Super

The rain soaks me to the bone. I can feel it, seeping in through my clothes until it meets my skin. I get goosebumps. It's cold. I can almost see my breath as I push the air out of my lungs. It's nights like these that hit me the hardest. Makes me wonder what I'm doing out here in the dark. Still, the pitter-patter of raindrops keeps me awake, so I go on. I go on because it's all I can do.

A car alarm echo's in the distance. That's right. I'm not the only one who's still awake. This place, this city, it never sleeps. It lies awake at night and wrestles with itself, tossing and turning. It's artieries and veins clog thick with fumes. Some parts are dim, while others glow eternal. It grows damp and weary. Just like me.

Sitting up here, atop these buildings, it's hard not to feel alone. It's hard not to feel superior. Hard not to feel resentment. With the miles and miles of concrete stretching on before me, I almost feel queasy. It's too much. I feel microscopic relative to the colossus that lies before me. It's David and Goliath, and God forgot to give me any rocks.

My fists are clenching. I breath. Loosen my fingers. I hear the joints pop. The release is good. Time to get to work.

Walking to the ledge of the rooftop I drop off onto the fire escape and make my way down to the streets. Down here the smell hits me. Sometimes I forget. In the Bronx, it smells like shit. The street is quiet. Everyone is scared of a little rain. Good.

I make my way across the street and under a small awning. The sign in the window is for a deli. Not what I'm looking for. Reaching in my coat pocket, I pull out a small black book. Leather bound. My notebook. Flipping through the pages, I'm careful to keep them dry. The address. I'm on the right street. I tuck my book away and head off down the street.

Further down, I find what I'm looking for. An alleyway blocked up with yellow police tape. It reads 'Crime Scene: Do Not Enter'. Thankfully, tape is flimsy and words can't hurt me.

Inside the alley it's dark and I can barely see. I tap my fingers on my right temple and that changes. The alleyway is now illuminated by a fluorescent green light. My mask blocks out the shine from the goggles. Night Vision is a beautiful thing.

The scene is old and soggy. Partially protected from the rain, but it's had police boots tramping all over it. Careless. Still, it's here and I'm here. I'll find something. This is my element. I feel at home here in the rain, behind the yellow tape. Other 'heros' stop crimes. They swoop in at the last moment and snach up the bad guy before he gets away with the heist of the century. But when a woman is beaten and raped in some God forsaken alley, where are they? Shaking hands, kissing babies, and smiling for the cameras.

I don't have such lofty aspirations.

On the ground I find blood. Useless. The cops will have already taken this and run the DNA. I need to find what they missed. I follow skid marks on the concrete, where she was dragged by her hair, which leads me behind a dumpster. This is where it happens. I swear I can still smell the sweat. My stomach turns.

On the ground, I find cigarettes. Picking one up, I tap the ash into my hand rub it between my gloved fingers. The texture tells me it's not too old. The bastard had a smoke after he did it. I wonder if he's left something behind. I check the dumpster. No. The trash cans in the alley. Filled with trash. Then, over by a back door, it catches my eye. I pace over and pick it up. Yes. A matchbook. It's not too wet. Must be his.

I pull out my notebook and take the address on the little box. "Danny's Dive and Diner". I'll have to pay a visit.

I turn to leave, but I'm stopped. There, standing in the alley, I see three men. Big. One has a gun. Looks like not everyone's afraid of the rain. I've seen their kind before. Punks out to prove something. My reputation is beginning to precede me. I've never had a group waiting for me before. In a way, I'm touched. They begin to walk towards me.

"Hey Mister," one begins "didn't anyone tell ya it's dangerous to be out this late at night?"

The one with the gun waves it around. He's lucky he hasn't shot himself yet. "Yeah!" He growls, "You'd think you wanted to get hurt or something."

"Oh my!" Says the first one, "That would be quite the tragedy."

"Yeah..." The one with the gun snorts like a pig. Then, the one in the back speaks up.

"Guys, look, will ya? He don't look too scared. Can't even see a face..." Keeping well behind the other two. Younger. I can see his eyes. He's afraid. He should be.

"Christ Mikey," the one with the gun says, "shut up! He ain't no ghost like they say. Letting all that shit get in your head."

Urban Legends are helpful.

"Here, look." He raises the gun.

Urban Legends don't stop bullets.

Nowhere to go. I've got nowhere to go. I try to jump out of the way, but now my ears are ringing. My chest feels like it was smacked with a sledgehammer. Hard to breath. Need to stay calm. Don't pass out. Breath.

I hear the men above me, talking. One nudges me, see if I'm dead. I smell alcohol on his hot breath. I'm not about to move. The other is elated. I hear something about a reward, a hit. Explains it. The third, the kid, is still nervous. He wants to leave. Got to breath.

Something about proof of my death. The other is still laughing. Chest still killing me. I can feel my lungs working. I open my eyes. One is reaching for my face. For my mask. No.

I grab him by the wrist and for a moment, he's stunned. Then he tries to scream. No such luck. I jab my fingers into his windpipe and he falls. As he collapses, I elbow his ribs. I feel them crack. The air rushes out of his lungs and he passes out. I shove him off and get up.

The man with the gun is stuttering to himself. "I shot you. I put a bullet in you. You're dead. You gotta be dead!" I knock the weapon from his hand and grab him by his shirt. I pull him close. I smell his deoderant. Disgusting.

"Do I look dead to you?"

I let this one scream and then punch him out.

Only the kid is left. He's on the ground. He's crying. He's only a kid. He should be at home in bed, or out with a girl. Something. He doesn't deserve this. No one deserves any of this.

I pick him up and put him on his feet. Looking him in the eyes now. I can see myself in his pupils. Black mask. A blank, black slate. No reaction. No emotion. Nothing. Shit, I scare myself.

"Tell them that it takes more than bullets."

He nods. I see his fear. Only a kid.

"Get out of here..."

I toss him and he scurries off into the night. I can't help but feel pity. I can't help but hope I've scared him away from this alley, this life. But I know I haven't. He's hooked now. Just like the rest of us. We're all fucking hooked, from the cradle to the grave.

I walk over and pick my hat up from the ground. It fits snugly on my head. I like this hat. Matches the grey suit and pants. Looks good.

As I step out into the rain once again, I shiver. It really is cold tonight. Best head home and try and get some shut-eye. The day will be here soon. And then tommorow night this continues. Where does it end? Never, I think.

As I walk down the street, I find myself touching my chest. I can't help but grin under this mask.

Urban Legends are helpful, and if the filth of this New York want to think I'm some sort of vengeful Shade or some sort of madman, let it be.

I'll keep my Kevlar.