The Universe's Mixer

16 days. Max must have made quite a mess by now. That damn dog probably had chewed up half of the supplies, and someone was going to pay for it. It took two weeks, but Frank had figured a way out.

The insane girl that talked to invisible friends was nice enough to give The Punisher a doctor's pass card. It was not in itself a means to escape, but it did provide access. Access to supply rooms, to stairwells, and most importantly to privacy. While not his typical loadout, Frank now had a scalpel made into a spear, several bottles of heavy sedatives, syringes and most importantly a map of the place in his mind.

The Punisher walked calmly through the common room trying not to raise any alarm. He pressed his back against a door marked Staff Only. The electronic lock opened with a faint click and he fled into the service corridor. A muffled oompfh could barely be heard in the next room as an orderly was treated to nap time by a spinning heel kick.

It was now or never.

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.

Harley draped herself over the throne casually. As though it was every day she sat on an actual throne. In a throne room. ( In her very own castle! )

It seemed to Shepherd Book that a church was never completely clean. Oh, spiritually, of course. But with people coming in and out at all hours, because Book refused to ever lock the doors, a certain amount of clutter tended to pile up. A crumpled tissue. Hymnals left laying in the pews rather than put back into the holders. Various detritus dragged in and dropped as people passed through.

He didn’t resent it, though. It was only proof that the house of God was being used. And that it was needed. He might grumble a bit as he picked up a crumpled receipt or a dropped flyer, but he did not resent it. There was also something therapeutic in cleaning. At least that’s what he was telling himself. After all, ( cleanliness was next to godliness. )

Everyone had ways to blow off steam. Frank was OK with that. He was not fine with people that dealt poison to those that could not escape it's grip.

The Razor was a charming piece of crap watering hole that featured loud music, low lights, underage drinkers and heroin being dealt in the men's room.
Those that couldn't pay would steal, or offer favors for the need that screamed inside them. Innocence was the first victim of war. Tonight innocence could have the tally helped along.

Frank shouldered his way through the crowd. It parted fairly readily for him. He did not blend well with the emaciated twinks, and emo scarecrows that frequented the bar. He began to approach the bathrooms. His hand drifted under his trenchcoat, flicking off the thumb break that held his pistol on place.

Dr. Banner stepped outside, heading home for the day. He was greeted by a variety of interesting sounds. There was some laughter and quiet talk among the few students walking around on campus, some scattered screaming in the distance, and a very faint moaning coming from a few different directions. Another interesting detail was that everyone he saw was paired off. This was odd, but the Valentines' Day weekend could account for it. He sighed, thinking of Betty.

Walking further off campus he noticed he was a bit closer to the screaming. As he rounded the corner he saw a winged figure hovering in the air, raining little pink arrows on the crowd. The screaming was slowly diminishing, and people were pairing off.

Great.

If this cupid thing was another of the City's experiments, it would be even more disastrous than the zombie invasion should Hulk get involved. Certainly more upsetting, anyway. Best to keep him well away from those arrows.

Banner ducked back around the corner and made for the glow of a neon sign advertising beer. There was a little dive bar below street level, in the bottom of a brownstone building. He'd hole up in here until things blew over.

"Hi. You got any Heineken?"

The banks alarm blared into the night as the vault was breached. The City seemed to like a good mix of people, and thieves were apparently in no short supply. The two scumbags loaded a market cart with cash quickly before the authorities arrived. They were not that lucky tonight.

Frank had watched this crew casing places for a few days now, first a liquor store, then a bowling alley. They had some skills, but these pieces of crap had gone too far. Little old ladies relied on banks, they trusted them to be secure. The Punisher liked little old ladies far more than criminals.

The two second story men burst out into the alley behind the bank and rolled the cart to a waiting cargo van. They were laughing. Frank hated that too. George, the older of the two opened the sliding side door of the van and began to swing an armful of loot into it. He stopped abruptly, a red dot painted on his chest.

The Alexander Arms Beowulf entry rifle was deafening in the back of the van. A 330 grain hollow point was a sight to behold as it obliterated a 4 inch hole out the back of the first thief. Frank swung the muzzle around to the younger asshole, finger outside the trigger guard. “Don’t move, do not even blink” He said calmly. The terrified man complied too well, passing out wetting himself.

“Shit” Frank said to no one in particular. He would not dispatch an unconscious man. There was another way fortunately.

2 minutes and a roll of duct tape later, Ted was trussed in the shopping cart spread eagled over the basket of bills. The Punisher rolled him back into the bank, for the authorities to take care of.

Harley was not wearing a happy face. Because Harley was not a happy camper. This was the second time those butterfly bozos had managed to slip away before she could find out where her Puddin’ was. She was gonna tease it out of them. Or maybe exchange the skull for it, except Selina had managed to swipe it right out of her hands. But even the option of tailing them back to wherever they had their hide out was lost to her.

Because the morons snuck out while she was distracted with the kitty. What kinda henchmen were they that they just gave up in the middle of a job? They sucked. They sucked a lot. And they made Harley feel all kinds of cranky, so she’d done what she could to make herself feel better.

( She stole something else. )