“Y’know for a while,” Frank said. “Going from city to city, for a while I thought I’d be able to stop. Take it slow, enjoy myself. The newspapers over at Gotham called me the Punisher and I thought maybe I could put the Punisher aside.”

Frank scoffed. “And then I see a scumbag pinning a girl to a car, a junkie stabbing some bastard to death and a doctor touching kids and getting away with it.” Frank turned to face the doctor. “And I realise it isn’t so easy. My old lady said I needed order; I think I just need a war. Normal day to day life just doesn’t make sense for me doc and people like you, people like those rapists and murderers, they ain’t normal.”

Frank’s shadow loomed over the doctor; he brandished the knife. “Knife’s sharp enough.”

The doctor let out frightened screams, his face was red like a pimple about to pop and sweat drenched his face. Ignoring the muffled screams Frank walked over to the sink to clean the knife. He ran water over the glinting blade noticing a pile of old newspapers on the side.

“Y’know I’ve been thinking of going home doc?” Frank said. “Ain’t no place like home after all.”

The newspaper headline read: “Gotham City mourns.” Underneath was an article about the recent Joker attacks and the names of the many people he killed.

“Visit Maria, Lisa and Junior,” Frank said. “Tell them I’m doing okay.”

He flicked the knife as droplets of water scattered in the sink. He slowly walked towards the doctor who pleaded with Frank with his eyes. Frank’s shadow grew larger and larger.

“After that I think I’ll do some cleaning up.”

Frank jabbed the knife straight into the doctor’s neck. The doctor choked, letting out a pathetic sputter. Blood poured into the knife and dripped onto the floor.

“Gotham’s been going to shit lately and I think it’s time for some change,” Frank said. “And a little cleaning didn’t hurt anybody.”

Frank pulled out the knife. The Doctor coughed as blood poured down from his neck, staining his clothes crimson. His life was draining alongside his blood. He choked out one last burst of blood before his head lulled to the side.

“I’m going home doc.”

Frank turned his back, running a hand over a fresh scar at the back of his neck where a chip used to be. He walked over to the newspapers and jammed his knife into one of them.

“Cause nobody, nobody likes half-measures.”

Blood dripped from the knife, trickling its way down onto the black and white forehead of the Joker.