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Vigilante - Part 1: Primoris Cruor(First Blood)

A man from Hell is more dangerous than an army

He looked at himself in the mirror. This was who he was, or more what he was; a 29 year old engineer working at one of the largest companies in the country. You could call him successful, and career wise he was. His position paid better than what he could spend, but then again, he didn’t spend much money. He wasn’t a social person and he didn’t have a girlfriend or kids, not even cousins or close friends. All alone, that’s what he was. And for some strange reason, he liked it like that. For others it was strange, but not for him. For him it was perfectly reasonable. Solitude was like a paradise to him, a place to hide. See no evil, hear no evil.

One could wonder what he had gone through as a child that turned him into the lone wolf he now was. The story would make even the most experienced therapists’ skin crawl. When people said that they went through hell, he flinched. Not because of the memories, he had learned to live with that, but because they had no idea what hell was. A hard day at work or annoying clients wasn’t hell. His childhood however, was too many people, if they had known about it, worse than hell.

His father had never been much around in his life. He worked a lot, maybe more than he needed to. He had never had many conversations with his “dad” and the few he had had didn’t last very long. A few minutes tops. When he looked back on his childhood, he was both angry at his dad for leaving him, but he understood him as well.

His mother was an abusive drunk and a junkie. Whenever she was capable of standing on her feet she would slap him around for no apparent reason. He would have gone to school; the place where he got bullied pretty much every day, and when he came home his “mom” would start yelling for something that wasn’t his fault and in the end slap him until she got tired of it. Very often it would be because she was out of booze or drugs. When he got older she would stop with the hitting, but only because he was strong enough to stop her. He was probably the only child in the world that appreciated heroin or high amounts of alcohol, because as long as she was high on heroin she would stay away from him. Same when she passed out drunk.

To top it all off he and his aunt had their very own “special secret” as she called it. It started when he was 10 and his aunt and mom had been on a drinking binge in the living room. His mom had passed out and his aunt had staggered up the stairs and into his bedroom. It started out with a sort of show and tell of the female body, but a few visits later they were performing oral sex on each other. At age 12 they had developed a fully sexual relationship. He knew it was probably wrong, but a kid shouldn’t have to think about morals. It lasted until he was 16 and his aunt died from alcohol poisoning. As a result he had a completely detached relationship to sex. It wasn’t the beautiful nice thing they talked about in school, it was just something you did to release the pressure.

So thanks to a fucked up family and going through hell at school he learned to appreciate loneliness. Despite all this he managed to get good grades. One might say that there was something divine watching over him, or maybe it was the teachers that saw something was wrong, but had no chance of helping him. There simply wasn’t enough proof to get him out of the hell hole.

The moment he had finished school he moved out and off to university. While his mom was passed out drunk one night he left for the university that gave him his scholarship and he never looked back. He never called, never wrote and he received neither either. To him his childhood was a closed chapter and he had no family. The only family and friend he had was solitude, even through university.

So there he was, sitting in his couch in his house that he had managed to buy. It wasn’t a big house, since it was rather central, but to him it was more than big enough. It also allowed him to keep a basement where he had set up his own little workshop, building gizmos and useless things, just to pass time. His life was good. At least that’s what he thought. But the city wasn’t good. The news showed story after story about drugs, gangs, murders and robberies. Children and other innocent paying with their lives for what the criminals did. He shook his head. What this city needed was a superhero. He smiled to himself. Right. A superhero. It was a shame those only existed in the comics. The chance of being bitten by a mutated spider was slim.

He turned off the TV and went upstairs. Brushing his teeth and going to the toilet before he went off to bed. Despite that he had laughed from the thought, he couldn’t let the idea of the superhero go away.

The next day was work day, as it usually was. The office hadn’t changed over the weekend and neither had the co workers. Victoria, his boss’ secretary, looked beautiful as she always did, but not that he noticed. He never noticed beautiful women, not even when they openly hit on him. Rumours about that he was gay had always followed him. Maybe they’d shown some mercy on him had they known what he had gone through. Victoria had always had a good eye to him, but he never noticed. Despite having been there for 7 months and always dropped hints to him, she was stubborn and wouldn’t give up. She was determined to get the shy man out of his cocoon and turn him into a butterfly.

The others were talking nonsense as usual. Sports, movies, games, music and all the other topics that men who needed to enforce their sexuality as 100% straight through conversations talked about. Usually he wouldn’t pay any interest to what they said, but like a sign from above he heard them talk about superheroes. He stopped paying attention to his work and begun to eavesdrop on the conversation. There was a lot of bullshit being said, but then the conversation took a turn that intrigued him; superheroes without superpowers, normal men who fought crime. Of course Batman was brought up. He was good, but he had all the money and martial arts training you could think of, so no wonder he was a perfect crime fighter. Then he heard about something he had never heard of before. The Boondock Saints. Apparently they were crime fighters, but they had no special technology or anything sci-fi. All they had was guns and an inventive mind.

The second the clock turned 4 he got up from his desk and headed straight home, but only after making two stops, one to the local deli to get groceries and the other to the local movie rental to pick up the film. He had to look at this, find out what it was. He put the TV dinner in the microwave and waited four long minutes while reading the back of the cover of the film. He quickly grabbed his food and a drink from the fridge and put the movie on. He sat as hypnotised through the entire movie.

These guys understood what the modern society needed. It didn’t need a Superman or Batman to help the police bring the bad guys to jail. What was required was someone to do what the justice system, which included not only the courts but also the police, couldn’t do. Prison didn’t cure a drug dealer’s bad habits. He knew all about that. For those associated with gangs it only boosted their reputation. A year or two in jail and they were back out on the street. The city needed to be purged, cleansed of this evil. It had to be ruthless and efficient.

Criminals only understood two things; power and fear. If he could make them scared, then the streets would be safe again. Let the city’s criminals know that those that stepped over the line would risk their lives. Yes, that was the only thing that would stop them. Even before the trail of thought was finished he had decided. Now all that was needed was planning.

He found some old clothes that he could discard after the deed was done, making sure it couldn’t be traced back to him if the police searched his house. He had to choose what weapon to use. In the movie they had used pistols and submachine guns. There was no chance he could get that without ending up on someone’s radar. Although he had the money, he didn’t have the contacts to buy a couple of .45 calibres with silencers. He could get regular pistols through the legal market, but he needed something silent. A rifle from long range was out of the question. He didn’t have the training to pull that off. All that was left was a melee weapon. He decided to go with a knife. It was silent, small enough to hide and would cause enough damage to kill. Kitchen knife would fit perfectly. No one would find it suspicious if he bought a seven inch kitchen knife. Pay it cash, but for now he could use one of his old ones.

All week he used the evenings to plan his attack. Which area of the city to strike, when to strike, how to get there. He knew he had to get some distance between his house and the kill zone, but he couldn’t go too far either. He had to go on foot. Couldn’t risk taking the car and be seen in that. A licence plate was all that was needed, and he’d be finished before his task had begun properly. He picked out a street that was known for drug dealing and other mischief. Find an isolated dealer and take him out. His old clothes could make him pass for a junkie, so he would have no problems getting close without arousing suspicion.

Friday. Today would be the day of his baptism. The first day he would kill a man and start the cleansing of his city. The clock at work seemed to go slow, slower than any other day in his life. Seconds felt like minutes and minutes felt like hours. His thoughts were trailing off, wondering what it would feel like, how the victim would react, if he would get away and most importantly; if he had it in him to actually do it.

He was the first to leave the office. He waved and wished everyone a good weekend. Victoria looked up as he went towards the elevators and sighed. Another week of signals and hints, and no return. How long should she keep up this game? He hadn’t showed any interest at all, just ignored her passes. Maybe he was just stupid. She would have to try harder.

He sat back in his couch, his heart working fast. He was eager to get out, move around, find his victim, but he couldn’t move before dark. It would be too dangerous to move in daylight. He tried to watch TV, but his mind drifted off straight away. To the kill. The great desire inside him to end a miserable person’s life. The want to do something good, a sort of revenge.

He looked outside. Finally dark. He changed into his dark baggy trousers and his dark hooded jumper. He would cover himself as well as he could, try to look scary enough that people would stay away from him, but not so scary that they would notice him. He would be another gangbanger walking down the street. The knife went into the lining of his trousers, hidden by his large baggy jumper. He used the backdoor and jumped over a few fences just so they couldn’t connect the dark shadow his house. Everything was going just as planned.

Right before he reached his destination he stopped. He needed a breather. He knew he was out of shape, but the walk had taken its toll on his body. Jumping over fences and keeping a good pace through the street was more tiring than he thought. The adrenaline wasn’t pumping enough in his body yet to push him through it. He rested in an alley and calmed down his breathing. Soon.

He reached the destination. An area of the city known for its gangs, drugs and prostitutes. Although it was a prime time for criminal activities, the streets were surprisingly empty, despite that it was a Friday night. He walked around a bit before he spotted a target. A man standing in an alley. The placement was perfect. He could walk over and take him out, then proceed through the alley on his way home. He wouldn’t have to cross any major streets for another 6 blocks. It was perfect. His heart was racing. This would be it. This would be his first kill, but something wasn’t right.

Then he realised. How did he know this was a drugdealer? Maybe it was just a man waiting for his friends. Maybe they were going to head downtown and get drunk and have a good time. He needed confirmation, but how? He waited a bit longer and then saw a man approach the alleged dealer. They shook hands twice and then the stranger walked away. Was that a transaction? Had he just sold a small bag of dope to a junkie? Probably.

He waited a bit longer. He needed to be sure, remove all doubt. After 15 minutes two more strangers had walked up and pretty much done the exact same movement. A simple quick handshake. If you blinked you would probably miss it. There was no doubt in his mind that the man in the alley across the street was a dealer. This was it. This was his target. His heart began to race.

A few deep breaths to calm himself, lower the heart rate, make sure he looked like any other junkie. He jogged over the street and walked towards his target. The target didn’t suspect a thing. Just another customer needing a fix. If things continued like it had been up until now, it would be a good night for business. He got closer, his hand moving to his hip and under his jumper. He clutched the knife hard and pulled it up, hiding it behind his back like he was holding a wad of cash.

“Yo, wazzup, man.” Was all he managed to say before the cold blade got rammed into his stomach, the broad blade almost splitting his liver and tearing up a kidney, sealing his fate. The customer looked into his widening eyes, the druggie realising what had just happened. The pain seared through his body as the blade twisted a bit, making sure to do maximum damage to his internal organs.

His heart pounded like a fast drum as he looked into his victims eyes, heard the gurgling as he tried to speak. He pulled the blade out and stepped back, looking at the dealer’s stomach where he had pushed in his blade. An almost inaudible gargling sound came from his throat as he clutched his stomach and fell back against the wall before sliding down on the ground. To make sure his victim would die he walked over to him and firmly slit his throat, making sure he would bleed to death. He wiped the knife clean and stood up again, admiring his work like a true artist.

After what felt like an eternity, just standing and looking, admiring, he came to his senses and realised he had to get away, fast. He began to run in the direction he had figured out and ran as fast as he could, the knife still in his hand. His heart was pumping blood through his body, the adrenaline keeping the lactic acid away from his legs, making him able to run faster and longer than ever before. Time seemed to slow down as he got closer and closer to home. He jumped over a fence and sat down in a garden, not far from his house. No one around to see him.

He played the image in his head over and over again. The dealer laying dead on the ground, a stab wound to the abdomen and a slit throat. Blood everywhere. Although it had been dark, it seemed like the blood had been glowing, allowing him to see every drop. He could hear the gargling sound coming from the now dead man. He smiled. The feeling rushing through his body was tiredness and a pleasure unknown to him before. It had begun.

This story is protected by International Copyright Law, by the author, all rights reserved. If found posted anywhere other than with this note attached, it has been posted without my permission.

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