DISCLAIMER: Although I'm not going to be explicit, only mentioned briefly, this story is dealing with controversial issues such as abuse in the Catholic Church. If you object to the subject matter, please do not read. Thank you.
The night bit deep into the skin on Frank's exposed neck. It was winter in Brooklyn, and he smelled snow on the way. He'd been out gathering intel on his next target, a branch of the Gnuccis who were heading back into town to reclaim their territory. Apparently, the Gnuccis thought they had enough hired muscle to brave coming back to New York City. He was going to have to re-educate them and he didn't mind another chance to rid the world of more scumbags. Hell, they were even coming to him, making it all the more convenient for Frank. He wouldn't even have to travel. Just meticulously plan the mission, take note of the number of men, stock up on weapons and ammo, then shoot to kill.
He walked his way through the soulless streets of the morally rotten city, back to his lair. Every step was ponderous yet surprisingly light. Frank moved quickly, especially for a man of his size, in his weathered trench coat. Catching an odd movement out of the corner of his eye, he noticed a teenager try to hang himself. Frank needed to hurry if he wanted to save a life, which wasn't normally in his job description. He took a knife and threw it with enough force and precision to cut the rope. Again, that kind of knife throwing wasn't something he did on a regular basic..he just did it out of necessity. The boy hit the cement like a bag of potatoes, and it was a good thing he was no more than four feet in the air.
The kid couldn't be more than fourteen, Frank thought. He examined the unconscious boy at his feet, then knelt down to take vitals. There was a rope burn across the neck, consistent with self hanging. Didn't break his neck. He noticed the how strong the pulse beat as if he were determined to live. Frank took note of how his eyes rolled under his eyelids. In Frank's professional opinion, the kid would pull through. After the kid woke up, then Frank would ask him questions. Such as why he tried to kill himself in the alley near the cathedral.
The Punisher lifted the tousled tow headed boy and took him to a place where the boy could recover in warmth. It wasn't his lair, but a nearby flophouse. He knew the owner, who was grateful Frank killed street scum, and the man let the vigilante use the janitor's room.
It bothered him that a young man tried to off himself and no one but Frank helped him. It wasn't his job to do this, it should have been an ordinary citizen. /The city is dark and rife with corruption, full of people who simply don't give a fuck about anyone other than themselves./
A startled gasp filled the room as the rescued teenager came back to the land of the living to feel the heavy eyes of the Punisher inexorably bore into him, drilling into his soul to learn what the old man wanted to know.