Only a couple of chapters, about Frank travelling to London and kicking some cockney arse.



It was dark in London, quiet too. Which was surprising. Normally, the alleyways and streets were clogged with ruthless scoundrels and thieves. Not tonight, though. Because there was a horrifying rumour going round the scum of London. That The Punisher was coming to England. No one knew why but they knew that he was coming. Contacts told crime bosses, crime bosses told their henchmen, the henchmen told the local thugs. The rumour passed down the criminal hierarchy like wildfire. So, the crime level dropped suddenly. Police were having days where nothing happened. No muggings. No raping. They were dumbstruck. But the policeman grew used to the unusual silence, thinking it would last. It wouldn't. Because the rumours were true. Frank Castle was coming to town.

Two shadows darted across the ground. A soft pitter patter of footsteps broke the eerie silence in Leicester square as two gangly youths crept across the cobblestones. Every few seconds, they looked around nervously. Suddenly, they stopped. One of them froze, listening intently.

"You hear that?"


"What if it's the fuckin' Punisher?"

"That's bullshit. Don't say you believe that fuckin' rumour? That's just those fat fucks who run things around here trying to scare us outta business, so they can reap all the benefits. I don't know, sometimes, you can be right daft cunt."

"Shut the fuck up. Of course I don't believe it. It's bullshit. Can we hurry up?" the young thief whined.

"Hold your fuckin' horses, mate. Don't worry. If the big bad meanie Punisher tries to get you, I brought protection." The other thief pulled out a handgun from his torn clothes.

"This will stop him." The thief chuckled. "Anyway, he's not come to London-" A loud gunshot cut though the silence. Suddenly, the armed thief's arm disintegrated, showering blood onto the wall behind. He started screaming hysterically. His bladder went. His friend wanted to be sick, looking at the bloody pulp that used to be a hand.

The wounded criminal collapsed against the wall, blood pumping furiously out of his stump. The other thief vomited all over the ground and his own feet. Another shot sounded out. The one handed man's head exploded into a thick goo of blood, bone and grey brain matter. Finally, he stopped screaming. The other thief almost fainted. So much blood. He vomited again and unwillingly pissed his pants. He heard a heavy thud of footsteps. He spun around and cried out. Out from the shadows, with bulging arms clutching a Remington shotgun with a smoking barrel, came Frank Castle. Wordlessly, he reloaded his gun and worked the slide. He aimed it at the surviving thief.

"Wanna bet?" The Punisher growled. The thief started sobbing and pleading. He grovelled at Frank's feet. Frank looked at him in disgust. He kicked the man in the head. The Punisher stood over the fallen criminal. Eyes teary, trousers wet with urine, hands outstretched, the thief's life flashed before his eyes. Then the Punisher fired his shotgun point blank at the thief's head. The shell ploughed into the thief's forehead, smashing through the skull like a knife through butter. Blood sprayed the cobblestones and ran into a nearby drain.

"Macready, I'm coming for you, you fucking cockney bastard." He muttered and then strolled off, leaving a bloodstained Leicester Square…

More chapters coming, people. Body count so far: 2. It's gonna get much bigger as the story progresses.