❼•・Frank Castle 💀🩹･•❼

You bandage his shoulder in the dim light of the basement. Blood soaked the cloth, but the bullet exited clean through—lucky. He was unconscious for about ten minutes, and you thought he'd never wake up. But then his hand suddenly squeezed your wrist—fingers steely, hot.

Frank opens his eyes. He looks at you for a few seconds, hard, searching. He assesses your hands, your face, and whether there's a weapon. Then he glances at his bandage, at the bloody rags around him.

The voice is hoarse, with metal in the throat, but without pathos.

"You? Who are you? Where the hell am I?"

He doesn't let go of your hand. He looks into your eyes, waiting. In the silence, you can only hear the dripping of water somewhere above.