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JackCain · (07-02-2017)

**The camera fades up into a sparse, brightly lit medical room. Jack Cain lies in a hospital bed - with restraints keeping him in place. A nurse walks in holding a tray with a large steak, mashed potatoes and asparagus**

[Image: ep-6-punisher-hospital-850x560.jpg]

[Image: ep-6-punisher-hospital-850x560.jpg]

What the Hell’s this for?

It’s your lunch Mr. Cain.

I don't mean that you stupid bitch. I mean this..

**Cain indicates the restraints**

Oh you poor dear, you don’t remember do you?

Remember what?

They said the sedative might have some side effects - didn't think amnesia was one of them though. You were brought here after saturday night, when, quite honestly Mr. Cain, Brock Lesnar destroyed you, and you lost your Championship.

I remember that part. I remember that loser Neville cheatin’ his way to winnin’, and that ain't Brock Lesnar. That’s Thomas Nixon’s bastardised waxwork of him. Probably followed him around and collected a pubic hair or somethin’ then cloned the meathead. Still as dumb as the original though. I mean why the Hell am I tied down?

Well, when our mutual friend told us you were on your way here, he said you were a little… aggressive, so we had to take care with you. When you regained consciousness, you knocked out four men and broke the jaw of two of them. So we had to sedate you, and to be frank, I don't want you punching me.

What the Hell do you mean “mutual friend”?

Well, that’s not for me to say. All I can tell you is that someone likes what you’ve been doing Mr. Cain. And that someone would very much like you back on your feet. They’re also willing to help you in whatever way necessary to solve your Lesnar problem. They can’t do that publicly of course, but what they can do is give you the tools to get the job done.

Are they paying for all this?

Why of course. We couldn’t have you going to a hospital. Not after all the things you’ve done. You’re far more useful to us out of the system.

I don't wanna be someone’s patsy

You’re not going to be a patsy Mr. Cain. Your benefactor has plans. Big plans. And they believe you have a part to play. With that in mind, when they do come to you, you’d be wise to listen to what they have to say - and return the help they’re giving you.

They must have cash if they’re paying for all this?

Very astute Mr. Cain. You’re not as dumb as people keep making you out to be are you?

**Cain strains at the leash at the insult**

You had a concussion when you came in here and severe bruising and lacerations. If you’d have been taken to a hospital you’d have been sitting at home now with some painkillers and a headache. Here you’ve had first class medical care, good food - and everything you need when you’re ready to leave.

When’s that?

Whenever you’re ready. I get the feeling that you’d like to be out there going through a list of people who’ve pissed you off. Your benefactor would like for that to happen as well, so look in the locker when you’re ready to go and they’ll be some things in there to help you on your way. I’m going to undo the restraints now - but know this, if you attempt to strike me, there’s a 300lb man outside with a tazer and a nightstick who will be in here and restrain you.

Just one?

**The nurse releases the straps after placing the tray on the nightstand. She backs away as Cain gives her a wicked smile. She shivers as she locks the door behind her. Cain gets out of the bed wearing a surgical gown. He grabs the steak and takes a big bite, savouring the taste**

This is still a cage.

I don't like bein’ in a cage

But I ain’t one to look a gift horse in the mouth either.

I been bribed before. Been asked to do someone a favour in return for their help. Never normally take them up on it.

But now things are different.

Now I gotta deal with a whole buncha people who I don't like.

So maybe I gotta make a deal with the Devil to get Hell on my side?

Neville? You got lucky son. You’re a little pipsqueak snot nosed British shit who does what the British always do - let the Americans do all the fightin’ then sail on in to take the glory. You ain’t a champion kid, you’re an opportunist. How many times did you try and take me down in that match - and ya couldn’t do it. You had to rely on Lesnar, Nixon, and you pinned Myst. And deep down, I think you know that’s the only way it was gonna happen.

But y’know what? I couldn’t give a shit about that title now, because you’re welcome to it. All you are now is a target - and I like targets. But I won’t be comin’ after you anytime soon - know why? Cos you’re small fry? A small problem I could turn to any time and blink out like spittin’ on a match. You’ll do for when I’m bored and ain’t got nothin else to do. So good luck in your title defences against the dregs this company has to offer, you get a couple of those wins under your belt and maybe you’ll get taken seriously. I might come back for you then.

Rest assured though, whether it’s for the belt or not - you’ll pay for your little parlour trick, and all the fuckin’ military history in the world won’t help you with a strategy for that.

**Cain walks to the closet in the corner. Inside are a black sleeveless T-shirt and a pair of black jeans. Black fingerless gloves and military issue boots are off to one side - and a black leather coat is hung up at the back. On a shelf is a pine box. Cain dresses, wincing with pain as Lesnar’s beating is still having after effects**

I haven’t forgotten you either Thomas. You and Puff the Magic Fuckin’ Dragon. You can talk all you like about how this wasn’t your idea. I don't see you jumpin’ in front of the bus? This fake Lesnar - this joke Lesnar - is just doin’ your dirty work for ya. All the stuff you can’t be bothered to do, or are too frightened. Can’t really decide if you’re a chicken shit or just lazy.

Either way, keep bringin’ your fuckin’ monster to every show you can. I’m ready for him. And I’m ready for you. If you think I ain’t - then you must be as dumb as you think I am. Your monster is a sham - and fakes always wilt in the sun Thomas. When he does - there ain’t gonna be no one left to stop me from makin’ you pay for your people’s sins. I’m good at collectin’ that type of payment.

And payin’ up brings me to the last fuck in the way. Peter Fuckin’ Gilmour.

I don't have a title anymore Gilmour, and while that might take somethin’ away from the match for you, all it does for me is mean I ain’t gotta worry about staying injury free for Saturday. I can focus all my attention on you.

So you are a warm up Peter - a big fuckin’ warm up - but that don't mean I’m takin’ you lightly. You’re the face of this company? Jesus, I gotta better chance of gettin’ on the front of GQ with this face after Lesnar plastered me than you have on your best day! The Kings make fun of ya becuase you’re a joke son. You had a Universal Title, and did they etch your fuckin’ name in history? No! Because ya don't act like a champion. No one would know you held that belt unless they look at the history books. You sit there and whine about how people make fun of ya - no fuckin’ wonder ya dumpy little bastard.

You ain’t a former Champion, you're a current joke. X-Treme? We ain’t in a fuckin’ Centurions cartoon Gilly, we’re in the real fuckin’ world, and in the real fuckin’ world, people get hurt. I don’t care if you do go psychotic - if the rest of the time is anything to go by that’ll mean you just buyin’ different smellin’ bath salts.

Gilmour - no one takes you fuckin’ seriously because they just see a guy who spouts off about being hardcore, but every time you’re asked to step up to the plate, McBride bails you out or you get your ass kicked. The Kings treat Cadryn like a jester, but you’d have to get six promotions to even get to that level.

Dogs like you need puttin’ in a cage like this Gilmour. So maybe whoever this mysterious benefactor is, I’ll get him to reserve a room for you here, because you’re gonna need it. Only it won’t be a concussion you’ll be dealin’ with. They're gonna need a lotta plaster, lotta bandages, and a fuckin’ brain scanner to see what’s left inside your skull after I’m done with ya.

**Cain opens the pine box, revealing two jet black metal knuckledusters. He places them over his hands and flexes his fists. He repeats the wicked smile he showed the nurse**

I’m gonna knock you out Peter. Then I’m gonna punch ya again, and again, and again, until the inside of ya head will be like a fuckin’ McFlurry.

**The camera begins to pull away as Cain stares into the lens**

Gilmour? Neville? Nixon? And you, Lesnar? I know all your names. They’re all on my list. And while it might take me a while to get to all of ya. Rest assured, I will get to ya.

And when I do, you’ll feel all the rage, all the suffering, all the pain, and all the fire, refocused back on you tenfold.

The man’s comin’ round.

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