Manhattan, New York
6:45 p.m.
You there?
…
Always.
How was the mission?
…
Bad shit. Everything went south. Didn’t you see the news?
…
Your face is everywhere. Missed the shot, didn’t you?
…
Screw you.
…
;)
Seriously, though, you’ll need to hide out for a while. You’re lucky they don’t have your exact location. Stay in the dark, if you want. I can’t control you. Just point you in the right direction.
…
I’m not a gun, asshole.
…
Could’ve fooled me.
Well, unless you want to be a hermit for a while, I got another mission for you. Big stuff just came up. The Mexican Cartel are meeting up in Central Park for a trade-off with another gang. Probably drugs. Who knows? You can find out if you want.
…
Castle?
…
I’ll get it done.
…
Good.
Don’t miss this time.
Central Park
The Carousel
11:59 p.m.
They say you can get the simplest of songs stuck in your head, and they can never come out. Like a virus, only incurable, with you for the rest of your days. Just the simplest of songs, too. Ones that were catchy, ones that were annoying, or even nursery rhymes. Frank Castle had one of those. Unlike the bullet that went in his skull, that came out.
The song, however, it didn’t.
It stayed.
It stayed as long as it damn well pleased. Every day and every night, Frank would always hear those same words sung over and over and over again. Whether he forced himself to fall asleep into a night filled with constant terror and visions of the past he’d rather forget, that song would keep him up. Keep reminding him. Whenever he put a bullet in a criminal, or bashed their head in with whatever he could get his hands on, he would say those words as if it were his duty to. To tell the scum of the streets why he did what he did, and why he’ll never change.
Not for the Avengers.
Not for the ponies.
Not for anyone.
He sat on a lone bench, his ass wet and frozen. A soft rainfall had hit the city not too long ago, and that was left were puddles and drops falling from the trees and the flickering lampposts. Castle stared straight on ahead, his eyes looking away from the playground equipment on the edge of his vision, that same vision holding a laughing child and letting them play to their heart’s content. For hours on end. Even into the night. When everything changed.
His watch cried out, Frank weakly looking down and scowling at the sight of the time. Midnight. His scowl slowly died as his eyes fell to his hands. He felt some sort of comfort when he stared at his bare wrists, knowing there weren’t any cuffs for a reason. Because someone out there was willing to help him, even after everything he’s done. Someone who saw passed the Punisher and saw the man, the broken, broken man. Someone who gave him another chance.
Who managed to trust him one final time. Castle looked down to the pistol in his left hand.
God damn him.
“You didn’t have to do it, Red.”
His voice was the only sound in the park. The swinging, rusting playground equipment soaked from the midnight drizzle barely cried. The New York City streets were alive and well, but barely anything made it into the park, especially that late at night. Castle knew that silence wouldn’t last. It wouldn’t be too long before the sirens went off and the police arrived, finding bodies upon bodies in the park. And Castle would be long gone.
He knew it.
The lampposts flickered on and off. The distant sounds of cars began to grow closer.
Castle brought up his pistol and cocked it, tightening his lips and dropping his hand. “One batch…”
His eyes fell away from the oncoming lights and back to his pistol. Cars stopping not too far away, people exiting. “Two batch…”
He looked up, stared into the park where his family was murdered, at the people entering cloaked in shadow. As if they thought they were in invisible. The lampposts all died. Castle was invisible now. “Penny and dime.”
He looked to his gun, flicking the safety off. Frank Castle stood up.
“I’m comin’ home.”
The rest of the night was filled with screaming, gunfire, sirens, and bodies.
Good ol' Punisher. The lovable psychopath.
Always falling back into habits, eh Castle? Let's hope that will be enough for you to survive when the Mad Titan comes around.
Also, how would the MLP characters interact with the Defenders, sans Daredevil since they already met him.
Well again. In a practical sense, you can't really disagree with what Castle is doing. He's like an efficient Batman and you gotta respect a street level vigilante who has the guts to show his own face and use his real name.
The Punisher everyone...
He'll die like he lived...
...like a goddamn psychopath...
IF he continues down the life he lives right now...
Cookie for anyone who knows who I quoted...
See ya in Hell, Frank.
Nothing has changed, has it?
Who's was talking in the first paragraph
Welcome back, Frank.
Eh, status quo is God, I guess.
Good ol' Frank. Never change. ;)
8364555 Gotta love/hate him.
8364562 It'll be pretty interesting.
8364618 He's got the balls, the brawn, and the guns to do so.
8364682 Guess I miss out on the cookie.
8364716 The world of the Netflix characters have changed forever. They've now become part of a bigger story than they could've imagined.
8364866 Castle and Micro.
8365010 A damn fine welcome.
8366489 And he never will.
You sure act like it. The Punisher is back at what he does best killing criminals.
Just like The Punisher, the man will never change. Who knows if he ever truly regrets what he's done? Especially his betrayal toward a pony who saw past all that and trusted in him not out of friendship... But to see if he still has humanity. If there ever was any humanity in him, it's probably long gone as he'll still be prowling the streets shooting one criminal after another. Some things 'never' change, but that doesn't mean we cannot hope there's still some hope for Frank. Maybe not now or ever... But soon.
Back at it again, like nothing really happened. Punisher just moved from one job to the next. Sad thing is that his family wouldn’t want to see him like this hurting himself or others. His humanity seems gone for now, with even Starlight’s attempts to get through to him failing, but there is still hope that he can come back from this.
He’s right. He’s more like a walking armory.