LOG A Joke Too Far

Details
Summary: April 17th 1928: Punisher Meets a joker goon, and goes hunting only to find an entrence to the clown prince of crime's domain.

Characters: Frank Castle



Log
The sky here is a pitch black, light unable to pierce the thick cloud cover of smog that hangs heavy from the factories that litter this part of town. Even though it's hardly past noon it feels like the deepest depths of midnight. The air holds a stagnant stench of forgotten decay which permeates every surface. Hope has died here and its corpse has begun to bloat.

There's no two ways about it, this is a man-made hell of thin spindly winding roads that duck in and out between buildings side streets too small for anything more then a single horse to travel. Main streets just barely big enough for the trucks rolling constantly in and out to ferry goods to market and supplies from the docks.

The homeless set on the street-corners panhandling for enough they can get food for the night. Their numbers are much fewer after the war then before, much of the homeless population long since drafted and killed on the fields of battle far overseas. Yet a few still remain, still wearing their military issue jackets to keep warm in the cold day.

The Punisher almost never sleeps.

He woke up with a nightmare this morning...as per the usual. He watches his family die again...and again, and again. It's quite literally the only thng keeping him going. Memories of playing the guitar with his daughter. the memories of picnic dinners with his wife.

and just like that it was all gone.

Frank was just driving around in his van, checking out the sights, making sure all is what it's supposed to be...while also keeping an eye on some of the military vets that not only survived the horrors of war, but were trying to survive out here back home. Is it right? No, these guys should be heroes and given the best care in the world...but, it is what it'll be. Eventually though, Frank pulls up to a man-made parking stop and he exits the vehicle. Wearing his trench coat as per the normal. No mask on his head, instead, a hood.

Just acting natural....being normal. Eyes looking around for any signs of trouble...or even better, Zucco's gang. Just a regular patrol on the casually shitty Gotham night.

It's quiet, almost too quiet. The days deliveries roll out making a bit of noise as the model T trucks rattle up the road loaded to the brim with freshly butchered fish ready for market. The streets are mostly clear, which after all it is only Noon, even the speakeasies don't open usually till about 5 in the afternoon, and close about 3 in the morning.

One of the vets on the side of the road shakes his empty metal can in Frank's direction. "Spare some change for an old soldier son?" His voice is weak and worn down and judging by the brown paper bag sat beside him it's not hard to tell where all the money he's been given so far is going. "Down to my last bottle, and could use a bit of kindness to fill her up."

Castle keeps on walking, taking note of everything going on. Then of course, he's stopped by the older gentleman who's shaking his empty metal can. Though as Frank turns his head towards him, and he sees the bottle next to him, he knows full well the guy ain't gonna do anything productive with that cash. So what does he do? absolutely nothing.

"Sorry sir, don't have it on me tonight." he gets out of it, but he shows respect to the soldier, but..he does nothing. walking past him with his eyes staying forward.

Though of course, he takes the time to turn his head slightly to see if he's being tailed by anyone. It happens...especially when you don't wear a mask when you're out dishing some punishment.

The soldier on the side walk slouches his shoulders dropping his hand with the can back to the ground. Soon after he's taking another swig from his bottle in a bag, prohibition be damned. At least if he gets arrested for it he'll manage to have a warm place to stay for the night.

As Castle moves he'd notice the feeling of being followed. Even as he looks back and only see's a small smattering of the homeless and workers loading up Model T and Model A trucks with boxes to ship out to the docks or to market. It's almost like the city itself is watching and waiting for him to make a misstep.

Out from one of the many buildings lit by Edison Bulbs, the wonder of modern technology that's been built into most every building in Gotham stumbles a man. He's dressed in a costume reminiscent of a circus ringleader. Bright yellow and black stripes run down his long shirt and pants, a boatmans hat covers his black hair.

The strangest thing is that his face is hidden behind a smiling wooden mask of a clown. It's a simple design all black and white with a smile that stretches clean from one ear to the other taking up the brunt of his face. His eyes are hidden by thin cloth riddled with holes enough for him to see out but no one to see in. He takes a pause looking over towards Frank. "Oh what do we have here?" Asked in an almost singsongy voice. "The Butcher of Berlin come to pay us a visit?"

Frank has this way about him that pretty much screams 'if you value your life, do not approach'. Unfortunately, some people don't get that memo. Alas, he's walking, he turns his head at the sounds only to see people making a living, loading up trucks with god knows what. He decides he's not going to get them today.

Then...of all the people who could -possibly- recognize him, it's a guy dressed in a clown costume? Huh, okay. Frank doesn't get hostile, though he looks the man in the eyes. "Am I supposed to pay a fee." he was definitely not talking in a way that would suggest he was -actually- going to pay a fee if there was one. "Is it my birthday? That why they send a clown?"

Without a moments hesitation the clown jumps slightly to one side standing tall and proud as he pulls out a small slip of paper from his long flowing bright yellow and black jacket. Without another moments pause the clown begins to recite in its entirety the Charge of the Light Brigade. He does so in a cheery and friendly tone as he moves about gesticulating happily seemingly unphased by the man's reputation and motives as he does his little jig.

Frank watches the clown like a hawk. those eyes...those were the eyes of the wolf that turned pretty much the population of Berlin's army into his own personal shooting gallery. He watches the clown for a moment before he just scoffs and shakes his head, walking right past him like he didn't even matter.

Well damn. he was doing a fairly good job too.

"Beat it." he tells to the clown, apparently not in the mood for friendliness, happiness, or mockery.

As Frank walks past the clown merely calls to him. "The End comes swiftly Mr.Castiglione." Said in that friendly calm voice. "Your crusade only has one ending, and it isn't a very happy one." Even as he starts to walk back into the building from whence he came. "The boss sends his deepest sympathies for your loss, and wishes the best of luck on your crusade."

Frank continues walking until the Clown mentions his name...but that isn't what stops him. It's the fact that his family is mentioned. He knows how they died...he knows apologizing won't help it. He also knows who is 'boss' is, and that means Frank is apparently on his list. Welp....let's fix that problem. He opens up his vest, revealing his white skull emblem emblazoned on his chest, turning around to follow that clown!

The building in question like so many in this town was designed with a purpose. The whole place was built simultaneously after all, first town in the world like it. Even if it didn't always feel like it. As Castle follows behind he manages to catch a glimpse of the clown's coat-tail rounding a corner. He's right behind the figure. One corner turn after another he's able to follow over the people relaxing in the hall in order to get out of the cold weather.

The clown makes his way down to the buildings stairwell winding round one after the next as he quickly walks traveling down deeper and deeper. Right to the bottom floor, there's no easy escape for him now.

Frank...in a nutshell, is practically fearless. He wouldn't go down into the dark and scary basement if he didn't have a way out. So what does he do? He follows. He has two pistols in his hands, ready to make it rain as it appears he may have found a little hideout of one of the Clown Prince of Crime's. or at least a place where he can shove his operation. That said? He has no fear in his eyes, only a cold....relentless malice.

"One batch..." he whispers to himself.

"Two batch..."

"Penny and Dime." a verse from his late daughter's favorite book.

looks like shit's about to go down.

On the bottom floor at the base of the building there's a small hallway leading to various boiler rooms, and an Edison generator that gives the building its power. At the end of the hall the clown from before kneels hunched over grabbing at what looks to be of all things an indoor sewer grate. He pulls at the lid quietly, trying to get it to move but it won't budge.

Frank sees the clown trying hard to get the lid to move, Frank simply stares at him as he tries to get to work, but when he realizes that the clown might not be able to get it up, he scoffs a small moment. "Need a hand?" and if the clown looks up? Frank attempts to shoot him right in the kneecap!

"You know that'd be really helpful, I appreciate-" Is all he manages to say before his kneecap is shot and the man falls down to the ground clutching at his leg. He doesn't scream in pain like one would expect it's more a deep breath of air taken into his lungs as he clutches at his wounded kneecap curled up onto the ground.

Frank walks up to him then, kneeling right next to him as he looks at the sewer grate, then back to the clown. "now then...where are you running off to?" he asks then, lifting the grate with not so much as silence. his eyes on the man. "I can see you're no stranger to pain. So I'm gonna ask once: Where's your boss?"

"You know if I don't tell you I'm dead, if I do tell you me and my family are dead." It's all he really has to say as it seems for the moment the clown has accepted his faith even as he clutches onto his kneecap. "At least this way I know they're safe." Before laughing quietly under his breath in spite of the pain his expression hidden behind the wooden mask. "Got nothing to offer me."

Frank watches him then. "Yeah...I had a family too." His face is then -very- serious. "My job is to get scum like you off the streets. So you and I are gonna have a talk." He puts his thumb against his knee wound and he-digs-, clearly intending to put him through a world of pain if he doesn't talk.

"Oh-ho-ho-ho how could I forget, you've got pain." The reaction is strange, just laughing at his own suffering as his whole body tenses up firm as a stone from the pressure. It's clear he's in a lot of pain it's just that the reaction isn't exactly normal. The more pain he's in the more loudly he laughs. "The sewers, they connect to the swan ride at amusement mile." It's what he finally manages to say after a bout of laughter that echo's out through the halls.

Frank watches the man as he just seems to -laugh- as he feels more pain. The laughing gets louder and louder and Frank digs his thumb deeper and deeper.

"and?" Frank says then, suddenly twisting his thumb to jerk a nerve.

The laughing is loud and echoing as his leg kicks out involuntarily slamming back into the wall which causes yet more pain and laughter. It's like he's heard the funniest joke in the world and yet here he is with someone digging their heel into the wound on his leg. "And, if you go there you're going to die, everyone knows you don't go to the funhouse it's his house."

Frank watches as he spills the beans finally to where the tunnel actually leads. "Fair enough." He then lifts his gun and shoots the man in the head.

Got enough info out of him apparently. Before his eyes go to that grate, lifting it to go inside.

Frank leaves the body behind crawling down into the sewer. It's not as much of a stench as one would expect. The water rolls past in the lowered section with walkways on either side allowing for ease of travel from one end to the next. The homeless have turned this place into a bit of a shelter from the looks, with wooden planks ran across from one side of the walkway to the other where the metal walkways are lacking.

A few of the alcoves hold sleeping quarters barely hidden by makeshift curtains of moth hole ridden cloth. Sure there's a direction that would lead to the Amusement mile, but this place is a maze of hallways and walkways and drainage pipes to allow rainwater to collect here. The water stinks of pollution, the air quality down here just as bad if not worse then on the surface, but one could easily use these tunnels to get anywhere on Staten island they wanted to. It's a bootleggers paradise.

Frank moves through the sewers with a careful step. For you never nkow what traps could be in place for someone just -waiting- for someone like Frank to come on down. He's certainly not afraid as he moves onward, attempting to find this 'circus' that the man spoke of. Frank is silent though, he doesn't speak, he doesn't complain. He's been in a sea of dead bodies before. Nothing smells worse than a bunch of corpses littering a field of lead and ash.

Though his eyes are peeled for any number of goons that could be guarding the entrance to the supposed base of the Clown, pistols are stowed away in favor of a submachine gun, his eyes narrowed down the sights as the Punisher makes his rounds.

He wanders those sewers for a long time, minutes turn to hours. The path is a winding twisting one with only his general knowledge of the direction of the Amusement Mile guiding him. It's a strange thing really, wandering the sewers looking for a clown. The local residents hide from him as he moves about rats squeak and skitter across the darkened halls.

It's a wonder how the workers can even find their way around with how much of a maze this place is. The stench of dead bodies mixes in as apparently a few of the homeless have manged to pass away in their sleep within the depths of the sewer system only to be left forgotten between patrols of the maintenance crews that keep this whole thing running.

Frank is a focused man. He keeps going, he at least wants to know exactly where the Joker's base of operations is, even if he doesn't actually go through with his plan to light the place up in favor of a likely smarter option. No, though he does come across the dead bodies of poor homeless men and women who thought they could find a place to sleep there. Shame. He takes a deep breath after a moment, attempting to use his natural abilities at navigation to find what he's looking for.

Eventually the winding path leads him to a set of double doors built into the sewer. It's like the mouth of a giant clown head double doors the teeth. There's something in the air something about this that makes the hairs stand up on the back of ones next. As he steps closer a terrifying laugh echo's out in the air. It's a laugh that rattles down to the bone, down to the core and rebounds around the brain.

Frank looks at the door then when he finally comes across it. he stresses out, buth e makes no outward reaction as he beholds the sickening laughter that seems to come out of the door, but he doesn't back down and he doesn't look away. He's seen far more horrible things in his life than to be scared of this...but mysteriously, he is. He's afraid. But he's far more courageous than he is afraid. so what does he do? well, he's smart. He knows he's moving into the lions den, so he actually memorizes this location in his mind's eye, making sure he has it down, before he actually moves on. But what he does do? He takes a note and he sticks it on the door with his combat knife. What's drawn on it?

The same skull that's on his chest.

An easily recognizeable 'I know where you live' that should get the Joker holding his gun a little tighter.