Post by Frank Castle on Nov 16, 2010 23:44:40 GMT
Full Name: Frank Castle
Alias: The Punisher
Age: 40.
Gender: male
Member Group: Walking a very thin line
Occupation: Viglante
Canon or OC: Canon, Punisher started life as a villian in a spidey comic before going on to become a marvel star in his own right. Looking forward to bringing the character home to where he belongs
Height: 6'4"
Weight: 240 lbs
Play by: Tom Jane
Physical Description:
A tall, lean man with a weathered, stern face and icey blue eyes. Castle has short cut dark hair and a face beaten by the elements. His features are broad and flat, his jaw very square and his nose contains hints that it has been broken often.
Castle favors a black t-shirt and long, black leather raincoat over kevlar. Typically he wears dark coloured jeans, cargo trousers or BDU pants and tall boots with tough leather soles. He often wears fingerless leather gloves. He is known to switch his raincoat for a shorter dark green jacket of occasionally a full body suit painted with his death's head skull.
Personality: Castle in a word? Sociopath. A military man through and through Castle maintains a reserved, ice cold calm about him at all times that seems to only hint at the chronic depression he suffers. Castle's expression rarely changes, with only subtle hints like a raised eyebrow or a glare to indicate changes in emotion. Despite himself he maintains a gallows humour in his inward musings, but rarely voices it out loud.
Driven, dedicated and utterly single minded, Castle has built such a complex layer of justification around his killings that he reacts to any attempt to argue with his beliefs with anything from cold detachment to sudden violence.
Evidently Frank is very capable of intmidation with nothing more than a word, as is shown when on several occassions he has shown to instill great fear in characters to the point where they lose bladder control. He does however has a soft spot for children and goes out of his way to protect them and any other innocent both from the violence of criminals and his own rampage.
Powers: Frank has no powers, he does however possess considerable military skills and is shown to be adapt at almost every manner of fighting. He is skilled in infiltration, counter terrorisim, espionage, torture methodology and several other aspects of war. His fighting skills are almost unparreled by normal humans. He is aso in near perfect helath for his age and maintains this with a strict set of exercises.
Weaknesses: Frank is merely human, and while tough and quick healing he is far from invincible. Nine out of ten times he will be beaten and apprehended by super powered hero's unless an X factor, such as the enviroment comes into play ( As seen when he crushes Wolverine by running him over with a steam roller after shooting him in the groin so as to slow down his pursuit and give Castle time to escape).
History:
He originally studied to become a Roman Catholic priest, but changed his mind because he was unable to forgive those who did evil. Eventually, Castle would enlist in the United States Marine Corps becoming a U.S. Marine Captain. He married his wife Maria, who was already pregnant with their first child prior to his enlistment.
During his time in the USMC, Castle graduated from boot camp and then went on to United States Marine Corps School of Infantry. Immediately after, he went through the USMC's Reconnaissance, Force Reconnaissance, and Sniper Schools. Attaining dockets, Castle was permitted to go through U.S. Army Airborne School, and U.S. Navy Underwater Demolition Team training, becoming qualified as a Navy SEAL (Sea, Air and Land). While still in training, Castle met Phan Bighawk, a Native American scout. He was assigned to be Castle's guide, and through Phan, he learned how to survive in the wilderness.
Following his training, Castle would serve in the Vietnam War in the Special Forces Unit as a point man. He fought in numerous engagements and was the only survivor (from both sides) of a Viet Cong assault on Valley Forge Firebase in 1971. For heroism in the line of duty, he was decorated with the Congressional Medal of Honor, the Navy Cross, the Silver Star 3 times, Bronze Star, the Purple Heart 4 times, and the Presidential Medal of Freedom.
While still in his first tour, Castle met Lieutenant Burt Kenyon. Kenyon was a Marine serving in the same combat company as Castle in Vietnam. When the platoon came under fire, Castle was badly injured by a V.C. explosive and surrounded by the enemy. However, Kenyon calmly appeared, gunned down the Viet Cong and dragged Castle to safety. Kenyon said to Castle that he now owes him his life. Two months later, Kenyon was declared mentally unfit for service and was discharged. Years later, Kenyon became a hired assassin known as "The Hitman" and died in a battle against Castle.
After finishing his first tour of duty in Vietnam, he signed up for a second tour. Castle served a total of 4 years in the Vietnam War (1968 to 1971). Six years later (1976) after the American involvement in Vietnam ended, Castle ran Special Black Ops training missions for Marine Recon Commandos in the upper New York State area.
In 1976, Castle, his wife, Maria and their children Lisa and Frank Jr. were in New York's Central Park for an afternoon picnic. They witnessed a Mafia gangland execution; an informant had been hanged from a tree. To eliminate all witnesses, the Costa crime family gunned them down; only Castle survived. Even though Frank was able to identify all of the shooters, the police were unable to stop them; they were tied in too deeply to the powerful Costa family. Grieving over his family's death and outraged at the incompetence of the police, Castle decided that the only punishment criminals should receive is that of physical destruction. Shortly thereafter, he emblazoned his body armor with a symbol of a skull, and began his mission of punishing the guilty. His family's killers were some of the first to be slain. Since then, he has waged a one-man war on crime, taking the name "The Punisher".
( History qouted from Marvel Wiki)
Sample Post: Hideout Takedown
You Will Need:
~ One American Army Issue M 60 Belt fed man portable light machine gun. One Extra Belt
~One Colt 1911 with attachable sound/flash surpresser. Four extra clips
~One Colt 1911 Longslide with hollow point rounds, four extra clips.
~ One Ka-bar combat knife.
~Two Flash Bangs
~ Two Fragmentation grenades
~ One Barret Fifty Anti Material Marksmans Rifle plus two spare clips, tri-pod stand, silencer and spare water proof duffle bag.
Criminals are just like every other type of vermin infesting this rotten city. They all need a nest to crawl back to when the sun comes up. Every bozo no matter how low he is in the food chain has a den of filth to crawl back to. There's a new club set up in one of the warehouses in Red Hook that's been acting as a strip club and slave market for young women kidnapped and shipped over from Eastern Europe. It could use some cleaning out and I could use some target practise.
There was something therapeutic about staring down a scope. The moment you put your eye to the magnified glass and looked at the world conviently measured out with readings and a cross-hair you became detached. An observer, an angel of death. In that moment you became God, you became all-powerful. You had the ability to effortless take life away, or allow people to keep it longer. There was a reason why experienced marksmen often developed a superiority complex. Too much time in the scope de-humanises them. Like battle fatigue for the soul.
The cross-hair was eerily steady as Frank fixed it over the first of two tall thugs of African American decent who were leaned against the wall beside a door. The dim light of the ancient light bulb that somehow managed to stagger on after it's electrical life had long since cut short was all the illumination Frank required. Frank Inhaled and squeezed the trigger, his rifle Exhaled and bumped back into his shoulder. The thug's head came apart in an explosion of gore as the rifle round designed for taking out light vehicles at a mile and a half away effortless smashed through skull, flesh and brain to bury itself in the wall. Frank readjusted his aim at the wide-eyed mans friend who was painted in blood, the cigarette dropped from his open mouth. This time his aim was lower and one hundred yards the rifle turned the mans throat, neck, lower jaw and cheeks into red pulp that sprayed against the back wall, the upper half of the ruined head flopping to the side like a wet fish dropped from a height.
Efficiently Castle stripped down his rifle, turned the safety on, stuffed it into an empty duffle bag and walked to the far end of the roof, opening the ventilation unit and placing the bag inside carefully. Picking up the second by far heavier duffle bag he walked towards the roofs door.
Not longer after Frank walked through the gore-splattered backdoor to the night club, stepping over a pair of steaming bodies and ignoring the smell of loosened bowls to do so he found himself in what appeared to be the back door of the clubs. The warehouse would have once been open planned but hastily erected ply board walls had been built to separate the offices from the rest of the floor. Loud club music was thudding from heavy duty speakers along with the forced seductive tone of the female singer. The air was thick from smoke, both from burning tobacco and other less legal substances. An exhausted, muffled scream sounded from one of the old office rooms off to Franks right.
" That can't be good."
Creeping softly to the door Frank gripped the handle and slowly twisted, it wasn't locked and eased open with the smallest of squeaks which the roaring music swiftly ate up. Slipping inside Frank glanced around with haste. Conscripting the room to memory. The furthest back part of the wall was a cage of rusted iron bars packed with bodies. Women between sixteen and twenty seven were packed inside, all of them wearing dirty, ripped clothes and with faced stained by dirt and tears. ore than a fair share of them had broken noses, black eyes, split ribs and bruises across arms and legs. Some of them even bore cigarette burns or razor-blade cuts. A massive, shirtless man packed with muscle and inked from neck to waist in Vory Vi Zakone and other Russian Organised Crime tattoo's was hitting a young, fair haired woman. One hand was tightly gripping her hair while the other repeatedly slapped her. The woman was sobbing and whimpering words in Russian. " Please... I just want to go home."
" Home... Home...Home.."
The words echoed in Franks mind as memories swamped him. Smiling faces, laughter, his son and daughter running to be picked up and hugged, his wife waiting with her arms folded, a smile on her plump lips.
Frank's eyes narrowed and he dropped his bag, storming across the room he seized the bigs mans shoulder and wheeled him around. The man was about to shout a series of curses when Frank's fist hit his throat, collapsing it and shredding the scream. Hammering another blow against the mans jaw that dropped him to lie writhing on the ground Frank planted a boot against his head. " I don't vant to die!" An image superimposed itself over Franks vision. A headstone with the names of his wife, his children and himself carved into it. Frank crushed his skull, the brains and blood blossoming like a diseased flower from the crushed centre of the head. " No one ever does."
The Russian woman had crawled away from the fight and was huddled in a corner, her hands over her face as if to make the horrors go away. Frank approached her and kneeled, glancing at the other women as he spoke to her in Russian. " The police will be here soon. How many girls are here?" The woman glanced at him, moving her head away as if afraid he too would lash out and hit her. " Nearly a hundred. The animals... they keep us drugged so we cannot run, and they make us dance for them. There's a girl on the stage now, my sister. She'll be brought back and then another of us will be taken away to them." Frank glanced at the door and then the corpse. " Who runs this place?" The woman whimpered and hugged herself tightly, her lips showing signs of teeth marks. " We call him Di Vokk. He is an animal... One of the girls wouldn't dance for him and he... he cut her apart in front of everyone." Fresh tears rolled down her cheeks. " He will sit at the middle table with his closest men. He throws us scraps of food if we please him but I'd sooner die." Frank turned from the woman, lifting his duffle bag and stepping over the corpse. " Stay here untill the gunfire stops."
" Di Vokk? The wolf...It's about time someone put this rabid dog to sleep."
Like clockwork a roar of laughter came before a young girl was pushed out into the hall followed by a thick set white skinned man who didn’t see Frank nor the colt that smashed his life into oblivion. Frank just walked past the girl who stared in fearful confusion. “ Wait with the others.” He said over his shoulder as he walked into the curtain covered glass cage. Three glass screens had been placed over the entrance to the stage to form a cage Frank could almost touch if he extended his arms. The heat in there was oppressive and the smell of smoke both from tobacco and other less legal substances was suffocating. Dropping the bag at his feet he took out the large M-60, snapped the catch back and looped the belt of ammo over one arm.
“ They say when setting out on revenge you should first dig two graves. One for yourself and one for your enemy. I can tell you now.”
The curtains lifted to the sound of the rowdy laughter of nearly seventy murderers, gangsters, perverts and human slave traders. The look on their faces turned from wolfish grins to confused and almost immediately afterwards frightened faces.
“Two just won’t be enough.”
Frank squeezed down on the trigger and instantly the three glass walls shattered, tumbling like crystal rain as the rattling thunder of the machine gun roared to drown out even the music. Men were scythed down in droves, the air became thick with lead and screams as men tried to fight back or escape, each group getting in the others way. Arms were blown off, legs sheared away, bodies danced to the lead as the bullets tore them apart and threw them around like rag-dolls. Tables collapsed under the fire, pillow stuffing flew into the air to slowly glide back down and the sound of shattering glass was almost as frequent as gunfire. The speakers exploded, giving off a high pitched electrical death scream as the rounds tore them apart. Blood drenched every surface, dripped down stairs and off tables, flooded the floor coloured dead flesh. Droplets of blood raced one and other down walls to rejoin the red sea that had formed in that dingy little warehouse. The gunfire stopped at last.
“ I don’t smile much.”
A sky-light collapsed, smashing to the ground over a spread eagle corpse. Nearby a man at last gave up the struggle and died with a gurgling sound in his throat.
“ I don’t smile ever.”
Casting his weapon aside Frank dropped off the stage. The only person to survive the hail was sitting at a table, his fine crystal wineglasses smashed to pieces, his open white shirt stained crimson. The tattoo’s of Russian Mob captain drawn into his flesh along with a picture of a wolf.
“ If I did…. I’d be smiling now.”
Di Vokk didn’t move, he couldn’t. Somewhere a shell had punched through his gut and still had enough power to severe his spinal cord. His limbs just twitched as the electric signals from his brain were not obeyed by dead nerves. Frank drew a stick of claw-like material before pinching the criminals nose closed. Instinctively the man opened his mouth to take a breath only for Frank to shove the c-4 inside. The Russian mobster screamed as Frank turned and walked towards the exit. Stepping over pools of blood and dead bodies to do so. “ Dasvidanya.” Pushing down the detonator Frank heard the dull ‘crump’ sound that emitted from behind him followed by the wet splash as the C-4 blow the feared Di Vokk apart, blowing his head to pieces and un-seaming his body, tearing it up like bread and scattering it across the room to land in wet lumps.
As Frank stepped outside he took thrust his hands into his pockets and turned, walking towards the Red Light district just as the wail of sirens could be heard getting ever closer.
“ Still more to do.”
His mind told him as he marched towards the sleazy underbelly of the city intent on making the afterlife a lot more crowded after tonight.
Read more: marvelheroesrpg.proboards.com/index.cgi?board=aftercivilwar&action=display&thread=3548#ixzz15UYw7mCSWhat can we call you? Jon
Have you got any other characters? Maximum of 3 characters per person
Password: -Removed-
Any other business I look forward to writing with you guys
Read more: spider-manrpg.proboards.com/index.cgi?board=applications&action=display&thread=1#ixzz15UVMLWOZ
Alias: The Punisher
Age: 40.
Gender: male
Member Group: Walking a very thin line
Occupation: Viglante
Canon or OC: Canon, Punisher started life as a villian in a spidey comic before going on to become a marvel star in his own right. Looking forward to bringing the character home to where he belongs
Height: 6'4"
Weight: 240 lbs
Play by: Tom Jane
Physical Description:
A tall, lean man with a weathered, stern face and icey blue eyes. Castle has short cut dark hair and a face beaten by the elements. His features are broad and flat, his jaw very square and his nose contains hints that it has been broken often.
Castle favors a black t-shirt and long, black leather raincoat over kevlar. Typically he wears dark coloured jeans, cargo trousers or BDU pants and tall boots with tough leather soles. He often wears fingerless leather gloves. He is known to switch his raincoat for a shorter dark green jacket of occasionally a full body suit painted with his death's head skull.
Personality: Castle in a word? Sociopath. A military man through and through Castle maintains a reserved, ice cold calm about him at all times that seems to only hint at the chronic depression he suffers. Castle's expression rarely changes, with only subtle hints like a raised eyebrow or a glare to indicate changes in emotion. Despite himself he maintains a gallows humour in his inward musings, but rarely voices it out loud.
Driven, dedicated and utterly single minded, Castle has built such a complex layer of justification around his killings that he reacts to any attempt to argue with his beliefs with anything from cold detachment to sudden violence.
Evidently Frank is very capable of intmidation with nothing more than a word, as is shown when on several occassions he has shown to instill great fear in characters to the point where they lose bladder control. He does however has a soft spot for children and goes out of his way to protect them and any other innocent both from the violence of criminals and his own rampage.
Powers: Frank has no powers, he does however possess considerable military skills and is shown to be adapt at almost every manner of fighting. He is skilled in infiltration, counter terrorisim, espionage, torture methodology and several other aspects of war. His fighting skills are almost unparreled by normal humans. He is aso in near perfect helath for his age and maintains this with a strict set of exercises.
Weaknesses: Frank is merely human, and while tough and quick healing he is far from invincible. Nine out of ten times he will be beaten and apprehended by super powered hero's unless an X factor, such as the enviroment comes into play ( As seen when he crushes Wolverine by running him over with a steam roller after shooting him in the groin so as to slow down his pursuit and give Castle time to escape).
History:
He originally studied to become a Roman Catholic priest, but changed his mind because he was unable to forgive those who did evil. Eventually, Castle would enlist in the United States Marine Corps becoming a U.S. Marine Captain. He married his wife Maria, who was already pregnant with their first child prior to his enlistment.
During his time in the USMC, Castle graduated from boot camp and then went on to United States Marine Corps School of Infantry. Immediately after, he went through the USMC's Reconnaissance, Force Reconnaissance, and Sniper Schools. Attaining dockets, Castle was permitted to go through U.S. Army Airborne School, and U.S. Navy Underwater Demolition Team training, becoming qualified as a Navy SEAL (Sea, Air and Land). While still in training, Castle met Phan Bighawk, a Native American scout. He was assigned to be Castle's guide, and through Phan, he learned how to survive in the wilderness.
Following his training, Castle would serve in the Vietnam War in the Special Forces Unit as a point man. He fought in numerous engagements and was the only survivor (from both sides) of a Viet Cong assault on Valley Forge Firebase in 1971. For heroism in the line of duty, he was decorated with the Congressional Medal of Honor, the Navy Cross, the Silver Star 3 times, Bronze Star, the Purple Heart 4 times, and the Presidential Medal of Freedom.
While still in his first tour, Castle met Lieutenant Burt Kenyon. Kenyon was a Marine serving in the same combat company as Castle in Vietnam. When the platoon came under fire, Castle was badly injured by a V.C. explosive and surrounded by the enemy. However, Kenyon calmly appeared, gunned down the Viet Cong and dragged Castle to safety. Kenyon said to Castle that he now owes him his life. Two months later, Kenyon was declared mentally unfit for service and was discharged. Years later, Kenyon became a hired assassin known as "The Hitman" and died in a battle against Castle.
After finishing his first tour of duty in Vietnam, he signed up for a second tour. Castle served a total of 4 years in the Vietnam War (1968 to 1971). Six years later (1976) after the American involvement in Vietnam ended, Castle ran Special Black Ops training missions for Marine Recon Commandos in the upper New York State area.
In 1976, Castle, his wife, Maria and their children Lisa and Frank Jr. were in New York's Central Park for an afternoon picnic. They witnessed a Mafia gangland execution; an informant had been hanged from a tree. To eliminate all witnesses, the Costa crime family gunned them down; only Castle survived. Even though Frank was able to identify all of the shooters, the police were unable to stop them; they were tied in too deeply to the powerful Costa family. Grieving over his family's death and outraged at the incompetence of the police, Castle decided that the only punishment criminals should receive is that of physical destruction. Shortly thereafter, he emblazoned his body armor with a symbol of a skull, and began his mission of punishing the guilty. His family's killers were some of the first to be slain. Since then, he has waged a one-man war on crime, taking the name "The Punisher".
( History qouted from Marvel Wiki)
Sample Post: Hideout Takedown
You Will Need:
~ One American Army Issue M 60 Belt fed man portable light machine gun. One Extra Belt
~One Colt 1911 with attachable sound/flash surpresser. Four extra clips
~One Colt 1911 Longslide with hollow point rounds, four extra clips.
~ One Ka-bar combat knife.
~Two Flash Bangs
~ Two Fragmentation grenades
~ One Barret Fifty Anti Material Marksmans Rifle plus two spare clips, tri-pod stand, silencer and spare water proof duffle bag.
Criminals are just like every other type of vermin infesting this rotten city. They all need a nest to crawl back to when the sun comes up. Every bozo no matter how low he is in the food chain has a den of filth to crawl back to. There's a new club set up in one of the warehouses in Red Hook that's been acting as a strip club and slave market for young women kidnapped and shipped over from Eastern Europe. It could use some cleaning out and I could use some target practise.
There was something therapeutic about staring down a scope. The moment you put your eye to the magnified glass and looked at the world conviently measured out with readings and a cross-hair you became detached. An observer, an angel of death. In that moment you became God, you became all-powerful. You had the ability to effortless take life away, or allow people to keep it longer. There was a reason why experienced marksmen often developed a superiority complex. Too much time in the scope de-humanises them. Like battle fatigue for the soul.
The cross-hair was eerily steady as Frank fixed it over the first of two tall thugs of African American decent who were leaned against the wall beside a door. The dim light of the ancient light bulb that somehow managed to stagger on after it's electrical life had long since cut short was all the illumination Frank required. Frank Inhaled and squeezed the trigger, his rifle Exhaled and bumped back into his shoulder. The thug's head came apart in an explosion of gore as the rifle round designed for taking out light vehicles at a mile and a half away effortless smashed through skull, flesh and brain to bury itself in the wall. Frank readjusted his aim at the wide-eyed mans friend who was painted in blood, the cigarette dropped from his open mouth. This time his aim was lower and one hundred yards the rifle turned the mans throat, neck, lower jaw and cheeks into red pulp that sprayed against the back wall, the upper half of the ruined head flopping to the side like a wet fish dropped from a height.
Efficiently Castle stripped down his rifle, turned the safety on, stuffed it into an empty duffle bag and walked to the far end of the roof, opening the ventilation unit and placing the bag inside carefully. Picking up the second by far heavier duffle bag he walked towards the roofs door.
Not longer after Frank walked through the gore-splattered backdoor to the night club, stepping over a pair of steaming bodies and ignoring the smell of loosened bowls to do so he found himself in what appeared to be the back door of the clubs. The warehouse would have once been open planned but hastily erected ply board walls had been built to separate the offices from the rest of the floor. Loud club music was thudding from heavy duty speakers along with the forced seductive tone of the female singer. The air was thick from smoke, both from burning tobacco and other less legal substances. An exhausted, muffled scream sounded from one of the old office rooms off to Franks right.
" That can't be good."
Creeping softly to the door Frank gripped the handle and slowly twisted, it wasn't locked and eased open with the smallest of squeaks which the roaring music swiftly ate up. Slipping inside Frank glanced around with haste. Conscripting the room to memory. The furthest back part of the wall was a cage of rusted iron bars packed with bodies. Women between sixteen and twenty seven were packed inside, all of them wearing dirty, ripped clothes and with faced stained by dirt and tears. ore than a fair share of them had broken noses, black eyes, split ribs and bruises across arms and legs. Some of them even bore cigarette burns or razor-blade cuts. A massive, shirtless man packed with muscle and inked from neck to waist in Vory Vi Zakone and other Russian Organised Crime tattoo's was hitting a young, fair haired woman. One hand was tightly gripping her hair while the other repeatedly slapped her. The woman was sobbing and whimpering words in Russian. " Please... I just want to go home."
" Home... Home...Home.."
The words echoed in Franks mind as memories swamped him. Smiling faces, laughter, his son and daughter running to be picked up and hugged, his wife waiting with her arms folded, a smile on her plump lips.
Frank's eyes narrowed and he dropped his bag, storming across the room he seized the bigs mans shoulder and wheeled him around. The man was about to shout a series of curses when Frank's fist hit his throat, collapsing it and shredding the scream. Hammering another blow against the mans jaw that dropped him to lie writhing on the ground Frank planted a boot against his head. " I don't vant to die!" An image superimposed itself over Franks vision. A headstone with the names of his wife, his children and himself carved into it. Frank crushed his skull, the brains and blood blossoming like a diseased flower from the crushed centre of the head. " No one ever does."
The Russian woman had crawled away from the fight and was huddled in a corner, her hands over her face as if to make the horrors go away. Frank approached her and kneeled, glancing at the other women as he spoke to her in Russian. " The police will be here soon. How many girls are here?" The woman glanced at him, moving her head away as if afraid he too would lash out and hit her. " Nearly a hundred. The animals... they keep us drugged so we cannot run, and they make us dance for them. There's a girl on the stage now, my sister. She'll be brought back and then another of us will be taken away to them." Frank glanced at the door and then the corpse. " Who runs this place?" The woman whimpered and hugged herself tightly, her lips showing signs of teeth marks. " We call him Di Vokk. He is an animal... One of the girls wouldn't dance for him and he... he cut her apart in front of everyone." Fresh tears rolled down her cheeks. " He will sit at the middle table with his closest men. He throws us scraps of food if we please him but I'd sooner die." Frank turned from the woman, lifting his duffle bag and stepping over the corpse. " Stay here untill the gunfire stops."
" Di Vokk? The wolf...It's about time someone put this rabid dog to sleep."
Like clockwork a roar of laughter came before a young girl was pushed out into the hall followed by a thick set white skinned man who didn’t see Frank nor the colt that smashed his life into oblivion. Frank just walked past the girl who stared in fearful confusion. “ Wait with the others.” He said over his shoulder as he walked into the curtain covered glass cage. Three glass screens had been placed over the entrance to the stage to form a cage Frank could almost touch if he extended his arms. The heat in there was oppressive and the smell of smoke both from tobacco and other less legal substances was suffocating. Dropping the bag at his feet he took out the large M-60, snapped the catch back and looped the belt of ammo over one arm.
“ They say when setting out on revenge you should first dig two graves. One for yourself and one for your enemy. I can tell you now.”
The curtains lifted to the sound of the rowdy laughter of nearly seventy murderers, gangsters, perverts and human slave traders. The look on their faces turned from wolfish grins to confused and almost immediately afterwards frightened faces.
“Two just won’t be enough.”
Frank squeezed down on the trigger and instantly the three glass walls shattered, tumbling like crystal rain as the rattling thunder of the machine gun roared to drown out even the music. Men were scythed down in droves, the air became thick with lead and screams as men tried to fight back or escape, each group getting in the others way. Arms were blown off, legs sheared away, bodies danced to the lead as the bullets tore them apart and threw them around like rag-dolls. Tables collapsed under the fire, pillow stuffing flew into the air to slowly glide back down and the sound of shattering glass was almost as frequent as gunfire. The speakers exploded, giving off a high pitched electrical death scream as the rounds tore them apart. Blood drenched every surface, dripped down stairs and off tables, flooded the floor coloured dead flesh. Droplets of blood raced one and other down walls to rejoin the red sea that had formed in that dingy little warehouse. The gunfire stopped at last.
“ I don’t smile much.”
A sky-light collapsed, smashing to the ground over a spread eagle corpse. Nearby a man at last gave up the struggle and died with a gurgling sound in his throat.
“ I don’t smile ever.”
Casting his weapon aside Frank dropped off the stage. The only person to survive the hail was sitting at a table, his fine crystal wineglasses smashed to pieces, his open white shirt stained crimson. The tattoo’s of Russian Mob captain drawn into his flesh along with a picture of a wolf.
“ If I did…. I’d be smiling now.”
Di Vokk didn’t move, he couldn’t. Somewhere a shell had punched through his gut and still had enough power to severe his spinal cord. His limbs just twitched as the electric signals from his brain were not obeyed by dead nerves. Frank drew a stick of claw-like material before pinching the criminals nose closed. Instinctively the man opened his mouth to take a breath only for Frank to shove the c-4 inside. The Russian mobster screamed as Frank turned and walked towards the exit. Stepping over pools of blood and dead bodies to do so. “ Dasvidanya.” Pushing down the detonator Frank heard the dull ‘crump’ sound that emitted from behind him followed by the wet splash as the C-4 blow the feared Di Vokk apart, blowing his head to pieces and un-seaming his body, tearing it up like bread and scattering it across the room to land in wet lumps.
As Frank stepped outside he took thrust his hands into his pockets and turned, walking towards the Red Light district just as the wail of sirens could be heard getting ever closer.
“ Still more to do.”
His mind told him as he marched towards the sleazy underbelly of the city intent on making the afterlife a lot more crowded after tonight.
Read more: marvelheroesrpg.proboards.com/index.cgi?board=aftercivilwar&action=display&thread=3548#ixzz15UYw7mCSWhat can we call you? Jon
Have you got any other characters? Maximum of 3 characters per person
Password: -Removed-
Any other business I look forward to writing with you guys
Read more: spider-manrpg.proboards.com/index.cgi?board=applications&action=display&thread=1#ixzz15UVMLWOZ
