An adaptation of the works of Garth Ennis into a Punisher film that I think would do justice to the antihero Frank Castle with recap of casting.



I’m a hardcore Ennis/Max Punisher adherent. So I see the Punisher’s roots as being completely inseparable from his origins in Vietnam; there was a moral ambiguity to that war that marred it in the psyche of this country and in the minds of the men who fought in it like my uncles. I don’t think there is another period of American history that could have borne such a character as Frank Castle.

This adherence to a specific timeline can have benefits and faults when transitioning Punisher properly to film. For one thing in Ennis’ run it makes Frank a man of sixty, this adds gravitas to the character, but also makes his current adventures more unbelievable in that a man of that age could really survive his nightly activities and I think average movie goers would have a hard time with it.

This problem offers an interesting solution though, as anyone who visited or lived in NYC in the time period between the late sixties to mid nineties could tell you NYC today is Disney Land compare to how it used to be. The reality is a character like the Punisher would have a hard time finding the level of prey to keep things interesting in modern day NYC, and you can’t move Frank to somewhere like Detroit, he is a creature of NYC.

So what’s the solution to the age and urban renewal problem? I really think to make a good gritty Punisher featuring a man in his late thirties/early forties in a crime ridden city with enough filth to warrant his presence the film should be a period piece set in New York circa 1978-1983 when NYC was the crime capital of the world, the DA’s office hadn’t cleaned out the mob or the police department for that matter and you could buy a 12 year old hooker in the middle of time square at noon on a Monday while surrounded by porno theaters and peep shows. Think I exaggerate? Ask anyone old enough to know the town at that time. Like I said today’s NY is Disneyland compared yesteryear.

That would be the NYC that Frank would know best, the NYC where he fit best. You’d just have to go to Detroit to film it.

As for characters:

I've read Punisher with and without Micro, I prefer Frank without him. Micro was designed to serve as a conscience for Frank; Frank doesn’t need one. To do what he does I have a hard time believing he’d keep a guy around who had perpetually cold feet about the mission he set himself to. Frank protects and even has a soft spot for women and children, but he will kill at the drop of a hat once someone crosses that line he has drawn in his mind.

That was the whole reason that Ennis had Frank blow Micros head off in the first story of the Max run, to point out that he has really removed himself from humanity or the need of conscience. The man could kill his best and only friend without hesitation once he crossed that line. That set Ennis’ version as the definitive version of Frank Castle to me.

He is a man removed, and a man consumed. He has no illusions as to why he does it. It’s not for his family, though they were the last straw, it was the breaking of a man in the jungles of Vietnam. It was when a good man found that there was a darkness inside him; he enjoyed the fight, he liked the killing, he had honor, he had a code, but to say he does what he does solely out of vengeance is wrong. Frank does what he does because at his core he too is a sociopath and he knows it; that is why there is no deep soul searching for Frank… He knows what he’ll find there. A dead, hard core that has sloughed off the need to even be human, he has become death, he has made a deal with death, he punishes these men because he hates them. Ennis wrote it best Frank was always the Punisher. His family was just his last chance to turn down another path.

I see a Punisher film devoid of campiness, of super villain wannabes, of deep self introspection beyond the monotone of Frank’s sparse and practical narration, I see a movie where the fighting is purely reality based and grounded in military tactics turned against a men high of the power of a gun and no conscience to tell them no. I want to see a bleak landscape where the hero knows he’s not making a damn bit of difference; just bailing against the tide. He does it because on some sick level he needs it. Punisher is one of my favorite characters, because there is so much more that can be read into him.

The level of violence in War Zone was better, as I believe that the Punisher is inherently violent and the results of his actions should not be sanitized. However, the camp factor and outright ignorance Lexi Alexander displayed insulted me. I want there to be stark realistic violence in Punisher, violence that makes you feel uncomfortable in its brutality and finality not cheer that someone got their face blown off. A History of Violence was the best film I've seen in recent years to capture what I mean. I saw AHV in theaters and during the dinner robbery people cheered for Vigo up until that final shot took of the robbers jaw... Then silence. No one expected something that brutal presented in a distinctly nonhollywood way. It was harsh. It was brutal. It was overkill. It was ugly. It slapped the audience in the face as if to say, "This isn't funny," Punisher needs that: violence unstylized; ugly and graphic and real.

Punisher could be a huge hit I am convinced of that, he just needs a director and screen writer that understands him and understands what he represents in all it disturbing connotations. And most of all he needs a studio that has the balls to turn lose the leash and be willing to accept controversy. Because if done right the movie will delve into the depths of a very dark mind, a mind that, frighteningly, a lot more of us identify with than we would like to admit.

The story I envision would be an a amalgamation of Ennis’ “In the Beginning and Up is Down Black is White” encompassing mostly the arch surrounding Nicky Cavella as the principal bad guy. The CIA and O’Brien portions could be used later and preserved mostly in their entirety.

Frank Castle aka The Punisher:
Javier Bardem

Javier Bardem caught my attention in "No Country for Old Men" when he played the uncompromising hitman Anton Chigurh. Bardem can lend a quiet anger to his characters that is perfect for Frank, in addition his weathered appearance and staring dark eyes. He is also gifted with a voice that would lend itself perfectly to the voiceover narration of Punisher's War Journel. A great actor and a great physical match for Frank Castle.

Dennis Franz

This is kind of a cheat and Micro is not even a character I would use in the first Punisher film, but in strict adherence to the feel of the Ennis run I’d have to go with Franz. After all he was the visual basis used for the character in Ennis’ first Max run “In the Beginning.” Besides, no one knew what the hell a microchip was in 1982.

Nicky Cavella: Viggo Mortensen
Nicky is a tough one, a truly deranged guy, twisted and damaged in many ways. Handsome, and charming, but utterly sociopathic a man made a monster by a childhood so screwed up that one wonders how he can even function.

Cavella’s lieutenants

Pittsy: Joe Pesci

There’s really only one choice for Pittsy and now that Pesci has emerged from retirement at the correct age to play this senior psychopath. In a way Pittsy is the worst of the characters Pesci mastered in Goodfellas and Casino, think of it as a chance at some near self parody. Pittsy is a frightening explosive little guy and no one does that better than Joe.

Ink: Steve Buscimi

Ink was drawn as an amalgam of Christopher Walken and Buscimi, I like Buscimi for his shear oddity and the chance to see him play a silent character in contrast to his motor mouth persona. The return of Donny as it were, or at least his evil lazy-eyed brother.

Larry Barrucci: Alfred Molina

The terminally over his head New York Captain by default who summons Cavella home from exile in Boston. A character like this can quickly become annoying as being the weak willed guy constantly wondering what he has gotten himself into. Molina has the strength of talent to make you feel for Larry, but not wish for his eventual death.

Supporting Cast

Detective Martin Soap: Paul Rudd

My version of Soap is not directly played for laughs or as comic relief. He is a good cop, just burned out, who sees Frank as a necessary evil. He serves as the sole member of the Punisher task Force and has long since turned informant for Frank, supplying him with needed criminal wrap sheets containing known associates and haunts. He is more or less the official body counter of all Frank’s crime scenes. His character fills the role left by the absence of Micro.

Commissioner Sellers: Kurtwood Smith

Soap’s embattled boss who comes under the most pressure as Punisher runs rampant after Cavella’s sacrilege.

Auntie Mo: Kirstie Alley

The creator of Nicky Cavella. I don’t know what scares me most the fact that I’m even casting her, or the fact that she’d have to have a fairly graphic sex scene. Bluugh.

Big Jackie: John Turturro

Small role in the Fic, but it will need a good actor, perfect cameo.

Don Massimo Cesare: Abe Vigoda

Who else can you see as a 100 year old mafia boss?

Don Donny 0Cesare: Vincent Pastore
Vincent Pastore
As a self professed Garth Ennis Punisher MAX junkie, and was infuriated by the train wreck that was Punisher: War Zone. It took some of the best characters of Ennis’ run bastardized them and threw them in to a hack kneed story that robbed them of their color and flare and replaced it with a neon background Schumaucherian nightmare with cheesy effects and a performance so bad I could scarcely believe even Dominic West phoning in a scene chewing excretion of a Tommy Lee Jones Two-Face impersonation.

Three films and still no one gets Frank Castle. So far we’ve had a Coreman level half assed eighties action flick, a mismatched Tampa based western, and a violence for violence sake abortion of a third rate action flick and what will probably be a career ending bomb for Lexi Alexander. The funny thing is two out of three of the men cast as Frank Castle have done a fairly good job of giving life to The Punisher; I am speaking of Tom Jane and Ray Stevenson. Top that off with some truly terrible bad guys in the form of an overacting scenery chewing John Travolta handing in his worst villain since Battlefield Earth, and an unrecognizably bad Dominic West who confused comicbook with cartoon.

No, so far Frank has been quite well screwed by his previous film outings. Cheated by ignorance, I like to say. Ignorance of just who The Punisher can be by directors, writers, and producers who can’t see anything deeper than a shot ‘em up flick with a guy in a black suit with a skull on his chest. I won’t repeat who I think Frank is here, for that I refer you back to my original article. But to do him justice I propose this: If you’re going to make a Punisher film do it right, and of all the creative teams I’ve seen work on Punisher over the years I think Garth Ennis got into Frank’s head best.


The tale I present to you is not one I profess is wholly mine, as a basis for this story I amalgamated two of Ennis’ story arches from the MAX series; “In the Beginning” and “Up is Down, Black is White.” Much of this story is a reshuffling of the events presented by and some scenes and dialog taken directly from Garth Ennis’ stories. So don’t scream plagiarism, I give full credit to Mr. Ennis as the primary source of inspiration for this tale I present you. Some is directly Ennis some is directly me. It is a Punisher film the way I would love to see and one I hope you will all enjoy. So I give you part one of my Punisher FanFic based on the works of Garth Ennis.


Scene I - Prosterno totus sic quo hic malum, tot sic quo hictela enim niteo.

Our story begins with the view of a man walking through darkened trees, with voiceover.

(Voice over/narration: PWJ - Punisher War Journal)
PWJ: Six years is a long time to kill. I spent three in 'Nam, and twice that now fighting my own war. Six years of picking off perverts, rapists, mob "soldiers," street trash, dealers, pimps, and scum. In the end for all the blood and human waste I've waded through I haven't made a single fucking dent. Maybe tonight will pay off in at least letting them know that they are never safe; not from me. Tonight the untouchables of New York are going realize just how touchable they really are.

The man walks to a stone balcony overlooking a long low backyard of an estate, a pool is in the midst a hedge maze and arbor to the left.

PWJ: The Cesare Family appeared in New York as a small time racket in the 1920’s, took over Hell’s Kitchen in the 1950’s. The Kitchen has been good to them I see.

He lays down his gear. We see him rummaging through the maze, and the arbor.

PWJ: Almost thirty years of blood and sex and drugs buys a nice spread. Lots of influence. Influence leads to protection from all the right people; cops, feds, anyone who got in their way. No one can influence me. No leverage. There’s only one thing I want from people like the Cesares.

He hears two pair of footsteps approaching, he slides into the shadows.
Two men stop under the arbor. They talk and light cigarettes each flick of the lighter illuminates Frank against the wall unmoving.
In a quick movement we see Frank grab the man on the right in a head lock with one arm while pointing a silenced .45 point blank at the second man’s face. We see his terror.

PWJ: That’s exactly what I want.

Inside we see party goers enjoying a party behind a young woman we see flashes outside the window in the garden twenty yards away. No one notices.

PWJ: When I heard that Donny Cesare was throwing a bash for the old man I could hardly believe my luck. The word was out that family was coming from as far as Kansas City. Too good to pass up.

A large fat man stands up on the landing of the grand staircase. He is Donny Cesare, he is the Don of the Cesare family tonight is the 100th birthday of his grandfather, the old don, Massimo Cesare.

PWJ: Don Donny, the fat fuck has his fat little fingers in every pie on the west side and racked up quite the body count to do it. Influence, like I said buys untouchability. The old man, Don Massimo Cesare: king of New York in the roaring twenties. The only guy Murder Inc was ever afraid of they say. There were a lot of ways I could have handled this, but there were going to be a lot of women and kids here tonight. So in the end I just said fuck it. Let them come to me.

The younger man finishes his toast only to see his grandfather’s head burst.

Donny: Papa!

PWJ: Old guy was one foot in the grave anyway, but after all he’s done he didn’t deserve to die in bed with a shity diaper and a smile.

He looks to the back of the room and there at the doors to the grand patio stands the Punisher.

Donny: You cocksucker!

Frank then shoots Donny in the head as well.

PWJ: As for Donny, he’s had it coming for a while.

The crowd erupts in confusion as the soldiers scramble getting their women and children to safer areas. We see Punisher walking briskly, but calmly through the grounds toward the large stone deck.
PWJ: Figure a minute of confusion. Get the women and kids away. A second or two to get pissed and get the guns that they checked at the door.
Two limo drivers appear nearby Frank effortlessly shoots both unarmed men.

PWJ: A few seconds to make the dumbest decision of their lives and come out those doors.

He climbs the stairs and we see him drop the bipod of an M60.
The men begin streaming out of the house.

PWJ: Blind rage. They haven’t even seen me yet. Wise guys are nothing more than retarded children with guns. All balls and ego and no brains. They call themselves “soldiers.”

Frank lets them get within twenty yards and opens up on a group of two dozen. The men are shredded by the steady fire.

PWJ: I debated about bringing “the pig.” Seemed like overkill. But I needed something reliable and belt fed. Haven’t gotten to open her up like this since ‘Nam. For a moment its Picket’s charge, Roark’s Drift, Wounded Knee, the killing fields, the first day on the Somme. World War Three in north Jersey. Its fuckin’ beautiful. And here pouring lead into a human wall I feel some semblance of peace.

The second group is at the pool and arbor, they take cover as best they can and some fire back, but the 60’s rounds shatter block walls and claim more men. Some retreat for the arbor and the hedge maze.

PWJ: Even amongst wise guys there are some with brains enough to get out of the rain. If any of them were actually soldiers they might be a challenge. They wade right into a world of shit and don’t even know it. The Claymore: one pound of C-4 stacked behind more than 400 ball bearings. Things could rip the legs off an elephant. I used thirteen of them.

Frank lets the men get well into the maze and then sets off the antipersonnel mines and claymores he had laid earlier the arbor explodes in a hail of ball bearings. Wounded and dazed men stager about and dying men crawl toward safety.

PWJ: I could stop now. But like I said, it was all too good to pass up. Fire at moans, at movement. Give them the whole belt just to be sure. Fuck it. I’m only human.

Frank stands reloading the belt and feeds another 100 rounds into the crowd; stopping only when there is no motion or sound.
He picks up his gear and walks towards the trees.

Scene II - “Aegri somnia” - Horace

We are now in another wood following a middle aged man stumbling in the darkness. He falls cursing an unseen assailant.
Johnny: You evil fuckin’ cunt! How could you? Your sisters; they were four fuckin’ years old! Oh God, my Mary. Oh, baby.

After some time we see a .45 raise held in small untrembling hands, the man screams a final curse

Johnny: Goddamn you, Nicky Cavella! I shoulda’ strangled you when you was fuckin’ born. Evil little shit!

(Slight homage to Miller’s Crossing) We now see a small boy about of about ten; he fires the gun shattering his father’s skull.

Back at the house some time has passed, the young man watches as mobsters mill about, shaken. In the dining room the boy’s mother and twin sisters lie dead scattered about the room.

Mobster #1: Jesus Christ. Who’da done this? Little kids wit their heads blown open in there.

Mobster #2: Shut it. The boy’s right there. He doesn’t need’ta hear shit like that.

A large woman dressed in gaudy late fifties style bursts in, Auntie Mo. She embraces the boy.

Auntie Mo: Jesus Fuckin’ Christ! Where’s my Nicky? Come here to Auntie Mo, baby.

Mobster#2: We found Johnny, Mo. He’s out back in the woods about a few hundred yards in.

Auntie Mo: Jimmy, that fuck! He does that with his bumps. Walks ‘em out like that. My own fuckin’ brother. Did you see who did this baby?

Nicky: I… I was bad. Dad sent me to my room. I heard people downstairs…(sobs)…
They were screaming at dad. Then I hear BAM, BAM, BAM! They just started shooting and the twins were screaming…(crying)… I heard footsteps and I hid, but I saw Uncle Jimmy. It was Uncle Jimmy! He killed Mom and Dad.

Auntie Mo: That sonovabitch. I want his heart you hear me?! Bring me his fuckin’ heart.

Mobster#1: You’ll have it by morning, Mo. You have my word on it.

When the men have gone the woman leans down and cradles the child.

Auntie Mo: You’ve been a good boy, Nicky.

Nicky: I did just like you said, Auntie Mo. I ditched the gun and everything. I did good didn’t I?

Auntie Mo: You did great, baby. My little Nicky. You should’a been mine. My little soldier. Auntie Mo will take care of you from now on, baby. You’re
Auntie Mo’s now. Now we’re gonna get everything we deserve.

A grown man wakes in a cold sweat. A hooker stirs beside him.

Nicky: I’m not paying you to sleep. Get the hell out of here.

Hooker: Jerk.

He flips on the TV and sees the news from Don Cesare’s New Jersey estate.

Reporter: Police are still tight lipped about the slaughter here at the Cesare Estate, but we have counted at least fifty, yes fifty, body bags as a steady stream of ambulances arrives through the gates behind me. Sources inside have said that this was the work of Frank Castle, former US Marine and decorated Vietnam veteran, turned vigilante after the murder of his family at the hands of the New York mafia six years ago. Since 1976 “The Punisher,” as he has been dubbed by the media, has racked up a death toll of nearly three hundred people and it looks like after this evening those numbers will be rising significantly.

Cavella leans back and smiles.

Scene III - Mors ultima linea rerum est

It is a cloudy cool autumn day, a legion of Cadillacs wind around a cemetery. There are several awnings erected around the grounds; this is one of many burials scheduled that day. Pall bearers bring a large coffin from the hearse, grunting under the strain.

PWJ: One thing you can always count on with these guys it’s a showy funeral. A Don dies and he becomes a saint. Even his enemies pay respect. Vultures circling a carcass, drawn by the stench. Lured by the void to be filled and they always fill it. Someone always steps up. They can’t help themselves. The body can’t stand without a good pair of legs under it. I’ve got the ax; now I just need to keep cutting the legs out from under them. Bleed them. Push them. Never let up.

We see the funeral service through crosshairs. The sites dart from face to face.

PWJ: Capelli; south Jersey. Bruno Stassito; muscle, little drugs on the side. Don Vito Gnucci; runs half the whores and numbers in Brooklyn. Piagee. Regeti. Big Jackie Paladore, Coto, Tony Z, Big John, Bumpy, all there. Now just stay there and compare your dick sizes while the kiddies get to the cars boys.

Frank watches as the service ends and the families walk away. The men linger talking near the graveside. Frank looks to see FBI beyond the main gate; he waits for the archbishop to leave. He has lost three of the mafia heads, but he will not chance hurting the innocent. Finally he raises a detonator.

PWJ: You bring dogs in to sniff for bombs at the cemetery, but you leave the body unattended at a mortuary all night. Easy enough to pick a lock. And after all, who would hide a bomb under a body? He’d have to be a sick son of a bitch.
It explodes shredding the men around it. Frank then raises his rifle and begins finding other targets which had moved out of the blast radius. He quickly drops six men. He packs his gear and we see for the first time he is in an old hotel nearly half a mile away. He walks downstairs dumping his weapon down a trash chute. He proceeds into the boiler room and through a service door into a side area that empties into a small grate under the street from there he accesses a subway utility tunnel where he has stashed a helmet and work vest, he then appears amongst workers in a subway tunnel doing repairs, he walks through the crowd and onto a platform dropping the disguise into a trash bin and calmly waits for the next train.

He exists the train in Hell’s Kitchen and walks to a small tenement in a rough neighborhood. He enters the basement apartment, checking a small piece of tape on the door has not been broken. He opens the door a little and reaches in pulling the string from a stun grenade. He walks in looks cautiously and then goes to the fridge dropping his coat on the counter. He removes a sandwich wrapped in wax paper and flips on the television watching the news report the damage and death he has wrought; twelve more dead.

Scene IV - Nullum Gratuitum Prandium

A small restaurant in Queens.
Three men sit at a table. The younger taller man is from scene II he smiles at the waitress as she refills his coffee. Seated with him is Pittsy a very short bulldog of an older man who appears to be fuming. Across from him sits Ink a slightly fidgeting taller gaunt man wearing think glasses and thinning unkempt dark hair, he grunts at the waitress and she looks at his severely lazy eye. They are joined by Larry Barrucci a heavy set balding man that we have seen manage to survive the previous Punisher attacks.

Larry: It’s a pleasure to finally meet you Mister Cavella.

Cavella: Call me Nicky. These are my associates, Pittsy Gazzera and Ink. Please
Larry, sit down.
Steve Buscemi

Larry: How was the trip down from Bah-ston. You have any trouble pah-kin’ the Cah?

Pittsy: What’re you some kinda’ fuck?

Larry: N-no, Mister Gazzera. I…

Cavella: Easy up, Pittsy. So you finally decided you needed the big guns. Eh?

Larry: Exactly! We got chopped off at the knees by this Punisher fuck. We lost Cesare, his consigliere, most of the capos. We got plenty’a soldiers left, but no one to lead them. No one worth a damn anyways. That motherfucker gutted us; guys visiting from all over. Nobody knows what the fuck to do.

Cavella: You still got Big Jackie Paladore, right?

Larry: Big Jackie got his legs blowed off at the funeral. He was always more interested on what he could get up his nose than being a good earner anyway, can’t have a guy like that as the new boss. No, the new capos agree, he’s gotta go.

Cavella: I see. Sad when that happens. So you got the bright idea to call me?

Larry: Exactly!

Cavella: Let the past be the past. The prodigal son returns.

Larry: Exactly! Ya know I started out on yer dad’s crew, I always thought Donny gave you a raw deal after the thing with the chinks.

Cavella: Don’t ever try to bullshit me Larry. I’m about as welcome in this towns as a fart in an astronauts suit.

The waitress arrives with their food.

Waitress: Steak, medium rare.

Cavella: Thank you, honey. What a doll.

Waitress: Burger, well.

Ink: Thanks.

Waitress: And the Chowder.

Pittsy: What the fuck is this?

Waitress: Chowder. New England Clam…

Pittsy: It’s fuckin’ red.

Waitress: It’s supposed to…

Larry: That’s how we make it down here. It ain’t like...

Pittsy: You shut the fuck up. It’s supposed to be white. The menu says New
England clam chowder you make it like in fuckin’ New England! Now get this shit away from me an’ bring me a bowla chinken soup, ya hear me? An’ try notta have ya fuckin’ period in it this time!

The waitress walks away beginning to cry. Cavella wipes his lips with a napkin as if nothing has just happened. Larry looks around confusedly.

Cavella: Look, if you want me to run this show and give you Jackie’s head I can do that, but I’m willing ta bet you haven’t said shit about me bein’ here to Jackie Paladore and Big Jackie has no love for me and vice versa. And the fact remains that Jackie is the senior capo. Might make some waves to move him aside.

Larry: Already decided. The new capos agree his fat ass is done. Do whatcha gotta do.

Cavella: [smiling] That’s a long leash you got there Larry. I like that.

That night at the hospital Paladore awakens to see Nicky smiling at him.

Big Jackie: What the fuck is this? Cavella. What the fuck are you doin’? Get the fuck outta here!

Cavella: How long has it been Jackie? Eight years? You seemed taller then.

Big Jackie: Fuck you, you twisted psycho fuck.

Cavella: Be nice, Jackie. You make me mad and things can get ugly real quick. You know that. Your boys don’t like you Jackie, I agree with them. I think you’re a useless fuck. What d’ya say Ink?

Ink: Huh.

Cavella: I am gonna ask you a question Jackie. Yes or no answer. Give me the wrong one and somethin’ very bad is gonna happen. Will you pass over the chance at boss and play nice with me in charge?

Big Jackie: You?! You? Ya crazy sick fuck. Fuck you.

Cavella: That’s unfortunate Jackie. Really. Pitts how does that make you feel?
The bathroom door opens and Pittsy is there with a young teen gagged with a miniblind cord tied around his neck.

Big Jackie: Jackie junior, what?

Cavella: Jackie, I never said somethin’ bad was gonna happen to you.

Big Jackie: No, please, Nicky. Please. I’ll do what you want I’ll…

Cavella: Shut up you weepy fat fuck! I been in bean town for eight years because o’ you high and mighty cocksuckers. The big bad Big Jackie pissin’ his pants. Whata’ya think of this Pittsy.

Pittsy: Fuckin’ faggot fuck.

Cavella grabs the fat man’s check an forces he head over to watch his son. Nicky leans down uncomfortably close. The last vestige of his smooth veneer which has been fading as the situation progressed has now gone and we now see a truer vision of what lurks inside Nicky Cavella, his face is savage, his voice tinged with a vicious glee and seething anger, we see a monster

Cavella: Now you watch motherfucker. All actions have consequences. Karma is a bitch Jackie-boy.

Pittsy strangles the boy until his throat bleeds and he slumps over; Cavella holds Jackie down, forcing him to watch the boy die. Ink quickly covers Paladore’s mouth and nose. They hold him down until he suffocates. Pittsy stuffs the young boy into a duffle bag and hoists him over his shoulder. The group leaves the hospital. A few blocks away they stop the car and Pittsy tosses the bag in a dumpster.
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