Boratz Posted May 21 Read Aloud Posted May 21 Rain hammered down against the broken windows like fists trying to get in. Outside, thunder rolled across the city like artillery fire. While most stayed in their homes to stay safe from the storm that had taken hold of the city, there was one that felt a fear pulsating in his chest with each rumble of the storm outside. Sitting inside on a stained mattress in apartment 4C, a young man trembled while clutching a pistol so tightly in his fingers that they started to ache. Despite his aching fingers, that gun was the only thing that truly brought him any sort of security on this stormy night. Looking around the rundown room, the young man tried to see if there were any other spots that would make him feel any safer. The room smelled like mold, cigarettes, and there was a lingering stench of dirty laundry that had been left to fester for months on end. Water dripped from somewhere inside the walls with a slow, maddening rhythm. A rhythm that only fueled the madness that was lurking deep inside of heart. Drip. Drip. Drip. With the powerful roar of thunder and a sudden crack of lightning, the room lit up only for a moment. The dark room lit up revealing ceiling stains where mold was starting to form and torn wallpaper that had been peeling overtime. There was a dim light underneath the door that led out to the rest of the apartment complex. From time to time there were shadows that passed by from the different people walking back and forth. Waiting inside that filthy apartment, he was almost anxious for the moment that the shadows would stop directly in front of that door. His heart seemed to beat faster than that sound of dripping water inside the walls. With his hand starting to grow sore from the tight grip on his gun, the young man started loosening his grip. He relaxed his hand while wiping away sweat from his brow. With a deep breath, he started pacing back and forth in that moldy room. The waiting was the worst. That dripping sound only added to his anxiety. It was as if the dripping was a countdown to what was coming. Drip. Drip. Drip. During this time of waiting, it gave him time to reflect. He reflected on his life and the events leading to this moment. Growing up, he was always told by his family to be strong. In his childhood, he was taught that stories of monsters and ghosts were foolish ideas created by the weak. He was raised not to believe in the monsters in the closet or the ghouls that hid under the bed. With all the lessons that he had been taught in his life about strength and facing fears head on, he could not help but wonder how he ended up hiding inside this disgusting apartment. In the grand scheme of things, all those lessons meant nothing now as he was hiding inside this apartment all alone. As the storm raged on, his hand started to tremble again. There was a part of him that felt as if he was a little boy again, trying to hide under his blanket. Drip. Drip. Drip. The sound of that leak continued to linger. From reflecting on his childhood to now, he could not help but think about monsters. While he was told his entire life that there was no such thing as monsters, there was a monster coming. He had stories about this monster for a long time. There were rumors that the Dark Knight had kept the monster at bay, but since the death of the Batman, the monster was free. People from all over spoke of this beast as if it were an unstoppable force of rage. Some compared the monster to ghost while others compared it to a hungry shark that was circling around blood in the water. Rumors of this monster sent fear into the hearts of the bravest men that he knew. The mere mention of the monster's name caused entire neighborhoods to panic. As he continued to reflect and think about the situation at hand, he knew that what was coming for him was not a monster at all. It was man. Drip. Drip. Drip. As the rain continued to hammer down onto that old and rundown apartment complex, that leaking sound only continued to worsen. The young man thought about opening the door to see how the others were managing but he decided to wait. He paced back and forth in that filthy room. His thoughts were on the man that was supposed to be coming his way. The stories were endless of the one-man army that took on entire gangs. All these stories centered upon the man with a skull on his chest. While it was true that many compared him to a ghost or a monster, at the end of the day, he was simply a man. Men could be hurt, they could bleed, and they could die. The young man's grip tightened while he glared at the door. He swore to himself that he was going to be strong on this night. He was going to be the man that killed Frank Castle. Pop. Pop. Pop. For the first time that night, the young man forgot about the storm completely. The sound of the dripping water from the roof leak had been drowned out by a seemingly endless array of gunfire. The sound of agonizing screams and bodies slamming against the ground became almost deafening. Aiming his gun at the door, the young man waited with his hand gripped tightly on his weapon. The popping sounds grew louder as the screams grew fewer. He soon heard footsteps from outside the door of that filthy apartment. The young man's hand started to tremble as a shadow appeared in that line of light from underneath the doorway. He caught his composure as he glared at the doorway and did what he could to steady his weapon. The door soon burst open, and the young man started firing his pistol. Bang. Bang. Bang. A body dropped to the floor in front of the young man. To his horror, the young man realized that he shot down one of his uncle's friends. With how fast everything was happening, he did not realize that his uncle's friend was being used as a human shield. In a matter of seconds, a figure dressed in black with a white skull on his chest moved quickly through the room. A silver blur moved through the air and hit the young man's hand. His hand erupted in sharp pain as his gun dropped to the floor and blood started spewing out of his hand. Looking down, the young man saw a small knife plunged deep into his hand. Before he could react, that figure with the skull lunged toward him and threw him against a wall. The drywall cracked as he stood in a daze. He then saw the figure sauntering towards him as if he was a shark circling around blood in the water. In a panic, the young man started whimpering and begging for his life. Without a word, the man with the skull on his chest lifted a hatchet high above his head and then dropped it down into the head of the whimpering young man. There were no monologues and no words spoken. There was only punishment. Journal Entry Location: Gotham City Time: 2:13 AM Rain never stops here. Not real rain anyway. Gotham sweats poison out of its skin. Water runs black through the gutters and carries blood with it. Whole city smells like cordite, wet concrete, cheap narcotics, and corpses waiting to happen. I’ve been in war zones cleaner than this place. Been hearing about Gotham for years. Every soldier, every cop, every criminal eventually says the same thing — this city is cursed. Used to think that was exaggeration. It isn’t. Batman kept the lid on it. Now he’s dead. Reports say he died fighting the Joker. Final battle. Fire. Explosions. Bodies never fully recovered, but the streets believe it. That’s enough. Criminals are already crawling out of the sewer like they heard a dinner bell ring. Three nights before I crossed the bridge into the city, twenty-seven people died in gang shootings. Falcone loyalists against Black Mask crews. Penguin moving weapons through the docks while corrupt cops redirected patrols away from the shipments. Narrows flooded with a new designer drug cut with fear toxin residue. Scarecrow’s work, maybe. Maybe copycats. Doesn’t matter. People still end up screaming themselves to death. Batman kept them afraid. Now they think they inherited the kingdom. I spent the last forty-eight hours watching. Listening. Learning routes. Corrupt precinct captains. Mob fronts. Political fixers. Human trafficking hubs operating under nightclub basements. Storage facilities holding military-grade weapons that disappeared from federal inventories months ago. This city doesn’t have organized crime. Crime is the organization. And then there are the others. Two-Face running executions in the disguise of justice. Penguin pretending to be a businessman while feeding bodies to the river. Harley Quinn leaving behind piles of dead cops and calling it chaos. Black Mask branding people like cattle. Scarecrow poisoning entire neighborhood. Killer Croc stalking the underground tunnels. Clayface… something else entirely. Hard to tell where the man ends and the monster begins. Most cities have one nightmare. Gotham breeds them. I reviewed old footage of Batman before coming here. Security recordings. Police body cams. Amateur videos. He fought like a man trying to hold back a tidal wave with his bare hands. Every night he’d knock them down and every night they’d come back. Maybe that was his weakness. He wanted to save this city. I don’t. Cities don’t deserve saving. People do. This place needs liberation. Liberation from the filth that prey on the weak. There’s a difference. The innocent cashier working overnight at the corner store deserves saving. The kid trapped between rival gangs deserves saving. The family sleeping on the floor to avoid stray bullets deserves saving. The men hunting them do not. Batman had rules. Boundaries. He built revolving doors and called it justice. Arkham fills up, breaks open, bodies stack higher, repeat cycle until somebody dresses like a clown and blows up a hospital again. Not my way. I didn’t come to replace Batman. I came because he’s gone. And because nobody else is willing to do what comes next. Already established three fallback locations across the city. One in Burnley. One near the old Gotham rail lines. One hidden above a condemned textile warehouse the mob uses for narcotics distribution. Ammunition stockpiled. Weapons cleaned. Escape routes mapped. Tonight was the first test. There was a biker bar that ran illegal firearms and drugs for the Maroni crime family. I struck them first in hopes that it would weaken the Maronis' business empire. Not far from there, I targeted another one of Maronis' operations. It was a small crew operating out of the East End. His nephew was overseeing the operation. Human traffickers that were mostly protected by dirty cops. Six guards outside patrolling this abandoned apartment complex. Four inside, not including the nephew. Cameras on the eastern approach. Sloppy discipline. Too comfortable. They were expecting me after the assault on the biker bar. The storm provided a good cover. I took out two in the alley before they could reach their radios. Suppressed shots. Fast. Quiet. Inside it was uglier. Girls locked in cages. Some were too drugged to speak. One couldn’t have been older than sixteen. Men like that don’t get arrested. They don’t get trials. They don’t get cells. They get buried. The nephew tried to plead and bargain for his life. I buried a hatchet into his worthless skull. By the time GCPD arrived, the building was burning from the inside out. The captives were already gone. Anonymous tip sent to an honest paramedic unit I identified earlier tonight. Few good people left in this city. Not many. But enough. Word will spread by morning. The criminals and the corrupt will want to retaliate. Like all the other maggots that I've put down; they'll set traps, and they will do whatever they can to try to stop me. Criminals in Gotham are used to theatricality. Masks. Riddles. Fear gas. Giant coins. Lunatics playing dress-up. They’re about to meet something worse. I'm not here for a fight. I'm here for punishment. I'm here to end things. No games. No speeches. No asylum waiting at the end. Just punishment. I can already feel the city reacting. Sirens every ten minutes. Helicopters overhead. News stations screaming about escalation. Underworld forums lighting up with rumors. Some think Batman came back from the grave. They’ll wish it was him. Because Batman gave them chances. I won’t. This city is sick from the roots to the rooftops. Politicians bought and paid for. Judges threatened. Cops compromised. Gangs armed like militias. Lunatics worshipped like celebrities. Gotham doesn’t need hope. It needs a graveyard. ~~~~~~~~~~ “Send flowers her some flowers.” Sal Maroni sat unapologetically while pouring himself a glass of Scotch. He started preparing a cigar while one of his men sat anxiously in front of him. “You’re thinking too loudly… What is it on your mind?” Sal asked before lighting up the cigar. “Boss, he didn’t jus’ kill your nephew… He took out the Dogs of Hell’s bar and everyone in that apartment. Both are goin’ to hurt your business.” Sal scoffed before leaning back in his chair and taking a sip from his Scotch. The Italian crime lord glanced down at his drink before his eyes shifted back to his lieutenant. “Minor setbacks… It happened before with the Bats and look at how that played out…” Sal replied with a grin. “The boys are scarred, boss. This is the f*cking Punisher… He ain’t jus’ goin’ to throw us behind bars or break a couple bones. He…” “He bleeds like everyone else…” Sal said confidently while looking down at his glass. “Besides, this Frank Castle has never dealt with Gotham before. If he struck the bar and the apartment, there is a good chance I know where he is gunning for next. I say, we have a surprise guest waiting for him.” “What do you mean, boss?” “The Factory… It’s close to the sewers, correct? Send out a couple of the boys to find that oversized lizard and let him know that there is a nice reward for him if he takes care of this Punisher problem for us.” “Croc? Uh… Are you serious, boss?” “Of course, I am serious.” Sal replied with a smirk before taking a puff from his cigar. “I think the Punisher deserves a Gotham-sized welcome. People talk about this Punisher like he is some sort of ghost story or monster… How about we introduce him to a real monster?” **** The pressure was weak, and the water was bitter cold as the shower pressed down against Frank’s skin. Even then, it was nicer than this was a step up from what he had while serving in the Marine Corps or even during some of his time in other cities across the country. Anything was a luxury if it cleaned away the blood of the filth that he put down from his body. After washing away, the blood and the grime, Frank dried himself off and put on his clothes. He sauntered through his hideout and looked over a wall covered with photos. With photos and maps pertaining to the Riddler, Penguin, Killer Croc, Scarecrow and so many more; Frank was planning strategically planning his next moves. With his first strike the night before, he knew all too well that these pathetic insects would be gunning for him. The different families in this city would be no different than the ones that he had faced in countless cities in the past. They would retaliate, set traps, and try to ambush him. He was used to it. In fact, he expected it and prepared for it. The only difference is that this city was full of threats that were far different than the usual insect. Frank glanced at his wall of targets and gazed over the different images that were plastered on the wall. From Poison Ivey to Mister Freeze along with Bane and Two-Face. He could not underestimate this city, not for a moment. While putting on his gear and equipment, Frank reflected on his rigorous training. His armory was stocked with an assortment of weapons that could equip an army. He gathered weapons and loaded them in his Battle Van. As he roared up the engine in his Battle Van, the headlights illuminated the road in front of him. He started heading to his next target. The Maroni crime family had a factory on the outskirts of town that they use for some of their operations. The Punisher headed towards the factory, and Killer Croc was waiting for him. Quote
Callisto Posted May 21 Read Aloud Posted May 21 Learn More About The Punisher Read more about The Punisher at Wikipedia Official Site: Marvel Comics Links: The Punisher's Wikipedia page IMDB Punisher The Punisher Archives Killer Croc Read more about Killer Croc at Wikipedia Official Site: DC Comics Links: Killer Croc Wiki Entry DC Guide.com Batman The Animated Series.com Quote
JohnnyChany Posted May 25 Read Aloud Posted May 25 Good stuff, good atmosphere. Think I'm going with Croc, although that is partly because I have never been big on Punisher. 1 Quote
Callisto Posted May 26 Read Aloud Posted May 26 Match Final Results Member Ratings:5.00 - JohnnyChany 5.00 - Venom 2009 FPA Calculation:2 Total Votes cast 10.00 Total Combined Score 10.00 / 2 = 5.00 Final Rating on the match MATCH SCORE The Punisher: 3Killer Croc: 2 Quote
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