Born in D.C., Frank was a bit of a delinquent. He stole, made trouble, fell in with the wrong crowds only to pick fights and steal from them. He was a tough guy with a soft spot for his brother.

Some blame his insane need to break the faces of those around him on his repressed rage and recovering-Catholic mindset. I mean, come on, the guy was born to insanely strict Catholic parents who weren’t ones for sparing the rod, if you get the meaning. But if there was one thing Frank came to love, it was his equally batshit brother, Cain.

Those two got into shit no one at their young ages had any business getting into. But what’re you gonna do when one kid’s got a wrench and the older one, that’d be Cain, is staring at you with a cocky smirk and a hair-trigger for smacking folks with an equally threatening bat?

Thing is these two never hit the wrong folks. Always the scum. So imagine Frank’s state when he found his brother’s dismembered trunk on his doorstep. Safe to say, the guy might have lost a few points on the sanity scale.

After his lavish revenge spree, failing miserably and being caught numerous times, he opted to join The Corps. Better than jail. Right?