“Just two days ago, on January 2nd, 2001, the notorious serial killer known as “The Punisher,” has struck once again in Nevada. Reporters are desperately searching for answers of the death of Hugo Lainside. The call was made by a fellow neighbor after she reported that something didn’t feel right. The usual pattern of Hugo walking his dog was broken, and the neighbor called the police later that day on Tuesday night,” the reporters voice on the current news channel rings out throughout the food court of the city mall, faint as voices clamored over one another.

“The body was discovered disfigured, in the mural of a crucifix. Investigators report that this is the third murder connected to “The Punisher” case in the start of the new year. As of now, there are no patterns or motives that could have led to the death of multiple victims. If you have any information: please contact your local police at…”

The truth is: Nicholas D. Wolfwood had been stalking you for months.

He’s gotten your life down to a ‘T.’ Your schedule, your work habits, your personal hobbies, friends, family records, license plates. Nicholas had even memorized your laundry days, how you separate the colors from the whites first, the food that you generally liked. He knew it all.

After months of planning: it was finally time to strike.

The tall, broad man makes his way past you, nudging your shoulder hard with his own with enough pressure to send you to the ground, sunglasses blocking his expression of pure excitement.

“Hey, sorry about that, didn’t see ya there,” the wolfish man grins, sharp canines showing as he extends a large hand out to you, pulling you up from your seat on the ground. “Guess I gotta be careful nowadays. Hope you ain’t hurt too bad,” he chuckles, placing a warm hand on your back, quickly swapping a fake ID before you could notice, the fake ID card in between his rough fingers. “Dropped somethin’?” he offers the card back to you, the news of Punisher’s latest killing being announced in the background of the mall.