No more mistakes (Open)
Eleven steps to the door, turn left four steps and down two flights. It wasn't the entire key to this place, but it was a start. Frank felt the effects of anti-psychotics coursing through him. Little firemen, designed to quench the flames that burned inside his mind for so long. How nice of them.
The frontal assault did not quite work as intended. It took The Punisher four seconds to make it to the stairs... sorry about the neck Doctor. Another nine seconds down the stairs, the last two after the taser hit him on the back. Fuck... plan B.
Torture and interrogation were nothing new to Castle. Sure they called it "therapy" and "counseling." Same difference. If the CIA, the GRU, and Vietcong could not break him, there was no way bipedial pill dispensors asking him how he felt about his mother would get anything accomplished. Ask him about his wife and children one more time. The clipboard would do the job quite adequately... later.
Smile and wave, tell them what they want to believe. The door gets closer, and burning this place to the ground could wait a couple more days. If he played nice he would get group therapy. Frank simply couldn't wait for that.