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I didn't break up that biotech weapons deal in New York...and follow the merchandise halfway around the world...to sit on the sidelines watching a five-foot-two hairball try and stab a giant metal dog to death.
Punisher War Journal entry #22173. Whatever it was that changed Spider-Man's worldview on dealing with criminals... I approve. Which is something that before now, he would never want. And if he goes too far over the edge? I'll be waiting.
Sometimes, there is a happy ending, John Blaze. You remember that every time you look at those kids... and you remember that there are some people out there who won't ever have a happy ending.
That's a ten-inch blade and I'm guessing about a two-inch thick table. How much fat does it have to go through before that thing reaches your heart? Let's find out
You know what? I don't care if that's true. That's the greatest story I've ever heard in my life, and I want it to be. Let me get you a beer. For real this time.
Don't be an idiot. Too many idiots in masks out there already, living in their fantasy dream world. You think heroes don't kill? Heroes get people killed all the time. Ask your boss. Ask Daredevil. Lotsa people died on his watch.
So choices. Maybe you and I fight, which would give that wannabe Crimson Dynamo idiot time to grab Antonov and leave. In which case nobody dies -- unless the red guy kills us while we're fighting over who's got moral superiority. Or instead, I'll just kill them both right now. You don't even have to look, Daredevil. It'll be our little secret.
Don't be an idiot. Too many idiots in masks out there already, living in their fantasy dream world. You think heroes don't kill? Heroes get people killed all the time. Ask your boss. Ask Daredevil. Lotsa people died on his watch.
You don't know what it's like to hate. To have your entire life become nothing more than an expression of hate. Nothing else matters. Nothing else can compare. Or taste as sweet.
I don't want to be friends. I just know my limitations. And the fires of Hell will burn this city to the ground if you don't follow me. That enough to get you out of bed, Doc?
Wait. Look at them. Look at what they're doing. These aren't monsters. They're people from another realm. Families... just wearing a different skin. That -- that magician. He pulled them into ourcrossfire. Not a thing I take kindly to.
I don't want to be friends. I just know my limitations. And the fires of Hell will burn this city to the ground if you don't follow me. That enough to get you out of bed, Doc?
Wait. Look at them. Look at what they're doing. These aren't monsters. They're people from another realm. Families... just wearing a different skin. That -- that magician. He pulled them into ourcrossfire. Not a thing I take kindly to.
They laugh at the law. The rich ones who buy it and twist it to their whims. The other ones, who have nothing to lose, who don't care about themselves, or other people. All the ones who think they're above the law, or outside it, or beyond it. They know all the law is good for is to keep good people in line. And they all laugh. They laugh at the law. But they don't laugh at me.
I'm disappointed in the choirboy. He didn't bring out the world class supercreeps. Two females and a blind guy. Looks like I'll still be doing all the heavy lifting.
You're all spooks and boy scouts -- she...she's a warrior. She wants to avenge the death of her family, and she's willing to do whatever it takes. I respect that.
I didn't care about the politician haranguing the crowd below -- I'd had enough of his kind when I was younger and believed that sort of drivel -- but I knew what another assassination would do to this country -- and that was something I cared about.
War Journal, Entry Ten -- continued:The Mechanic was my ordinance man in 'Nam. He had a special genius for devising weapons and explosives... a genius that was almost terminated by a claymore mine in Quảng Trị Province. "Maybe its just as well," he said when I first looked him up in the Maryland Veteran's Home... "Guys like us, Captain, we were trained for one thing only... killin'. What good are we to anybody without a war?" At the time, I didn't have a good answer for the Mechanic. I suppose I don't really have one for him even now... but I do have a war.
Me, I know where I stand. And I don't worry about it. Because when it's over. When they're all dead and the war is over... there'll still be one bullet left. To clear all accounts.
Lower the shield, man! Just walk away! Or you can never go back......and it's lonley as hell once you get here! There's nothing...But the cold satisfaction of punishment!
They laugh at the law. The rich ones who buy it and twist it to their whims. The other ones, who have nothing to lose, who don't care about themselves, or other people. All the ones who think they're above the law, or outside it, or beyond it. They know all the law is good for is to keep good people in line. And they all laugh. They laugh at the law. But they don't laugh at me.
They laugh at the law. The rich ones who buy it and twist it to their whims. The other ones, who have nothing to lose, who don't care about themselves, or other people. All the ones who think they're above the law, or outside it, or beyond it. They know all the law is good for is to keep good people in line. And they all laugh. They laugh at the law. But they don't laugh at me.
Inside the first twenty-four hours there won't be an Alceno crew. They're on my list anyway. I'll bump them to the top, give you the space you need to work.
Going against a target guns blazing feels like swimming straight up. I still have to know what kinds of guns to bring, though. Death is immediate... but killing takes patience, or so training says. Sometimes, lots of patience, gathering intel. Been struck in traffic now for 30 minutes. I'm not feeling patient today.
L.A. is a stray coyote. All it wants is to bite my hand off. But I've held it like a muzzle. Looked into it's eyes. And made it my bitch. It's time to make L.A. do what I want it to.
These men believe they are agents of death. The terrorists think that they bring war. But they don't know how long I've spent in the company of death and war. They don't know... death and war are my allies.
Let's talk outside. Got something for you in the car. Dos Soles brought some weapon in last night. What ever it is, it's not what they used in Mexico. Not chemical. EMP, maybe. Shorted out my NVGs.
No, Tuggs. I'm the doctor here and the patient needs continuity of care. I have to see it through. If I don't stop them, well... everyone will get involved then, anyway.
This feels more and more like fighting a war in someone else's name, fighting a war for politics... victory doesn't feel like victory. When war becomes politics you fight for your brother instead. We are soldiers, not politicians. Not even civilians. But my brothers are gone... so who do I fight for?
Two dozen prison guards were killed by Hydra and rioting convicts. Ghost escaped. Baron Zemo escaped. The Supreme Commander is still alive. And you consider tonight a win. That's why I'm not on your team.
Ninja Training Camp--a commercial mutation of the ancient Japanese way of life--or maybe not. The ninja began as a way of life--of self-preservation against the government. But ninjutsu became a business. Ninjutsu is derived from the written character shinobi, and means to "steal in". All ninja had to be proficient with three major weapons--some were skilled with as many as twenty. The modern ninja looks little like his traditional counterpart. But the purpose remains the same--to steal in, steal secrets, maim, kill and bamboozle your enemies, often at the behest of a wealthy client--or government.
I came to Scully's Ninja Training Camp to find Iris Green, who'd poisoned the middle-weight boxing champ, B.J. Johnson. I found Iris's file seconds before encountering Katherine Yakamoto, daughter of the legendary ninja teacher, Hatsu Yakamoto. Katherine claimed to be on a mission to punish the bogus Scully for his presumption, and I was her unwitting ally. Scully and his men surrounded the house. She split, leaving me holding the bag, so I torched the place and escaped into the surrounding fields...
There're over eleven thousand cabs in New York City. And almost nobody has a good word to say about any of them. But when it's raining New Yorkers keep their opinions to themselves. They hate the cabbies even more. New York cabbies are near legendary for their surliness and indifference. It's their suit of armor. But somebody out there hates them with more than the usual venom. Five cabbies in as many weeks. All done with a .44 Magnum. Probably a Charter Arms Bulldog. David Berkowitz's weapon of choice. No sex angle. No big names. The press is ignoring. The cops have better things to do. Time for me to pull a few late nights.
I caught a glimpse of Heaven once. The angels showed me. The idea was I'd kill for them. Clean up their mistakes on Earth. Eventually redeem myself. Tried it. Didn't like it. Told them where to stick it. So they brought me up to Heaven, to see what I'd be missing. A wife. A son. A daughter. All finally at peace. I hadn't seen them since they bled out in my arms. Then I was cast down. Back to a world of killers. Rapists. Psychos. Perverts. A brand new evil every minute, spewed out as fast as men can think them up. A world where pitching a criminal dwarf off a skyscraper to tell his fellow scum you're back is a sane and rational act. The angels thought it would be Hell for me. But they were wrong. Welcome back, Frank. Says New York City.
I'm coming for you, Ma Gnucci. I thought I'd let you know so you could plan your funeral in advance. I got your sons. I got your killers. Now I've got your man-behind-the-man. Or man-behind-the-hag in your case, Ma.
Links disintegrate -- bolt clanks back and forth behind the thudding roar -- brass rains on the sidewalk--the 'sixty rattles out its song. A song I first heard years ago -- of fireteams dug in on the breaks between the paddyfields, of tracer lasering the jungle night, of Hueys screaming through the void -- of Lieutenant Castle getting short and hating it, wanting 'Nam to last forever -- a lullaby come all the way to New York City -- come to sing you to sleep.
Whatever Kriegkopf had on you died with him. The fact he had something means you're dirty. But that's your business. My business is the maniac you let in was sicced on me. Most people involved in attempts to kill me die. Not you. You get a warning. Don't ever give me cause to visit you again. Like I say I can get in anywhere. Nothing stops me. The latest idiots to try are vapor. Nine millimeters. I'm never further away than that.
That's where the caped crowd always misses the point. Some enemies you charge head-on. Others you shoot through the head with a high-powered Skrull sniper rifle from four miles away.
These are your tools. The rest are the luxuries of the living. The dead don't get music. The dead don't get beauty. The dead don't get flavor, or warmth, or friendship. Because the dead don't feel.
So they're idiots. Nobody with that kind of gear is harmless. Just like the last Stilt-Man. They'll get cocky and overconfident and open fire in a crowd to prove a point and people die when idiots get power.
Children. He's using children. I should't be surprised. Children are always in the front lines of a war. At least this won't take long. One look at me and they're frozen. Like they're looking at the angel of death. It's a good start.
It don't matter who I am, Fred. It matters what I could be, if you and I don't come to an understanding. I could be God's red right hand. I could be His swift and terrible vengeance. I could be your punishment. Hail Hydra.
We're trying to find the Paguro Family, which has survived everything thrown against them -- me included -- because they're incredibly good at not being found. Other criminals won't talk about them. They're too afraid. If you want to find out anything about the Paguros, you need to be scarier than they are.
What's the difference? You know Murdock's sending him down there to die. You know that. You know that, and you're making that happen. You want to see him punished just as much as I do.
I don't know if you killed those people or not. I really don't. You've always given cops a pass before, but as you are a nutjob, you may have changed your mind. Heck, one of them may have looked at you funny or called you moo-moo bunny-lips. Whatever, your murderous run is over.You are over, Frank. You're done.
You scum! You vicious, evil scum! You're no better than I am, Punisher! You think you're better, you think you're on the side of justice, but you're wrong! You're a serial killer, Punisher! You're insane! It's mass murder, whatever you want to call it! It's genocide! What'll you do, keep going 'til we're all dead? Will that make you happy, you sick, twisted creep?! You should put a bullet in your own head, Punisher! That's the only way you'll get any peace! And you know, it too! You're a dead man walking, Punisher! You are damned!
One bullet. One shot. One chance to stop me killing Dino Gnucci. It's time for that choice you were telling me about. You can't break loose in time. You haven't the space to throw the gun, maybe knock me off my aim. I've got my back to you. I'm wearing Kevlar. It's got to be a headshot.
No. This isn't your fight. You protected me. It's my turn to protect you. 
