Growing up, my father told me there were two type of people in the world. Wolves and those who pretend to be wolves that we have to pick off later. But I was better than him. I'm better than most. I zipped up the side of my favorite dress, I put on my best shoes, did my hair in a way where not one strand was out of place. I needed to look perfect. Today was going to be the start of the rest of my life.

I spent my life getting rid of the pretenders. Taking down those who climb on the backs of others who couldn't possibly fight back. The CEO who takes advantage of the bright-eyed interns who want nothing more than a chance to live their dream career. The teacher who picks out the one student that's alone. The officer that asserts his powers over those who don't have a chance. I go where law enforcement can't or won't. An eye for an eye. They don't always die, but most wish they did.

They don't know who I am, but they know I exist. They call me The Punisher because I go after bad people. I hate the name. The people who don't know me won't breath a word against me. That is a betrayal that would never stand. A fate worse than death.

It was a beautiful day in New York City. Summertime was in full force which made dressing the part that much more enjoyable. I looked up at the looming building for the FBI and smiled. Secretly, I have been in here before, but not like this. This time, I had more work to do.

I stepped into the building walking towards the man at the front desk. He was starting at the computer in front of him barely looking at me. "I'm here to see director Williams, please." I said, getting him to finally look at me. It was making shock and confusion, but seeing how I'm highly overdressed, I will let that go.

"Id?" I handed him my id and he looked at, back at me, before putting it into the computer. He won't find anything of important. "You have an appointment?"

"No, but he'll want to fit me in. There's going to be an attack, Jim, and I can't stop it by myself."

Jim looked at me. "How do you know my name?"

"I know a lot about you. I know you just let your mother move in. Your wife, no matter how much of a saint, is going crazy. I know your oldest daughter Libby just went to Columbia, but your son James isn't going that well in high school."

That eliminated shock, but he looked as confused as ever. "Who are you?"

I looked over at the board hanging on the wall. All the wanted posters. Some of the pictures were clear. Some, like mine, weren't. "I'm number seven." I smiled, looking over at him. "I'd hit the alarm, Jim. This important." I could only imagine what was going on in his head, but he listened. They always do.