Frank watched on stoically from a distance as Debbie's body was discovered by the police, where he'd left it in the park. Frank knew there were surveillance cameras by the entrance, which would show who'd dropped her off, but not where they went. He hadn't enjoyed killing Debbie, but his crusade had never been about pleasure. Even so, part of him told himself that in some way, he'd been doing her a favor. In that last conversation, Frank had seen the guilt in her eyes, crushing her down, a heavy weight she'd been unable to shift. As she spoke, she knew what she had done, known the part she had played in the death of Jessica, known she had to somehow pay. Frank turned, walking into the empty streets. The sun was beginning to rise on a new day. The smoke and mirrors had parted, and the end was in sight. Before the day was over, Frank was determined that Jessica would have the justice she deserved.

Grace turned on the radio and sat down at the table, carefully applied make up masking her drawn and haggered eyes. Her husband sat opposite her, reading the morning's newspaper, whilst helping himself to another sip of espresso. "You look like shit Grace," he stated, his eyes never straying from the paper before him.

She felt like shit. The previous night, no, the previous months had taken their toll on her. Last night was meant to be the end, the grand finale. But Debbie had escaped, thanks to the Punisher, and was still a threat. To be so close... she was on the verge of freedom, and she was damned if she was going to let anything stand in her way. It was with a start she realised that her husband was talking to her. She shook her head. "I'm sorry darling, what was that?"

Her husband peered at her over his glasses. "I said it must've been a rough night for you."

She smiled weakly. "You have no idea. It's been really hard at work at the moment, but I know I'm this close to getting the promotion."

He raised an eyebrow, before returning to the business supplement. Grace nursed her cup of coffee, when a bulletin on the news caught her attention. An overexcited reporter revealed the breaking news that a body had been dumped in the centre of the park. CCTV footage had shown that the body was left by none other than Mr Frank Castle, aka The Punisher. The name of the victim hadn't been released yet, but a source in the police force had stated that the victim marked a departure for The Punisher, as they had no major criminal record. In lowered tones, the reporter asked, has The Punisher finally gone too far? More news after the break.

Grace tried to control herself, but it was all she could do to keep from shouting for joy. After all that, Punisher had done her work for her! They were all dead, and she was now free. That left only one loose end to tidy up. "I have a deadline for this evening dear, so I'm going to be in the office most of the day."

Her husand grunted his consent. Grace finished her coffee, kissed her husband on the cheek, then walked out the door, her legs still shaking.

Attachments. Frank pondered how many people had died as a result of their attachments. How many people, who found themselves facing certain death, were still unable to let go? Once you had attachments, you were vulnerable. Of course, it's very inconvenient to be unattached. The average person relies on their attachments; friends, family, status, possessions, all the things that become a source of comfort to them. To have no attachments was to step outside your comfort zone, and that required too much effort for most people. That's why Frank was still alive after all these years, having outlived so many of those otherwise intelligent people. No home, no friends, no possessions. As soon as Frank let any of those things into his life, he may as well pull the trigger himself. The dark voice inside pointed out that if Grace really wanted to live, she would have left her job, her husband, her home, her possessions, and disappeared. But she hadn't. That was why she was as good as dead. To her credit, she was making an effort to lie low. She hadn't been to her office today. According to the friendly receptionist, this had been her first sick day in eight years. She wasn't home either. The house stood proud and hollow, the white picket fence and manicured lawn an epitome of the American dream, and just as empty.

A bit of investigative work had revealed a large payment to a warehouse company about six months ago from one of Grace's many accounts. The trail led to a small warehouse, registered under a pseudonym. Her last place of shelter. The warehouse was situated on a run down industrial estate, on the outskirts of the city. Back in the eighties it had been a thriving area, but now most of the units were either derelicts or fronts for drug operations. Frank wondered idly what possible reason Grace could have for wanting land out here. It was hardly congruous with the rest of her lifestyle: the immaculately kept house, the impressive offices, the fancy car. An old Dodge drove past Frank's van, hip-hop music blaring. He ignored it and settled down, waiting for Grace to show.

The driver of the Dodge took the next turn and then stopped the car, before pulling out a cell phone and hitting the speed dial. "Boss? Lefty here. I'm on patrol outside the warehouse, and there's a large van with blacked out windows parked up nearby... No, it's none of the local dealers, I would've recognised it... Yes sir, I'll call the rest of the crew in. Better safe than sorry. Do you know when she's due to arrive?... That's no problem sir. We'll be in place well before then. If The Punisher's here, we'll be ready for him."

The sun had almost set over the distant mountains when Frank recognised Grace's car approaching in the rearview mirror. Frank turned on the engine, but kept the lights off. It was important to strike now, before she reached the warehouse, before she had the advantage of being on her territory. She passed the van, and Frank slowly pulled off. He quickly picked up speed, closing the gap between the two vehicles. As she slowed to turn into the warehouse gates, Frank pushed his foot flat to the floor, but as he did so, the dark voice inside shouted a warning. Too late. A pickup truck flew out of one of the side alleys and tore into the side of Castle's van, sending him hurtling into the wall.

The loud crash caused Grace to swerve as she looked round in surprise. A crash right behind her, no more than a few meters away. She started to slow, before she realised that the last thing she wanted was anyone seeing her in this area. She carried on, and pulled into the warehouse parking area, never taking a second backward glance. As she stepped out of the car, she thought she heard a gunshot. What the hell was going on, a gang war? Typical, today of all days. She fled into the warehouse.

Frank pried his head from the steering wheel, wiping the blood from his nose. That was unexpected. The door was buckled, but a firm kick knocked it open. Movement from the pickup caught Frank's eyes. A tattooed thug with an assault rifle stumbled from the drivers door; this looked more than just a typical case of New York road rage. Frank quickly moved in and grabbed the man's gun, spun it round before the man could react and squeezed the trigger. He turned to follow Grace into the warehouse, when three other cars appeared, screeching to a halt just before him. The cars spewed out a stream of goons, all armed, all between him and the warehouse. The first bullet ricocheted off the pickup beside him, as Frank dived for cover, keeping the rifle from the recently deceased thug. Frank aimed under one of the cars and fired, the darkness nodding with approval as one of the gunmen fell to the floor as his feet were ripped from underneath him. Frank tried to get to his van, and his armoury, but a barrage of bullets blocked the path and he retreated back behind the pickup. Frank stood up and took another shot, taking out another of the thugs, but was forced behind cover again, pinned down by a stream of automatic fire. Frank opened the door, looking for anything that might give him an edge. A fuel can in the floor well caught his eye.

Three of the men huddled close together behind one of the cars. "Do you think I got him with that last shot? We haven't heard anything since then."

"You honestly think you might have shot the Punisher? Get real Mike."

"He's only human."

"Well, you go and check on him then."

"Maybe I will..."

Mike got no further when he was interrupted by a flaming fuel can arcing over the cars, heading straight for them. "Dive, it's going to explode!" The thugs leapt in terror from cover, where they were quickly picked off by Frank. The fuel tank hit the tarmac, where, rather than exploding, it burnt furiously but harmlessly in the metal container.

Frank dropped the assault rifle and unholstered two berettas. Firing furiously, Frank broke away from cover and leapt onto the second vehicle, a 4x4, shooting the two thugs who were cowering behind it then dropping back in time to avoid the shots from behind the third and final car. An endless wave of bullets prevented Castle from progressing. Frank slipped into the 4x4, and turned on the engine. Quickly putting it into gear, Frank spun the car around and accelerated. The five remaining gunmen stood, firing shot after shot at the retreating car. When he was sufficiently far away, Frank turned the car again, so it was facing the hapless crooks. Frank revved the engine, and the shooting ceased as realisation dawned. The car erupted forward, as the thugs panicked. Two thugs sought shelter behind the car, one firing haphazardly at the rapidly approaching car, whilst the second cowered behind the front tyre. The other three fled toward the warehouse. As the second reached the door and was through, he turned and shut the door behind him, fastening it securely as his accomplice screamed in vain the other side. He managed to take three steps before the 4x4 tore through the doors, and flattened the fleeing thug.

Frank stepped out of the car, and surveyed the carnage. Two of the men were sandwiched between the car they had sought cover behind and the wall. A third had been thrown aside by the car, whilst the fourth was still attached to the front of the 4x4, vainly fighting for life even as his lungs filed with blood. A bullet to the head sped up the process.

Frank found himself in an old locker room. A large shutter door stood opposite him, whilst a staircase lay to his right, a dusty sign proclaiming the location of the offices. Frank cautiously approached the staircase. At the base of it he found the fifth thug. Half of his face was obliterated by a shotgun blast. The sixth sense pointed to the floor. Frank knelt next to the body, and observed the trip wire that had been set off by the unfortunate crook. Looking up, Frank made out the carefully concealed shotgun. He'd been here before, but against much more skilled opponents. The Vietcong had grown most adept at concealing their traps, and Frank had lost many fellow soldiers to them. Compared to that this should be childs play, but caution would still be needed. Frank proceeded carefully up the steps, the darkness urging caution. At the top, a large door stood shut. Examining it closely, Frank noticed a small catch at the top, which he carefully pulled. The door creaked open and Frank pushed on, noticing the cables leading to the door handle, electrifying it. Not the most hospitable welcome ever. The offices looked as though they had been untouched for the best part of a decade; old crooked desks covered in dust, webs spun from cheap bookcases. Toward the back of the room, something was different. A door stood proud, with reinforced hinges and a brand new lock. The door was open. As Frank slowly stepped across the floor, he felt the floorboard drop down almost imperceptibly, and Frank didn't have to wait for his sixth sense to kick in before he threw himself to the side, and another shotgun blast erupted from the darkness. Clearly, Walmart must have had an offer on the shotguns. Picking himself up, Frank approached the open door and peered inside.

The first thing that struck Frank was the stench, an overwhelming concoction of human waste and terror. The walls and floors were completely cushioned, as though from a mental hospital. In the centre of the room, a figure crouched, secured in a striaight jacket, chainned to the floor. As Frank stepped forward, the figure slowly glanced up, their head tilted to one side. Through the long matted hair, Frank could make out the face of a young woman. Her eyes, dark and empty, looked at Frank, looked through him. Her voice was quiet, lifeless. "Are you here to kill me?"

The darkness tapped him urgently on the shoulder. The sound of a gun being cocked sent Frank moving, rolling smoothly to the side, but the gun was already being fired. Bullets ripped into Frank's back, dropping him to the floor. Frank felt his blood, warm, familiar, seeping from his body. The dark voice urged him to get up, stand up, and kill whoever it was that had shot him, demanding death. However, all Frank could see was the empty eyes of the woman in the straight jacket. She'd recoiled as Frank was shot, and now as their eyes met, Frank could see tears starting to form, as she whispered "I'm so sorry."

Someone was appproaching from behind. Frank reached for his gun, but found it kicked away, far out of reach. He looked up to see Grace smiling down at him. "Hello Mr Castle. How are you?"

The kick was deceptively strong, and Frank coughed up blood as the blow made contact with his face.

"Not so good I guess. I see you've met Lisa."

Frank looked again to the restrained woman. So this was Lisa, who Frank had believed to be the Open Throat killer. He thought back to when he'd investigated her house. The map of all the victims, the notes. Grace smiled, as Frank worked things out. "Poor little Lisa. When her sister Jessica was killed, she was quite inconsolable. In the end, she ended up driven to revenge. Very successful she was too."

Breathing was becoming more difficult for Frank, his words coming forth broken and staggered. "You kidnapped her, kept her here all this time. You set her up."

"I suppose. But I prefer to see it as me giving her justice. Without me, the gang who killed her sister would've still been free. Now they've paid the price. She should be thanking me. You should be thanking me."

Frank spat blood at her feet. Grace shrugged "Just as well I didn't do it for the gratitude."

"You were just covering your tracks."

Grace raised her voice, shouting at Frank. "They were all killers Frank, killers! Who the hell are you to judge me?"

"You're not fooling ... anyone."

"Common thugs, everyone of them." Grace caught her breath, composed herself, before continuing. "Six months ago, Tony phones me up, out of the blue. Hadn't heard a word from him in years. Say's he's hard up, that he needs some cash, he knows I'm good for it. I hesitate, before I can take a breath he threatens to tell the world about our dirty little secret. I have a life Frank, you remember what that is? A husband, a home, a good job. I worked hard for that. Next week, I become vice president of the company. But as long as the old crew were out there, I was never going to be more than a phone call away from losing it all. What sort of life is that?"

"More than.. you deserve. You killed eight people."

Grace frowned. "Seven people Frank, please try and keep up. Tony, Nick, Jamie, Charlene, Daryl, Pete, Jason. It hardly compares to your body count. You saw them Frank. A bunch of nobodies, parasites living off others. I wasn't going to lose everything I'd worked so hard for to them. "

"You forgot Wilson."

"Wilson? Who the hell's Wilson? Don't tell me the press has got it right and you have actually lost it?"

Frank thought back to the night he'd found Wilson's body, the criminal who claimed to know who the Open Throat killer was. He'd been killed before Frank could speak to him. It made sense at the time that the Open Throat killer was behind it, covering their tracks. The hooker had seen the killer said they had long hair, riding a red motorbike. Couldn't even be sure if it was a man or woman. There was no reason for Grace to deny it now. which led on to an obvious question.

Grace continued her rant, ignoring the confusion on Frank's face. "It was practically an act of kindness; I was putting them out of their misery."

Frank laughed, even though it felt like razor blades running down his throat. Grace added to the pain, giving him an angry kick in the ribs. "What's so funny big guy?"

"Reminds me of a joke. What's the difference between you and God?"

Frank paused, more to wipe the blood from his mouth than for effect. "God doesn't think he's you."

Frank chuckled, while Grace scowled momentarily, before breaking into a chuckle herself. "I guess that is pretty funny. Now, let's just see how godlike I am."

She strode over to Lisa, who was curled up in the corner, and pointed the gun to her head, the barrel pressed tight against her skin. "What do you think Frank? God to god. Maybe you managed to kill her after she shot you? Or maybe she committed suicide, consumed with guilt. Which sounds better to you?"

Frank tried to move, but his body didn't respond. He looked down, saw the blood forming a dark pool. Not like this, surely? Frank dropped his head, unable to hold it up anymore. He closed his eyes, as everything faded away.

The Punisher opened his eyes, feeling the primal strength surging through his veins. The darkness, death personified, glared up at Grace, She looked back, confused, her own inner darkness warning her that something was very, very wrong. "Frank?"

"Frank Castle is dead." He leapt up with a snarl, flying toward Grace. "I am The Punisher."

Grace fired wildly at Punisher. She managed to get two bullets off, which thudded into the Punisher's chest, but did nothing to slow him down. In an instant, he was right in front of her. He grabbed hold of her gun, throwing it out of reach, and brought his hands up to her neck, lifting her off her feet. She lashed out, her fists and feet pummeling into The Punisher's body, fighting for her life, but to no avail. She may as well have been hitting the air. Briefly, fear flashed across her face, but it was quickly replaced by defiance. "You go ahead, kill me. But you better go ahead and kill yourself as well. You're the same as me, Frank, you're nothing more than a killer. Look at yourself. You're sick. You enjoy killing even more than I do."

"You killed those people, just to protect yourself. You would kill an innocent woman, just so you can have a promotion. There is no pleasure, only justice. I am Death. You are nothing like me."

He broke her neck, before letting her body drop to the floor.