As a kid I used to run around with a ratty red towel tied around my neck like a cape just me and my imagination. Though it made me unstoppable in my mind. I loved playing the hero just as every kid did. I'd leap off porch steps like they were the rooftops of burning buildings and I had just saved all the people trapped inside, scream out ridiculous catchphrases, rescue the family cat from under the couch and call it justice at least that was the dream I had as a young boy. Mom would watch from the kitchen window, smiling like I was already somebody worth believing in but only if she had seen me now.
"Heroes have to be brave," she told me once, while she cleaned a scrape on my knee. "And good. Even when nobody's watching, that's how you are truly a hero is to always do good even if no one is watching, the praise is not what matters." Back then, I thought bravery meant jumping higher than you have ever had before. Now? Bravery means sitting here in this piss-soaked alley with blood in my mouth and my ribs humming like a broken engine…and not walking into traffic.
I failed. He got away. Again. He slipped out of my grasp even though I'd promised that would never actually happen again. He left behind ash from when he had disappeared, sirens wailing in the distance and a broken tired Vigilante no one would care about. I had to get up and crawl away somewhere to just maybe get an ounce of rest. Who knew how long I had been sitting there after he had left just thinking back on where I'd messed up.
I try to move a bit to stand up but I cough up blood. I was able to fight without feeling the pain in my ribs because of that boost I had from all that adrenaline but now it had worn off. I have to fight off the pain it's trying to hold me back from achieving more come on Victor! I began to crawl away slowly as the sirens approached ever closer to my position. If I got caught that was the end of everything. People who commit serious offenses can't work as a licensed hero. Please Victor go faster you have too!
I could hear my mom's voice almost ring out in my head "What kind've man cant even take down one villain you are no child of mine." Why was my brain twisting my mothers words around and making them bad? "You are no more than a disappointment." there it went again striking me harder every time like a barrage to my heart. No she'd never say that quit it Victor don't let all this negativity control your mind! I only have a bit more to go. I continued crawling towards the end of the alley. Damn that woman I helped her and she called the police on me just my luck afterall.
Finally, I was able to hold myself up by grabbing onto the wall and I ended up limping the rest of the way out till eventually I really wasn't sure where I was. All I knew was I had just kept walking and walking and now I'm in an unfamiliar area. Maybe if I just sit down for a while and collect myself everything will come back to me. I lean my back against the wall, still holding my side in pain, and close my eyes.
Next thing I know it's like I'm replaying another memory. Like when I was a kid and my family would always say how cute I was for pretending to be a superhero and saving lives especially my mom she would always cheer me on. At this time she knew I had no powers but she didn't want to break my young heart as she believes anyone should truly chase their dreams. But my dad was the other way around. He would always put me down and tell me I was stupid for wanting to be a hero and that I should actually aim for something realistic. My mom always said that my dad loved and cared about me; he just didn't want me to grow up and expect to make it as a hero and get my dreams crushed later down the line. Maybe he was right as look where I have gotten. I'm bleeding out on the ground and I'm fading quickly.
Then before I knew it I took my last breath. Everything was now black was this what death looked like? What was going to happen to me? Then a bright entity appears in front of me and as it approaches it looks like it is made of stars and galaxies but in the shape of a human body.
"What are you! Where I am!" I try to scream at this thing.
"Hush my child, you are in a realm where only I exist. You aren't here physically but here mentally your mortal body could not exist in here but be instantly torn apart if it were to be." It spoke to me. I tried to open my mouth to speak again but yet it put its finger over my lips and told me to be silent.
"What I am also happens to be none of your business except I hold godly power. You are blessed with a small percent of that like a test vessel to see if you are worthy or not." he spoke again. What is this thing talking about that I hold within me just a bit of divine power?! That couldn't be true there is no way?
"Get up child I'm not done with you yet just open your eyes and this is your real second chance at life to be something more." As he said that I opened my eyes and I was back in the alley and I was no longer bleeding out or in fact even actually dying. What the hell happened, who even was that I just saw? I must have been dreaming or something all though that couldn't have been possible. I was definitely injured so what happened?
I got up and dusted myself off as it was bright outside now so that time I was inside his realm all though just minutes in there it was hours here! If I really had some small percent of godly power did that really mean I wasn't actually powerless that whole time and that I actually did in fact have powers? I still had no idea how to even tap into them though. I punch the brick wall in front of me as hard as I can and I punch straight through. Wow holy shit I didn't think he was being serious but if not the case I would've just shattered my hand on that wall! This is incredible. I feel like I can be a way better hero now. I'll hit patrols twice as hard.
Criminals in this city are never active during the daytime so I'll wait till night time again. I wait a few more hours until night falls and crime starts to thrive. I took my first steps out of the alley down the sidewalk but tonight seemed relatively quiet the streets were usually always loud. Someone would either be screaming or like at least a loud street party people were always getting high and going crazy just because they can.
As I continued on my footsteps echoed against the wet pavement as I turned down the narrow side street, my breath visible in the cold night air. The streetlights cast long shadows between the buildings, and I was lost in thought waiting for something to happen when I heard the shuffle of feet behind me.
"Hey, you," a gruff voice called out. I turned to see two men emerging from the shadows behind me, their faces hard and predatory. Before I could react, they rushed me. The first man's fist connected with my ribs hard while the second grabbed me from behind. I stumbled backwards, trying to center myself and reach for the power that I had just had earlier but I couldn't activate it.
But something was wrong. Where there should have been that odd surge of strength, there was only... nothing. My muscles felt ordinary, human, weaker than before. "What the—" I gasped as another blow landed across my jaw. I swung back wildly, but my punch carried no power. The men laughed, sensing my own confusion and vulnerability. They worked me over methodically, driving me to my knees on the rough pavement. my mind was racing, desperately trying to understand why my abilities had suddenly abandoned me.
A boot caught me in the stomach, doubling me over. Another kick to my back sent me sprawling face-first onto the ground. "Not so tough now, are you?" one of them sneered, raising his foot for another strike.
That's when something shifted. Maybe it was the taste of blood in my mouth again that was a familiar taste now, or the way the concrete scraped against my cheek, peeling and ripping skin, but suddenly I felt a flicker—just a spark of what I had when I was fighting that fire guy. It wasn't the overwhelming surge I remember it being, but it was enough.
As the boot came down, I rolled out of the way and caught the man's leg, twisting with precision that came from muscle memory deeper than my own conscious thought. The sickening crack of his bones were a joy to my ears as I snapped his leg bone in half. He fell to the ground crying as I picked myself off the ground to handle the other attacker. I put my hands up getting ready for anything. My body was more durable and faster now just as it had been earlier.
The 2nd attacker throws a punch but I easily dodge as I spin around him to his backside to put him in a chokehold. "What are you going to do now your friend is crippled on the ground? You caught me in a really bad mood," I said as I tightened my grip around his neck.
"Woah hey there mister we were just messing we weren't going to kill you please let me go!" He squealed like a girl begging for his life.
"You see boy, what is your name?" I ask him.
"My name is Jonathan sir." he replies back.
"Well Jonathan I'm a hero or wanting to be one but no goods like you wouldn't learn a lesson unless taught in a very hard way so I'll just take your life because in reality I'll save countless others." I say in a very menacing tone.
"No sir please, please let me go heroes dont ki-*Crack." I snapped his neck and then he was dead, nothing but a lifeless corpse, there is no telling how many people he and his buddy killed however.
I stood over the lifeless body of the first thug, my chest heaving as the weird power continued to flow back through my veins. The second attacker was sprawled a few feet away, clutching his shattered leg and whimpering in pain. My boots scraped against the asphalt as I walked over to the injured man. Without hesitation, I grabbed the thug by his shirt collar and hauled him upright, his broken leg dragging uselessly beneath him.
"You son of a bitch," I snarled, my grip tightening on the fabric. "You think you can just jump me in some back street?" The man's face was pale with pain and terror. "Please, I—"
My free hand cracked across his face, snapping his head to the side. "I didn't ask you to beg!" My voice echoed off the narrow walls. "WHO THE HELL DO YOU WORK FOR?"
"I don't know what you're—" Another brutal slap cut him off, splitting his lip. "Wrong answer!" I shook him like a rag doll. "Someone sent you after me. Someone who knew I'd be vulnerable after such a rough encounter the day prior just like that voice from over the phone I'd already encountered twice. "WHO?"
The thug's eyes darted around desperately, looking for escape that wouldn't come. I drew back my fist, and the man finally broke."The Black Exodus!" he gasped out. "We work for the Black Exodus!"
My expression darkened at the name. I studied the man's terrified face for any sign of deception, then released his collar. The thug crumpled to the ground, gasping and clutching his injuries. Without another word, I turned and walked away, leaving the broken man bleeding on the cold pavement. My mind was already racing ahead, processing this new information. The Black Exodus—now I had a name, and names led to answers. The sound of the injured man's labored breathing faded behind me as I disappeared into the shadows of the city streets.
I pulled out my phone, its cracked screen reflecting the dim streetlight. The battery was at thirty percent—I'd need to find somewhere to charge it soon. More importantly, I needed somewhere to dig into this Black Exodus lead, somewhere with internet access and enough anonymity to keep me off whatever radar I'd stumbled onto.
Twenty minutes later, I was hunched over a computer terminal in a 24-hour internet café downtown, the kind of place that asked no questions as long as you paid in cash. The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, casting harsh shadows across the faces of all insomniacs lurking there and night shift workers grabbing coffee. Perfect cover.
I cracked my knuckles and started typing. "Black Exodus" brought up the usual religious references and historical articles about population movements. I refined the search, adding terms like "organization," "group," "underground." Still nothing useful. But I'd learned long ago that the internet was like an iceberg—the real information lived beneath the surface.
I tried different combinations, searched social media platforms, and dug through forum archives. For two hours, I came up empty. My eyes burned from staring at the screen, and my patience was wearing thin. The coffee had gone cold, and my paranoia was making me glance at every person who walked through the door.
Then I found it. Buried in a real estate forum, of all places, was a complaint from a building owner about late rent payments. The post was three months old, quickly deleted, but archived by the forum's backup system. The landlord had mentioned tenants who called themselves "Black Exodus" and operated out of a converted warehouse space. He'd been vague about their activities, but his frustration was clear—they were behind on payments and "conducting business at all hours."
The address was listed: 1247 Industrial Way, in the warehouse district near the loading docks. I memorized it, cleared the browser history, and paid for another hour of computer time. Now I needed to know what I was walking into.
Satellite images showed me a gray concrete building, three stories tall, with loading docks and minimal windows. The surrounding area was industrial wasteland—the kind of place where screams wouldn't carry and bodies could disappear without a trace. Perfect for whatever the Black Exodus was really doing.
I sat back in the plastic chair, my mind racing. I had a location. But that thug's face kept flashing in my memory. The fear in his eyes when he'd given up the name. Whatever the Black Exodus was, it was big enough to scare hardened criminals.
I looked at the address one more time, burning it into my memory. 1247 Industrial Way. Tomorrow, I'd pay them a visit. Tonight, I needed to find a place to sleep that didn't involve going home to my compromised home.
As I gathered my things and prepared to leave the internet café, I caught my reflection in the dark window. I looked like hell—stubble, bloodshot eyes, clothes that had seen better days. But there was something else there too, something I hadn't seen in months. Purpose. Direction. For the first time since the bank shooting, I knew exactly what I had to do.