The Punisher and Microman belong to Marvel, Inc.

This one is a bit darker than most of my other stories. Just a smidge. But then, that's what you get when you deal with the Punisher. This is loosely based on a dream I had after reading a bunch of Punisher: War Journal issues at once. Great stuff.

For some reason, I decided to write it in 1st person from the Punisher's POV. We'll see how that turns out.

Prologue.

VVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVV

I used to go by Frank Castle. To anyone but my mother, anyway. I was born Francis Castiglione and led a pretty normal life. I grew up, married my high school sweetheart, joined the Marines, and survived Vietnam with several honors. By the time the war had started, I had two kids that meant everything to me. We had a house in the suburbs of New York City. I built a tree house for them in the back yard when my son turned eight.

When I finished my second tour in Vietnam, I returned home to my family, thinking I could stay with them forever then. We bought some kites and took a picnic to our favorite place, almost at the heart of Central Park. When you're in that part of the park, it's hard to believe you're in the middle of a big city. There are trees all around our spot. My little girl used to call it the most beautiful place in the world.

That last time we went together, we ate lunch in the grass and then took the kites to an open field. I ran with my kids as they laughed and tried to sabotage each other's reels. My Maria was close behind.

We came close to a patch of trees and started to turn away, but I noticed something was wrong. Four suited types were standing around a thick old oak. They were packing. Before I knew what was happening, I saw the man hanging upside down from that oak, and the suits were mowing us down with semi-autos. I watched my wife and children die. The suits packed up and moved on, leaving the hanging man and me to die.

Like some cosmic joke, I survived. I wept over my family, the hanging man watching, still fearful the suits would return for us. I couldn't have cared less. With bullets in my legs and chest, I wasn't going anywhere for a while. When someone passed by, they screamed for help. EMTs arrived eventually, and I kissed my wife goodbye before they carried me off. My Maria…

Two weeks later, after numerous surgeries, I released myself from the hospital. I decided to also release myself from military service. Two weeks, and not a thing had been done to arrest the mobsters that killed my family. I would have to find them on my own.

My own personal war on the dregs of mankind; the murderers, the drug pushers, the rapists, the thugs; all of it eventually led me to the man who was responsible for my family's deaths. He's not doing so well himself these days. Even now, I'm still hunting for others like him.

Along the way, I forsook my own name, my own identity, and became what some call a vigilante. I call it picking up the slack. A lot of crimes go unpunished in this city. Someone had to teach the bad guys that what goes around comes around.

And all this time, I never once stopped thinking of my Maria and my kids. The psychiatrist at Riker's Correctional Facility told me it was time to let go. My fist told him to get a replacement for his jaw. I never did believe much in shrinks.

Nowadays, I don't have too many attachments. Friends and allies have come and gone, on both good and bad terms. Some people, I just can't get rid of. That DareDevil fruit from down in Hell's Kitchen comes through my window just about every week. He and I have had differences in the past. That may never change. Our ideas of justice seem to clash on just about every level. I need to find an underground base of operations.

Not once have I lost sight of my mission. It was simple enough to protect the world from the Communists, but these last ten years have been hell. Day after day, I come back to it. Someone's got to fight the good fight; protect the people from the crime in their own back yards. That someone is The Punisher…