Thread: The Punisher: Call of the Battlefield (True Grave & Verikatt)

Jane got up and looked out the window. She could hear Frank leaving his apartment and frowned. At this time of day, there was only one thing that he would probably be doing. He was going to do what he did best. He was going to do damage to somebody who was bad. She should know. Frank had helped her before. She had hoped that he wouldn't feel the need to go out. Jane had known Frank for a little bit now. She still remembered the day he had moved in. Her and her neighbors thought he was part of the mob or a gangster or something. Little did she know it was the opposite of what they were thinking. Frank had stood up to the gangsters and mobs as he tried to work out the pain of losing his family. He was just starting to open up and become part of her extended family when they came after her and the others in the building. Frank had stopped them but it was costly and painful. She was the only one left now, besides Frank, in the remodeled building. Frank had insisted on doing the repair job himself after a certain point and he proved to be quite adept at it. So much so that Jane had asked him to do her apartment also. After the remodeling job, Frank showed her where he had put some extra weapons in case she needed them. He had even showed her how to operate the weapons so that she wouldn't be totally defenseless ever again. Now he was on the way to take matters into his own hands again. Jane put her hand on the window and watched him get into his car. She didn't know if he was ever aware that she watched him leave and came back home but she would do it anyway. Somebody had to look out for him when he was looking out for everybody else. He had his duty to perform as he saw fit and she had hers. True Grave said My name is Frank Castle. I'm a Vietnam veteran and former agent with the CIA. I had a wife, two kids, and a house in the suburbs hell, I even had the stereotypical white picket fence. But, it was all taken away from me one day while we were taking a walk on the boardwalk. John Saint, a mobster from the seedier side of the city, didn't take kindly to my interference in his business. He organized a hit on me, and didn't care who was caught in the crossfire. Before I knew it, there was a hail of bullets headed right for me and my family. There was no way to defend ourselves, no chance for escape. We all fell, and it was nothing but black. I woke up three days later in the hospital, but was informed that my wife and children didn't make it. Everyone kept telling me what a miracle it was that I survived, but it was feeling far from miraculous. I didn't understand why I had not died I took enough bullets. I was filled with grief and rage. I couldn't rely on the cops to find the killers of my family, so I took it upon myself. It was then that my life as Frank Castle ended, and my life as The Punisher began. I found John Saint and made him pay, but the bastard was more tenacious than I thought. He survived and continued to cause trouble under the name Jigsaw. I got arrested on purpose and sent to Ryker's Island prison, where I finally put Jigsaw in a body bag. It had been two weeks since The Punisher's now famous escape from Ryker's Island maximum security prison. The police were busy hunting him down, but having no luck. Frank had made his way back to his apartment, and was standing at a desk where he had pinned up a number of pictures from his last crusade. All but one face had been crossed out, the face of Wilson Fisk, alias The Kingpin. He had thought the big man too powerful to take on now, but he was rethinking that. Jigsaw was out of the way, and that meant he could now focus his attention on the biggest name in New York's organized crime scene. But, for now, he needed to focus on other things. It had been over two weeks since he had patrolled the streets, and he didn't want the scum to start feeling too comfortable. There was a crack house not far from where he lived, different from the last one he had hit, yet the same. He walked over to his mounted arsenal, thinking over what weapons to bring on this assault. Junkies were not his most dangerous enemies out there, so he decided just to bring the pump-action shotgun and a pair of .45 caliber semi-automatic pistols. After loading them up, he left his apartment and began heading down the stairs, using his long black overcoat to hide his shotgun from view. Click to expand...