Side Chapter: THE PUNISHER  

"I died the day they did."

Five Years Ago …

Before everything completely burned.

Before the streets echoed with drones.

Before the skyline turned into a graveyard of steel.

Before the name Frank Castle made criminals sleep with weapons under their pillows—

There was a man.

Not a monster.

Not a symbol.

Just a man.

Francis Castle,

US Marine.

Callsign "Ghosthound."

Three tours. Bronze Star. Silver Star. Four Purple Hearts.

A survivor.

But that night, he wasn't a soldier.

He was a father.

A husband.

A man who came home.

He stood on the porch, a cold winter wind brushing against his neck.

Boots scuffed, duffel bag heavy.

He hadn't even knocked yet. He was just staring at the door.

(Home... it still smells like pine in winter, right?)

His hand raised hesitated when

The door burst open.

"DADDY!!"

Her voice shattered the cold.

Lisa, eight years old, flew down the steps barefoot ignoring the chill straight into his arms.

Her tiny frame slammed into his chest.

Her arms wrapped around his neck like vines.

Like if she held tight enough, he'd never leave again.

Frank fell to one knee, breath caught in his throat.

"Hey there, babygirl…" he whispered, voice gravel but warm.

He kissed her temple.

She smelled like cereal and crayons.

"HUP!"

Another weight hit his side Frank Jr., six years old, pretending to be a superhero.

"Did you bring me my laser gun, like you promised?"

Frank chuckled, ruffling his son's hair.

"You earn your laser gun when you stop biting your teachers."

"Hey! That was one time!"

And then—

She appeared.

Maria.

Hair tied up in a messy bun. One of his old sweatshirts hanging off her shoulder. That tired, beautiful glow only mothers wore.

She paused in the doorway, smiling.

She didn't run to him.

She looked at him.

And in that gaze, she said everything.

"You're home."

Frank couldn't move.

Could barely breathe.

His throat closed.

His vision blurred not from sand, not from smoke, but from something he hadn't felt in years:

Safety.

Love.

Peace.

She walked toward him.

Frank rose slowly, still holding the kids, who clung to his legs like tree roots.

Maria touched his cheek his scarred, worn, hardened cheek and leaned in.

"You hungry?" she whispered.

"Always," he said, eyes never leaving hers.

"Good. Because I made you that chili you like. Even though it stinks up the house."

He smiled.

(God, she was beautiful.)

That night, Frank Castle laughed for the first time in three years.

He read a bedtime story, kissed scraped knees, and watched his wife dance in the kitchen while stirring chili with an off-key hum.

He let himself believe—for just one night—that maybe the war was over.

That maybe the nightmares could be buried.

That maybe he could just be Frank again.

Just a man.

But war… has a cruel way of waiting.

And when it came back

It didn't knock.

It broke the door.

And took everything.

…

Three Months Later.

The world had already started to crack.

Small explosions in the slums.

Military blackouts.

Rumors of stolen tech.

Unconfirmed sightings of mechanized soldiers with no faces.

And then… a name.

A whisper on encrypted channels, buried in news scrolls and military debriefs:

Dr. Otto Octavius.

Genius.

Ghost.

The man who walked away from DARPA with an entire wing of secrets.

But none of that mattered to Frank Castle.

Not yet.

At the time?

He was just a man trying to move forward.

Trying to enjoy the little things:

Lisa's soccer games on Saturdays.

Frank Jr.'s obsession with alien toys.

Maria's chicken parm every Thursday, no matter how tired she was.

And for the first time in years—

Frank didn't wake up screaming.

Until that night.

Lincoln Park. Drone Show. 7:32 PM.

It was supposed to be a date night.

A gift from Maria.

Frank had been training the local precinct all day standard recon drills.

Came home late. Head pounding.

"Go without me," he told her.

"I'll see you after." he promised.

Maria smiled. "You owe me dessert."

She left with the kids.

Laughing.

7:53 PM.

Frank was on the couch.

Migraine killing him.

TV low.

He drifted off.

And then—

BOOM.

The house shook.

Glass shattered inward.

Car alarms. Screams. Sirens in the distance.

He jerked upright, disoriented.

(Was that thunder—?)

He looked out the window.

The sky orange.

Smoke blooming upward like a volcano erupted in the city.

His phone rang.

Caller ID: Lt. Travis Juno. Old friend. Special Ops.

Frank answered.

"Frank. Don't go to the park."

"What?"

"Someone hit it. Hijacked the drones. It's bad."

His blood froze.

"Where's Maria?"

There was a pause.

Too long.

"…Frank. I'm sorry."

He didn't hang up.

Didn't speak.

He just ran.

Lincoln Park – 8:22 PM.

He tore through barricades. Through fleeing civilians. Past bodies and twisted playgrounds.

He shoved past smoke. Past ash. Past burning drone wreckage and sparking light poles.

And there at the edge of the fountain.

He saw her.

Maria.

Lying in the grass.

Arms wrapped around Lisa and Frank Jr.

Eyes open.

Burnt. Cracked. Still.

Frozen in her final act shielding them.

Frank dropped to his knees.

The world disappeared.

No screaming. No explosions.

Just the sound of his heart snapping in two.

He reached out touched her hand.

Still warm.

Still Maria.

He didn't cry.

Didn't scream.

He leaned close and whispered—

"…I'm sorry I wasn't here."

That night, the news report came in:

"Experimental government drones hijacked."

"Confirmed Sinister Six-linked. Suspected designer: Dr. Otto Octavius."

"Target unknown. Civilian casualties: 143."

"No arrests. No statements. No justice."

Frank sat in the living room.

Same spot on the couch.

Same clothes.

But the world around him had changed.

He didn't eat.

Didn't sleep.

Didn't speak.

He cleaned their rooms.

Brushed Maria's hair from a comb.

Folded Lisa's pink blanket.

Turned off Frank Jr.'s toy lightsaber for the last time.

And then…

He loaded his gun.

One clip.

One name.

"Octavius."

The next morning, a drone lab exploded.

The bodies of four engineers were found—torn apart by gunfire.

Words carved into the walls in jagged steel:

"I DIED THE DAY THEY DID."

And from that moment on…

There was no Francis Castle.

Only a man with vengeance

…

One Week Later.

The government tried to tie a ribbon around it.

143 civilians dead.

Sinister Six involvement suspected.

But no real names. No arrests. Just statements. Deflections.

The kind that smell like rot even when they wear medals.

Frank Castle sat across from a general in a pristine military office.

Clean walls. Sealed files. Polished boots.

The kind of place that hadn't seen blood since the Cold War.

The general tried to smile.

"You're a hero, Frank."

"You served honorably."

"We can give you security. Retirement. Even transfer you to a diplomatic sector. Counseling, if you'd like—"

Frank leaned forward, quiet.

"You know who built those drones."

A pause.

The general's expression tightened.

"…That's classified."

Frank's eyes didn't move.

His voice dropped. Cold. Final.

"They killed my family."

"…Frank, I know. But this is bigger than—"

Frank stood.

Buttoned his coat.

Calm. No shouting.

Just steel.

"I'm not asking for permission."

Six Days Later.

West Chicago. Midnight.

Security logs show no breach.

Guards were dead before they could speak.

One choked with piano wire. The other gutted clean.

Silent. Surgical. Personal.

The facility went up in flames.

A private lab registered to Dr. Otto Octavius burned to the frame.

Hard drives stolen.

Schematics gone.

And on one scorched wall…

A white skull spray-painted across the ashes.

From that night on…

No more Lt. Castle.

No more rank.

No more chain of command.

Just a man in the dark.

Moving between alleys and old subways.

Trading bullets for food.

And pain for clarity.

He spoke to no one.

But the city spoke of him.

The Punisher.

The rebels didn't know where he slept.

Didn't know how he found them when they were in danger.

Didn't know how a man could survive a headshot and still drag himself across rooftops to deliver information.

But they knew the skull.

Knew that when the symbol appeared someone had bled for it.

And Frank?

He didn't stop.

Facility after facility.

Supplier after supplier.

Any scientist, engineer, handler connected to the drones

He hunted them.

One by one.

Left nothing but silence in his wake.

They called him a ghost.

A hammer.

A warning.

The whisper you feared when the lights flickered.

Because Frank Castle died in that park.

And what stood in his place

Was a man with nothing left to lose.

"You killed my world."

"Now I'm going to kill yours."

"I AM THE PUNISHER"

The end of the side chapter.