I hadn’t told my wife, I hadn’t told anyone. Who would believe me? And if they did, I’d just become a freak. I should have told her though, she would have understood.
I wish I could say that the worst part about my first mission was the costume. It was hideous; an old black Halloween cape, black jogging pants, tight black t-shirt, and a tattered bandana with holes cut for the eyes. What a joke. I went flying over the city looking for crime.
Even now I’m surprised. Even in the nicest town you can find someone to help in five minutes, if you are really looking. I found her in fifteen. A back alley, a college girl, and a man with a gun on top of her. Would have just been a rape if I hadn’t shown up. I landed in the alley and demanded “Stop!”
“What the fuck?” the punk turned his gun on me.
“I said stop.” I stood, chest puffed out, so goddamn confident. I took two steps towards him.
It hurt so bad, the punk shot me, apparently invincible doesn’t mean you don’t feel pain, the bullet never penetrated my skin, but it hurt so fucking bad. I fell over and screamed. I heard another bang as he shot the girl, Marie, her name was Marie Swanson, and in that instant she became just a mess of red hair and blood. I could hear his footsteps hitting the pavement as he took off running.
I launched myself towards him blindly. He made it a block before I plowed into him. I hit him three times in the face before he went limp. I caved in his skull and snapped his neck. I sat over him, covered in blood for forty-five minutes before I could more again.