe an entire cosmos if you get powerful enough
Technomancy- You'll learn to use electronics and magic together, the nerds in the school love this class
Anti-Dark Magic Defense- It's like Defense Against The Dark Arts, but harder and deadlier and you even learn about dark magic
Magic Of The Green- You will learn to connect and strengthen your bond with the world around you, spread your aura to every bit of plant-life that you can
Defense Against Eldritch Horrors- The eldritch gods exist in this story and it is this class’s responsibility to teach you not how to fight Cthulu, but survive
Counseling- Not exactly a class, but at some point your character will get PTSD from something and this is where they go
Evolution Of Magic- Magic is always evolving in a fluid like state, this class teaches you the ways you can currently use your magic, as well as ideas for future use
Musical Magic- If you saw Doctor Strange 2’s music fight scene, that’s example of this class’s applications but it is also like the school band
The First Response- This class is about emergency and field battle medical care, not everyone might be gung ho about fighting so we need some medics in this world
The Art Of Illusions- This class is about learning to identify, cast, and protect against illusions while also doubling as an art class because they are considered works of art
Monster Study- Like Care Of Magical Creatures minus Hagrid but you’ll be going on field trips like a safari across The Immortal Hills with it’s different biomes
Occultism- Because this is a land outside of time and space, the barrier between the living and the dead, destiny readings and other divination like practices is pretty thin.
There will be three meals a day and a living quarters for each class teleported in
There’s also some clubs like Dueling Club and Student Council that I know of right now but feel free to make your own. That’s it, hopefully you guys like this idea. Oh I almost forgot, this is going to be an Advanced Story
Your Homeroom Teacher Ms Monik Maglon
___
Hello all and welcome to my interest check. This is an idea I've had cooking for awhile and will be styled in an adventurous slice of life university for young adults (in the story, but it would be preferred if you were an adult too) where students aged 18-25 will be going to a magical boarding school. Said students, since this is set outside of time and space will be from 1880’s to modern time. So you could be a wizard gunslinger from the wild west if you so wanted to. As a quick side note, I’m going to try and steer this roleplay towards a “no wand, no pond” setting, just a catchy way of saying it’s not at all like Harry Potter.
I am also open to lore additions or story ideas, I want this to be a democracy, but I do have a skeleton of a story. Also here is the list of classes you’ll be taking
Alchemy- Potions and other magical brews that enhance your abilities
Ancestral History- This is like a world history class, but it’s going to be more about the history of magic and each character’s lineage
Enochian Language and Literature- This is basically like language arts class, but for the origins of magic where you will learn to speak and read magical words
Artificing Workshop- Here you will make objects of power, want to make a flaming sword that when you cut your opponent you cut their soul? You can. You want to make an armor that absorbs magical energy? You can. There are no limits so long as it doesn’t break the game or the story
Magical Civilization History- Every civilization in history has some kind of magical idolitry, and we can make other stuff up too
Conjuration- In this class you’ll learn to create anything from a grain of sand to a loyal follower, or maybe an entire cosmos if you get powerful enough
Technomancy- You'll learn to use electronics and magic together, the nerds in the school love this class
Anti-Dark Magic Defense- It's like Defense Against The Dark Arts, but harder and deadlier and you even learn about dark magic
Magic Of The Green- You will learn to connect and strengthen your bond with the world around you, spread your aura to every bit of plant-life that you can
Defense Against Eldritch Horrors- The eldritch gods exist in this story and it is this class’s responsibility to teach you not how to fight Cthulu, but survive
Counseling- Not exactly a class, but at some point your character will get PTSD from something and this is where they go
Evolution Of Magic- Magic is always evolving in a fluid like state, this class teaches you the ways you can currently use your magic, as well as ideas for future use
Musical Magic- If you saw Doctor Strange 2’s music fight scene, that’s example of this class’s applications but it is also like the school band
The First Response- This class is about emergency and field battle medical care, not everyone might be gung ho about fighting so we need some medics in this world
The Art Of Illusions- This class is about learning to identify, cast, and protect against illusions while also doubling as an art class because they are considered works of art
Monster Study- Like Care Of Magical Creatures minus Hagrid but you’ll be going on field trips like a safari across The Immortal Hills with it’s different biomes
Occultism- Because this is a land outside of time and space, the barrier between the living and the dead, destiny readings and other divination like practices is pretty thin.
There will be three meals a day and a living quarters for each class teleported in
There’s also some clubs like Dueling Club and Student Council that I know of right now but feel free to make your own. That’s it, hopefully you guys like this idea. Oh I almost forgot, this is going to be an Advanced Story
In
Marvel RE: Imagine 2, Electric Boogaloo - A Marvel Comics Roleplay
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2 yrs ago
Forum: Advanced Roleplay
VOL 1: PARA
ISSUE 1: THIS NEW WORLD
PART 1
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”
VOL 1: PARA
ISSUE 1: THIS NEW WORLD
PART 2
FRANK CASTLE
YESTERDAY- SUNDAY
FROM THE WAR JOURNAL OF FRANK CASTLE
WAR JOURNAL ENTRY #2
If there are those who find sympathy towards me, look elsewhere, do not pity my misfortune. The system did not fail me, it failed all of you, what do I want? I want those who have reason, to fear me, there is no murder in war: there is only getting the job done.
It was a bright morning at the cemetery, and everything there looked well kept and pristine, which contrasted horribly with the visage of Frank Castle standing above the graves of his family in his blood soaked black leather jacket that was riddled with bullet holes, underneath he wore a t-shirt- he bought this one once he left the hospital after finding his original was torn to shreds- emblazoned with a large white imposing skull, ripped combat pants soaked with dirt and blood and steel toed boots. There was such anger and rage burning in his eyes as he looked from his children’s tombstones to his wife’s. He then looked around to find that he was the only living person there in that moment, so he took a knee and solemnly started to study the dirt at the foot of their graves, watching it fall as he picked it up and dropped it.
“I promised you,” he started to say in a quiet voice, “they will pay. They will all be punished for what they took from us. It’s been hard, but I think I know where to start.” Frank stood up, adjusting his sidearm before he walked away without a second look. Instead he looked down at what he drew out of his pocket, a tape recorder (he was old school), and he hit play...
At first there was static as the tape began, and then a horrific scream of pain, something metal clanging on the ground, and metal scraping like a chair being pulled, and then Frank’s voice coming across matter of fact and bone chillingly distant. “That was your patella I just crushed, you’ll never walk normal again. Now you have two options, you tell me what I want to know about the Gnucci Family, or I cut off both of your trigger fingers and we start from scratch...”
The man Frank was torturing was now weeping and nearly hyperventilating, pleading for his life. The tape recorder caught Frank’s heavy sigh, which was just played up for drama’s sake. “Okay, do you want to keep the left finger or- actually I'll just take both.”
“No please!” The man finally relented, “There’s this guy, he’s set to collect protection money from a corner store, but he’s a greedy punk. I couldn’t catch everything, but one night I was drinking over at The Bar With No Name and he mentioned to his buddies that he got a job with the Family. Oh dear God it hurts!”
“Tell me when this collection goes down,” Frank spoke, “and where it happens, or you lose more than one finger.”
AMY BENDIX
TODAY- MONDAY
Amy was on break leaning against a large window pane, away from the prying eyes of the wealthy elite who were to be donors of Wilson Fisk’s mayoral campaign, she was watching the protestors who were against those of the mutant race rage like impotent children against a group of people who could be gods if they so chose. There were also protestors who were protesting against Mr. Fisk wanting to be mayor, apparently his pro stance on a safe and controlled New York wasn’t everybody’s cup of tea. Amy put her long wavy brown hair behind her ears and checked her watch with a groan, her break was nearly up, so she stood up and started to weave herself through the room, noticing a man with silver hair pull Mr. Fisk’s campaign advisor aside and out into the hallway.
Amy thought that to be strange when everything that was said had been out in the open, so she started her way towards the exit, grabbing a half empty platter of food so as to not look so inconspicuous by the security team, who she noted all sported a calligraphic letter G on their necks. She walked through the double doors that led out into the hallway and watched as the organizer and white haired man started speaking and heading towards another of the event rooms, Amy assumed they were looking for some place empty. She set the platter down on a table and took out her phone to silence her upcoming alarm in case the two of them heard it and she inevitably got her and her friend into heaps of trouble.
She realized she was too far behind them to properly hear what they were talking about so she grabbed an empty cart and climbed in enough so that she could push herself. “So Wesley,” The white haired man spoke to the organizer, “Now that we’re out of earshot, let’s get down it-” the man’s voice was raising in tone but Wesley put a hand on his shoulder to stop him.
“Don Cervello,” Gone was the grandiose playing of his part, now Wesley was all business, “you know the rules, you and the Gnucci, and the Gorrini’s and everyone else need to stay out of the public eye. I get it, you are worried about the plan moving forward, am I right?”
There was something chilling in the way Wesley handled himself that put the Don of the Cervello crime family off, “yeah, I mean we’re all worried. It seems overly ambitious to bring together everyone across the eastern seaboard, and don’t get me wrong, me and my boys are enjoying you having the boys in blue turn the other cheek every once in a while-”
“Mr. Cervello,” Wesley interrupted the man and put a finger to his own lips, “surely you aren’t questioning Mr. Fisk and his desires, are you? Do you know the last time someone questioned our employer?”
“What-what exactly happened?” Mr. Cervello asked, both scared and genuinely curious.
“Let me answer a question, with another question,” Wesley said with what looked like a warm smile, it was obvious he held the high ground continuously in the conversation. “How hard must a car door slam against a person’s head for it to pop like a balloon?”
“Jes-jesus,” Don Cervello took several steps back, clearly shaken at learning what kind of man he was now dealing with. Amy had her phone out under the cart, and had it recording the conversation the whole time, but now she was too close and had no way getting away if they were suspicious, she was well and truly stuck...
ANDY LORIMER
Andy crept slowly into the alleyway, and almost immediately put his hand up to his nose to stop the stench of what he now believed to be a dead body, but that didn’t even work completely as he had to hold himself steady against a dumpster as his knees grew weak. After several inhales and some mental words of affirmation, he continued onwards until he spotted a very thick blood trail and noted tire tracks making an impression alongside it, and then he spotted the body, or what remained of it laying against the side, away from view of the public. A few more steps, and Andy noted a bloodstain and large goops of ripped, torn up flesh slowly sliding against the wall facing him, turning to look at the remains he started to gag and very vomited on the crime scene.
The body was headless, save for flaps of skin that would have been part of the neck, Andy made a mental note to go seek his department’s therapist after this, but he crouched down and started to study the body. He took an extra pen he had in his pocket and used that to lift up the flap of neck, and saw a stylized letter G tattoo, he looked around and noted a blood stained duffle bag- opened with crumbled up money bills. He wasn’t part of forensics, nor homicide, he was just a guy who stumbled into this horror show, so he quickly stood up and- making sure not to tamper with blood on the ground- made his way out of the alley so that he could breath a sigh of relief and fresh air before talking to the witness and calling it in.
“Dispatch, Cruiser 1610 reporting on that 10-54,” Andy spoke unsteadily after grabbing for his radio, “It’s a definite 10-4. We need to get the Techs here ASAP, A Few minutes ago Cruiser 1610 10-23'd, Officer is now questioning potential witness, Copy over?”
“That’s a 10-4, Cruiser 1610.” The calmly collected voice of a dispatch officer answered him, “Sending a unit and a 10-52 to your location, will also do a 10-66. Proceed, copy over.”
“Copy.” Andy confirmed before turning his attention to the witness, “Sir, can I see some identification?”
“Oh, oh yeah sure,” the man, who was the clerk the dead man had stolen from handed his wallet over to Andy.
Andy wrote down the man’s information on his notepad before speaking again, “So how did you find the body?”
The clerk rubbed his palms together and took an uneasy glance towards the alleyway, “Well, the guy? He robbed me where I work at so I called for help and saw another guy go after him. I didn’t get a good enough look at him, but he had really short hair.”
“Are there any cameras in the area we can use?” Andy asked him, referring to the Forensic Specialists.
“I’m sure there are, but there’s definitely one at the convenience store where he robbed me, do you maybe want to go check it out?”
“Absolutely,” Andy said as he pocketed his notepad. “Lead the way.”
BIG JESUS
Robert stole a glance from over the shoulder of his current employer, Alberto Benedetti, at the briefcase of gold which- if word on the street was right- just one of those hefty bars priced out at a million. He heard one of the other hired men whistle at the sight, and in a quick series of movements Mr. Benedetti had rounded on the man and held a revolver to his head, backing him into a corner and putting a finger to his lips. Then Benedetti looked back at the man with the briefcase and took a few pauses before nodding his head a couple of times, then he once more checked his watch and made a tsk tsk noise as he started to pace about the area.
Robert didn’t realize he was going to work for some crazy mother effer, but inwardly shrugged to himself as he thought that was what being a lifer high on the food chain did to people, which solidified that he was perfectly happy with the way things were in the here and now. The man who originally had the briefcase moved to lean against the hood of a parked car, watching Mr. Benedetti mull over his options, which were either going one of two ways: option A would be to tell this man- and in effect, Mr. Fisk- that his nationwide business was willing to get in bed the dark corners of America, or option B: decline the offer and essentially put a target on his back.
“I think I'll go with option A,” Mr. Benedetti said, finally stopping his pacing as he put his hand out to be shaken.
“I’m sorry?” The man asked, a little confused, unsure momentarily if he should shake the man’s hand.
“Oh, apologizes,” Mr. Benedetti laughed curtly, “I was just voicing a thought, I meant to say that I stand behind and with Fisk Industries in the betterment of both New York City and America at large. He says jump, I ask how high.”
The man took Mr. Benedetti’s hand in enthusiasm, “Glad we could come to an agreement,” he turned to look at his own guards and snapped his fingers. On cue one of them, who sported a fancy G tattoo on his neck handed the construction conglomerate a phone that Big Jesus recognized as a burner cell, “Mr. Fisk will be calling you within the week to a discuss...” The man paused once more to pull Mr. Benedetti closer to him and whispered something into his ear.
When he was finished, Mr. Benedetti- who was a man who enjoyed money- was smiling ecstatically, “I look forward to the call,” he turned to look at his hired guards, “men, it’s time we leave, I'll pay you back at the warehouse.” He spoke started back to his car, Big Jesus got into the passenger side after closing his employer’s door for him and watched as the van that Mr. Fisk’s men came out of, quickly rode off in the other direction.
Big Jesus heard the click of the briefcase opening again, as he listened to how giddy the money hungry Mr. Benedetti was, though nobody in the car heard the low frequency beeping of the gps bug planted in the briefcase, and if that was miraculously found then nobody would know that Mr. Fisk’s entire operation was being tracked...
CHARARLIE SCHITTI/WILSON FISK
(listen to Stay by Chad Lawson)
PRIOR TO CHARLIE SHOWING UP
Mr. Fisk, as he was known by those beneath him and Wilson by his loving wife Vanessa awoke to an early start to the day in his black satin pajamas that hung loosely over the man’s huge frame, and he did as he usually did. He immediately dropped to the ground and did a couple hundred push ups and a couple hundred squats, then he joined his wife in a bathroom fit for a king for a shower and intimacy before walking brazenly naked to his closet to peruse his clothes. He picked out a very nice three piece suit with a purple tie to give it a little accent before picking out a pair of his favorite ivory cufflinks with a stenciled black K on them.
Then the mountain of a man journeyed downstairs to prepare himself breakfast, Vanessa usually opted to eat out with clients, Wilson himself ate the same thing like clockwork. He prepared a protein and fiber shake to be paired with an omlette made of egg whites and peppers for a little kick, with a side of greens brought in from a little place down the street. Usually after he had left the kitchen appearing just as he had left it pristine he would watch the late morning news cycle, but now that he was running for mayor of the greatest city in America- that activity was replaced by a scheduling of appointments with politicians and tv appearances.
Today though, despite having a scheduled appointment with the city elites, the soon to be king was in his media room, a room that did not appear on the hotel’s blueprints. It was wall to wall with computer equipment and monitors that relayed video from his men on the ground and the internet traffic of the dark web. On one monitor he had a video surveillance of the gala that Wesley- his personal arranger of events, and best friend- was attending in his honor, he even watched as Amy Bendix, to him just some waitress hired by a third party was tailing his friend and a potential business partner.
Wilson pulled his cellphone from his breast pocket and sent a text to his friend and closest ally of the situation before turning to another monitor where he had sent in his stead a certain architect of planning to make a proposition of Albert Benedetti, for with him he could expand his plans and the plans of his other partners beyond New York. Before he knew it though, he had lost track of time watching all his monitors in his safe room when he heard Vanessa call out to him, “Wilson, you have a visitor!”
Wilson actually knew perfectly well that his nobody of a man had come into his apartment, and oh how it upset him, cracking his knuckles he walked up the steps that led out of his panic room that was behind a wall mounted mirror in his walk in closet and slowly made his way to the living room. His Vanessa was gone, which was good as they had agreed upon plausible deniability for her as a last case scenario should something happen, but now here he was staring down a petty thug of a man.
“Who are you” He growled and took a step towards the trembling man.
“Mr-Mr. Fisk sir,” the man stuttered in abject fear for his life, “I mean no disrespect, I just came by to inform you-” he started to say, but Wilson who was half a body taller than him picked him up easily.
“Do not say another word, not in my home. That. Is. The Rule!” his anger reaching a point, he tossed Mr. Schitti like a ragdoll against his dining room table...
ISSUE 1: THIS NEW WORLD
PART 1
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”
VOL 1: PARA
ISSUE 1: THIS NEW WORLD
PART 2
FRANK CASTLE
YESTERDAY- SUNDAY
FROM THE WAR JOURNAL OF FRANK CASTLE
WAR JOURNAL ENTRY #2
If there are those who find sympathy towards me, look elsewhere, do not pity my misfortune. The system did not fail me, it failed all of you, what do I want? I want those who have reason, to fear me, there is no murder in war: there is only getting the job done.
It was a bright morning at the cemetery, and everything there looked well kept and pristine, which contrasted horribly with the visage of Frank Castle standing above the graves of his family in his blood soaked black leather jacket that was riddled with bullet holes, underneath he wore a t-shirt- he bought this one once he left the hospital after finding his original was torn to shreds- emblazoned with a large white imposing skull, ripped combat pants soaked with dirt and blood and steel toed boots. There was such anger and rage burning in his eyes as he looked from his children’s tombstones to his wife’s. He then looked around to find that he was the only living person there in that moment, so he took a knee and solemnly started to study the dirt at the foot of their graves, watching it fall as he picked it up and dropped it.
“I promised you,” he started to say in a quiet voice, “they will pay. They will all be punished for what they took from us. It’s been hard, but I think I know where to start.” Frank stood up, adjusting his sidearm before he walked away without a second look. Instead he looked down at what he drew out of his pocket, a tape recorder (he was old school), and he hit play...
At first there was static as the tape began, and then a horrific scream of pain, something metal clanging on the ground, and metal scraping like a chair being pulled, and then Frank’s voice coming across matter of fact and bone chillingly distant. “That was your patella I just crushed, you’ll never walk normal again. Now you have two options, you tell me what I want to know about the Gnucci Family, or I cut off both of your trigger fingers and we start from scratch...”
The man Frank was torturing was now weeping and nearly hyperventilating, pleading for his life. The tape recorder caught Frank’s heavy sigh, which was just played up for drama’s sake. “Okay, do you want to keep the left finger or- actually I'll just take both.”
“No please!” The man finally relented, “There’s this guy, he’s set to collect protection money from a corner store, but he’s a greedy punk. I couldn’t catch everything, but one night I was drinking over at The Bar With No Name and he mentioned to his buddies that he got a job with the Family. Oh dear God it hurts!”
“Tell me when this collection goes down,” Frank spoke, “and where it happens, or you lose more than one finger.”
AMY BENDIX
TODAY- MONDAY
Amy was on break leaning against a large window pane, away from the prying eyes of the wealthy elite who were to be donors of Wilson Fisk’s mayoral campaign, she was watching the protestors who were against those of the mutant race rage like impotent children against a group of people who could be gods if they so chose. There were also protestors who were protesting against Mr. Fisk wanting to be mayor, apparently his pro stance on a safe and controlled New York wasn’t everybody’s cup of tea. Amy put her long wavy brown hair behind her ears and checked her watch with a groan, her break was nearly up, so she stood up and started to weave herself through the room, noticing a man with silver hair pull Mr. Fisk’s campaign advisor aside and out into the hallway.
Amy thought that to be strange when everything that was said had been out in the open, so she started her way towards the exit, grabbing a half empty platter of food so as to not look so inconspicuous by the security team, who she noted all sported a calligraphic letter G on their necks. She walked through the double doors that led out into the hallway and watched as the organizer and white haired man started speaking and heading towards another of the event rooms, Amy assumed they were looking for some place empty. She set the platter down on a table and took out her phone to silence her upcoming alarm in case the two of them heard it and she inevitably got her and her friend into heaps of trouble.
She realized she was too far behind them to properly hear what they were talking about so she grabbed an empty cart and climbed in enough so that she could push herself. “So Wesley,” The white haired man spoke to the organizer, “Now that we’re out of earshot, let’s get down it-” the man’s voice was raising in tone but Wesley put a hand on his shoulder to stop him.
“Don Cervello,” Gone was the grandiose playing of his part, now Wesley was all business, “you know the rules, you and the Gnucci, and the Gorrini’s and everyone else need to stay out of the public eye. I get it, you are worried about the plan moving forward, am I right?”
There was something chilling in the way Wesley handled himself that put the Don of the Cervello crime family off, “yeah, I mean we’re all worried. It seems overly ambitious to bring together everyone across the eastern seaboard, and don’t get me wrong, me and my boys are enjoying you having the boys in blue turn the other cheek every once in a while-”
“Mr. Cervello,” Wesley interrupted the man and put a finger to his own lips, “surely you aren’t questioning Mr. Fisk and his desires, are you? Do you know the last time someone questioned our employer?”
“What-what exactly happened?” Mr. Cervello asked, both scared and genuinely curious.
“Let me answer a question, with another question,” Wesley said with what looked like a warm smile, it was obvious he held the high ground continuously in the conversation. “How hard must a car door slam against a person’s head for it to pop like a balloon?”
“Jes-jesus,” Don Cervello took several steps back, clearly shaken at learning what kind of man he was now dealing with. Amy had her phone out under the cart, and had it recording the conversation the whole time, but now she was too close and had no way getting away if they were suspicious, she was well and truly stuck...
ANDY LORIMER
Andy crept slowly into the alleyway, and almost immediately put his hand up to his nose to stop the stench of what he now believed to be a dead body, but that didn’t even work completely as he had to hold himself steady against a dumpster as his knees grew weak. After several inhales and some mental words of affirmation, he continued onwards until he spotted a very thick blood trail and noted tire tracks making an impression alongside it, and then he spotted the body, or what remained of it laying against the side, away from view of the public. A few more steps, and Andy noted a bloodstain and large goops of ripped, torn up flesh slowly sliding against the wall facing him, turning to look at the remains he started to gag and very vomited on the crime scene.
The body was headless, save for flaps of skin that would have been part of the neck, Andy made a mental note to go seek his department’s therapist after this, but he crouched down and started to study the body. He took an extra pen he had in his pocket and used that to lift up the flap of neck, and saw a stylized letter G tattoo, he looked around and noted a blood stained duffle bag- opened with crumbled up money bills. He wasn’t part of forensics, nor homicide, he was just a guy who stumbled into this horror show, so he quickly stood up and- making sure not to tamper with blood on the ground- made his way out of the alley so that he could breath a sigh of relief and fresh air before talking to the witness and calling it in.
“Dispatch, Cruiser 1610 reporting on that 10-54,” Andy spoke unsteadily after grabbing for his radio, “It’s a definite 10-4. We need to get the Techs here ASAP, A Few minutes ago Cruiser 1610 10-23'd, Officer is now questioning potential witness, Copy over?”
“That’s a 10-4, Cruiser 1610.” The calmly collected voice of a dispatch officer answered him, “Sending a unit and a 10-52 to your location, will also do a 10-66. Proceed, copy over.”
“Copy.” Andy confirmed before turning his attention to the witness, “Sir, can I see some identification?”
“Oh, oh yeah sure,” the man, who was the clerk the dead man had stolen from handed his wallet over to Andy.
Andy wrote down the man’s information on his notepad before speaking again, “So how did you find the body?”
The clerk rubbed his palms together and took an uneasy glance towards the alleyway, “Well, the guy? He robbed me where I work at so I called for help and saw another guy go after him. I didn’t get a good enough look at him, but he had really short hair.”
“Are there any cameras in the area we can use?” Andy asked him, referring to the Forensic Specialists.
“I’m sure there are, but there’s definitely one at the convenience store where he robbed me, do you maybe want to go check it out?”
“Absolutely,” Andy said as he pocketed his notepad. “Lead the way.”
BIG JESUS
Robert stole a glance from over the shoulder of his current employer, Alberto Benedetti, at the briefcase of gold which- if word on the street was right- just one of those hefty bars priced out at a million. He heard one of the other hired men whistle at the sight, and in a quick series of movements Mr. Benedetti had rounded on the man and held a revolver to his head, backing him into a corner and putting a finger to his lips. Then Benedetti looked back at the man with the briefcase and took a few pauses before nodding his head a couple of times, then he once more checked his watch and made a tsk tsk noise as he started to pace about the area.
Robert didn’t realize he was going to work for some crazy mother effer, but inwardly shrugged to himself as he thought that was what being a lifer high on the food chain did to people, which solidified that he was perfectly happy with the way things were in the here and now. The man who originally had the briefcase moved to lean against the hood of a parked car, watching Mr. Benedetti mull over his options, which were either going one of two ways: option A would be to tell this man- and in effect, Mr. Fisk- that his nationwide business was willing to get in bed the dark corners of America, or option B: decline the offer and essentially put a target on his back.
“I think I'll go with option A,” Mr. Benedetti said, finally stopping his pacing as he put his hand out to be shaken.
“I’m sorry?” The man asked, a little confused, unsure momentarily if he should shake the man’s hand.
“Oh, apologizes,” Mr. Benedetti laughed curtly, “I was just voicing a thought, I meant to say that I stand behind and with Fisk Industries in the betterment of both New York City and America at large. He says jump, I ask how high.”
The man took Mr. Benedetti’s hand in enthusiasm, “Glad we could come to an agreement,” he turned to look at his own guards and snapped his fingers. On cue one of them, who sported a fancy G tattoo on his neck handed the construction conglomerate a phone that Big Jesus recognized as a burner cell, “Mr. Fisk will be calling you within the week to a discuss...” The man paused once more to pull Mr. Benedetti closer to him and whispered something into his ear.
When he was finished, Mr. Benedetti- who was a man who enjoyed money- was smiling ecstatically, “I look forward to the call,” he turned to look at his hired guards, “men, it’s time we leave, I'll pay you back at the warehouse.” He spoke started back to his car, Big Jesus got into the passenger side after closing his employer’s door for him and watched as the van that Mr. Fisk’s men came out of, quickly rode off in the other direction.
Big Jesus heard the click of the briefcase opening again, as he listened to how giddy the money hungry Mr. Benedetti was, though nobody in the car heard the low frequency beeping of the gps bug planted in the briefcase, and if that was miraculously found then nobody would know that Mr. Fisk’s entire operation was being tracked...
CHARARLIE SCHITTI/WILSON FISK
(listen to Stay by Chad Lawson)
PRIOR TO CHARLIE SHOWING UP
Mr. Fisk, as he was known by those beneath him and Wilson by his loving wife Vanessa awoke to an early start to the day in his black satin pajamas that hung loosely over the man’s huge frame, and he did as he usually did. He immediately dropped to the ground and did a couple hundred push ups and a couple hundred squats, then he joined his wife in a bathroom fit for a king for a shower and intimacy before walking brazenly naked to his closet to peruse his clothes. He picked out a very nice three piece suit with a purple tie to give it a little accent before picking out a pair of his favorite ivory cufflinks with a stenciled black K on them.
Then the mountain of a man journeyed downstairs to prepare himself breakfast, Vanessa usually opted to eat out with clients, Wilson himself ate the same thing like clockwork. He prepared a protein and fiber shake to be paired with an omlette made of egg whites and peppers for a little kick, with a side of greens brought in from a little place down the street. Usually after he had left the kitchen appearing just as he had left it pristine he would watch the late morning news cycle, but now that he was running for mayor of the greatest city in America- that activity was replaced by a scheduling of appointments with politicians and tv appearances.
Today though, despite having a scheduled appointment with the city elites, the soon to be king was in his media room, a room that did not appear on the hotel’s blueprints. It was wall to wall with computer equipment and monitors that relayed video from his men on the ground and the internet traffic of the dark web. On one monitor he had a video surveillance of the gala that Wesley- his personal arranger of events, and best friend- was attending in his honor, he even watched as Amy Bendix, to him just some waitress hired by a third party was tailing his friend and a potential business partner.
Wilson pulled his cellphone from his breast pocket and sent a text to his friend and closest ally of the situation before turning to another monitor where he had sent in his stead a certain architect of planning to make a proposition of Albert Benedetti, for with him he could expand his plans and the plans of his other partners beyond New York. Before he knew it though, he had lost track of time watching all his monitors in his safe room when he heard Vanessa call out to him, “Wilson, you have a visitor!”
Wilson actually knew perfectly well that his nobody of a man had come into his apartment, and oh how it upset him, cracking his knuckles he walked up the steps that led out of his panic room that was behind a wall mounted mirror in his walk in closet and slowly made his way to the living room. His Vanessa was gone, which was good as they had agreed upon plausible deniability for her as a last case scenario should something happen, but now here he was staring down a petty thug of a man.
“Who are you” He growled and took a step towards the trembling man.
“Mr-Mr. Fisk sir,” the man stuttered in abject fear for his life, “I mean no disrespect, I just came by to inform you-” he started to say, but Wilson who was half a body taller than him picked him up easily.
“Do not say another word, not in my home. That. Is. The Rule!” his anger reaching a point, he tossed Mr. Schitti like a ragdoll against his dining room table...
In
Marvel RE: Imagine 2, Electric Boogaloo - A Marvel Comics Roleplay
→
2 yrs ago
Forum: Advanced Roleplay
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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