The Vigilante

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Hi, I'm a first time poster to this forum. I wrote this thingy the other night on my phone. I do random one shots occasionally to flex and mainly for fun. This is an original one shot which isn't based on anything particular. Though I did get the idea from a costume a main character wears in a video game, if that matters. So without further ado, here is The Vigilante.

‘You will never know my name nor my identity. When you see me coming, it is to take your life in response to the ones you have taken. I am not afraid nor do I tire. I am the result of the innocent blood you have split and ignorantly salted the earth with. There is no escape.'

The words were written in a classic style, in italics and their sense of foreboding was felt amongst the three homicide detectives standing above three broken bodies. Around them large powerful CSI lights illuminated the area and a small tent protected the scene from the now oncoming rain. Detective Cross, a wizened, grey haired veteran stepped forward and bent down as far as his arthritic knees allowed. He stared intently at the three broken male bodies on the floor. In his youth, Cross was known as 'the bull' for his aggressive zero tolerance stance on all crimes. He was six feet three but as age had caught up to him, he'd been reduced to six feet two but his build was still taut and muscular. He had a sharp pronounced nose with shining green eyes. Cross had seen many things in his thirty-two year long career but he had to admit that he was almost stumped by what he saw in front of him.

"So, what've we got?" Cross asked his two younger detectives.

The youngest one, Malloy spoke first, a man of average height with a lean build. "Victims are members of the local triad organisation. We haven't got their names yet but they don't appear to be anymore than foot soldiers. If they were lieutenants, they'd have a distinctive look."

Cross refocused in the three bodies and observed them intently. He'd seen women and men beaten to death with hammers and fists but this was different. The men's bodies where battered and broken beyond belief. "That it?" He asked dryly.

The third Detective, Baxter took over, a tall, suave movie star looking man. "No, the coroner said its unlike any physical beating he's ever seen. What's more, he's a boxing fan, and said that just by looking he'd guess that the men had been hit by something akin to a heavy weight boxer. That's between 1600 and 1800 PSI, close to a ton of force. He also said that they'd been hit over 300 hundred times, each, all within the space of seconds. Its, well, it's completely unnatural."

Cross grunted as he stood back up and considered this. "There was only one attacker."

"Sir?" Malloy asked slightly confused.

"Check the bodies, the blows are all from a set of similar sized fists. They're not abnormally large but the strength behind them is unreal. It's a theory at the moment but I'd bet my wife, the dog and the house on it."

Baxter spoke again. "How on gods earth does someone do this? And what's the motive? Malloy, any of your gang contacts know of a hit man that can do this."

Malloy pushed up his glasses. "My gang contacts have filled me in on hitmen before but they normally strike with weapons. It's rare that this sort of beating is ordered and if it is, it's done to send a message. But none of the gangs I know of would have hitmen like this. It's too trained, too precise and frankly, too inhuman. Besides, who'd want to start a gang war over this? As far as I've seen, the gangs are content with their control over the various boroughs. Starting a war would only stand to make us pursue them more."

"Malloy's right,” Cross said. "This wasn't gang ordered nor was it some isolated event. That calling card,” He said as he glanced over at the writer left in the A4 piece of paper. "Isn't talking about starting a war. He's talking about hunting those that he deems responsible for innocents death."

"So a vigilante?" Baxter said though his tone was that of a question.

"Its possible," Cross said with a sigh. "But what's more concerning is that these guys didn't even have a chance to fight back." Both detectives look back at him with quizzical looks. "Don't take my word for it, look at their hands." Both of the detectives averted their eyes and looked at the victims hands and knuckles. "There's no defensive wounds. These three don't appear to be the sort to go down easy in a fight. They're trained and ready but couldn't land one punch. Were they overwhelmed or simply blinded by this things speed? These are questions we need answering and fast. Otherwise bodies are gonna start piling up."

Elsewhere

The street light above flickered and the neon sign to the sleazy bar seemed to echo the flicker. The eight men stood outside the bar over the bleeding woman. She was petrified and for once wished she had heeded her friend's warning. Staying out this late, on her own, was just asking for trouble.

"You're going to die here, bleeding the dark with nothing but your tears as companions." The ring leader said, his voice heavily accented with a Russian twinge.

The woman was so petrified that she couldn't scream. Her tears had lost any sense of stopping and her voice had gone. She knew she was going to die but she knew she wasn't ready. She prayed, she'd never believed in God but now she hoped that something out there was watching over her. As if on command she opened her eyes and there he was. The man standing behind the crowd was tall with pitch black hair and piercing blue eyes that seemed to shine in the dark. He wore a black, almost purple suit with dark leather gloves. She focused on him, her eyes pleading for his help. He focused on her, there was no reassuring look and for brief second she thought he was going to join them. But then he walked towards the men, undaunted by the number of them there were. The man on the edge of the circle saw him and turned his venomous rage at him.

"Get lost or we will beat you to death." He spat.

The man looked at him, smiling softly as if amused lightly. "You would threaten me? You who have salted the earth with an innocents blood." He raised his right index finger and pointed at the woman. "You would defile her, then kill her to prove that you are superior? You do not deserve to live."

The Russian straightened and sized the man up. "You talk big but I will break you."

Another lightly amused smile sent shivers down the woman's spine. "You think that you can do this and simply get away with it? That sitting in a holy place, praying for your sins will take them away. You know not how this world has existed. I am the consequence for the blood you have spilt. You are all going to die."

The Russian finally had had enough of the suited man's words. He struck with a right jab but before he could even land it, the punch was reversed so that his arm was bent all the way back. Within seconds the suited man struck, landing hundreds of punches into the Russian's torso. The Russian took one step forward, coughed up blood and fell to the ground. The soft pattering of the rain was all that could be heard. The temperature around them seemed to drop by several degrees. Regaining some of their composure, three thugs darted forward. The first on the left threw a quick punch but suited man weaved in between it and grabbed the arm. In seconds the arm was broken, so severely so that the bone protruded out of the skin. Fresh blood lined the man's gloved fists as he landed more punches into the thug's head and torso. He fell, dead before he even touched the ground. The centre thug and the thug on the right both struck at the same time but their punches were easily evaded. It was almost as if they were moving in slow motion. As if trapped in a bubble that they could not escape. The suited man alternated between both landing thousands of punches between the pair of them. Their bodies both looked misshapen and deformed after he was finished. The last four thought that their extra number would prevail but again they were wrong. The thug on the farthest right appeared trained and launched a quick straight kick hoping to catch the suited man unaware. But his leg simply stopped as the suited man caught it. Their was the briefest hint of a smile as the suited man snapped it so hard that the thug's leg appeared to have been dismembered. As the thug collapsed he howled in pain, crying out for his mother in a hysterical half screaming, half shouting manner. The suited man ignored him and set to work on the others. In a matter of seconds it was over. One had been beaten so hard that he no longer resembled a human. The other two were dead and bleeding. Blood stained the suited man's attire and dripped of his leather gloves. The woman had managed to crawl to a nearby dumpster. She had seen everything, and even then she didn't believe any of it. She watched as the suited man set to work on the injured man. He landed punch after consecutive punch into the man's face, each sounding like rapid fire explosions. It was only then that she noticed that he seemed to be enjoying it. The air around him seemed to be icy as a she noticed the full insane, inhuman smile on his face. After the thug's jaw was practically hanging off, the suited man stood up and smoothed his suit. He didn't wipe the blood away, he simply left a piece of paper on the Russian leaders dead body. A lightning bolt struck and without realising it, the suited man was now standing over the woman. She wanted to scream, every fibre of her being was telling her that this man was no man at all. He was a monster. The suited man cocked his head to the left, focusing in on her with his shining blue eyes.

"You have nothing to fear, my lady." He said, his voice unnaturally calm. "No harm will come to you now." He bent down and picked her up, carefully, to avoid any further damage. For the first time all night, she felt safe in his arms but that added to her fear. She knew from his demonstration that he was no saviour. He was a reaper. "I will never harm an innocent, not as long as I live or as I am needed. You are safe with me."

And with that, they disappeared into the darkness leaving a trail of bloody bodies left behind. The paper's words seemed to glow in the dark, the notes foreboding tone seemingly dropping the temperature further.

'You will never know my name nor my identity. When you see me coming, it is to take your life in response to the ones you have taken. I am not afraid nor do I tire. I am the result of the innocent blood you have split and ignorantly salted the earth with. There is no escape.'