𝐒𝐈𝐂𝐊𝐋𝐄 𝐌𝐎𝐎𝐍 → frank castle

nine.

Following after him, he switched on the dim lights. The room was barren. A camping bed, just a few dumbbells around, a bench press and a bar fixed onto the roof.

"You take the bed." He said. "I'll see you in a few hours. If I don't come back by 1:20am exactly, I'm probably bleeding out somewhere. Take this." He said, tossing her a small flip phone.

She clasped it, and looked at him.

"Don't worry." He said. "It's a burner. Don't touch anything." He said, putting on his trench coat.

"C'mon. I'm a millennial, I'll never pick up if you call me. Text me." She grinned as she opened the flip phone.

"Just pick up the phone." He hissed.

Tamara simply rolled her eyes and sat on the bed.

Hours passed. She ignored Frank's demand not to touch anything. What could she do? There was only a bunch of computers around and it was just text on the screen.

Not something like Google or YouTube. The stool on it looked like it had been collecting dust anyways.

She looked though the draws underneath the desk. Papers among files and more.

"Everything here is boring." She thought to herself.

No wonder Frank was so ripped. All there was to do was work out.

She would've given anything just to have something to do. It was literally like being in solitary confinement. Soon after, she tidied up the files she had left strewn around the concrete floor and lay in the limp bed.

There was nothing else left to do apart from nap, and she couldn't even bring herself to do that.

What seemed like months after, she noticed the small clock on the phone read 12:50am. The room had become eerie since night fell. A humming from the monitors, the spooky green lights and the cold air.

Suddenly, the phone blasted a ring tone causing her to jump. She picked it up.

"..Hello?"

There was no answer but she quickly pulled the phone away from her ear. There were too many gunshots that made her ears ring.

Across town, Frank crashed onto the floor. Hitting against the asphalt and tasting blood in his mouth.

It was a miracle he'd survived the hail of bullets. But the truth is, even though the police force were rigged and dirty, there wasn't much action going against him because he was doing what needed to be done.

Even they knew. Particularly Detective Soap. Every time the plan had failed, he'd always thrown people off of Frank's track.

Regardless, he knew Frank could escape them with ease.

He tried with all the might left within him to get up but his body wasn't co-operating at all. Clawing his way to an alleyway.

He could hide in the shadows until he regained strength. Unlikely, but he knew he had it in him.

The entire area was a fiery wreckage, with lifeless bodies scattered around. Normally Frank tried to keep the killings as lowkey as possible, but sometimes as Curtis told him once, he truly was a shit magnet.