NationStates Jolt Archive

I look in the mirror and the image staring back at me is disappointing. It is neither "perfect" nor even by most standards, "healthy". No matter how much air I suck out of the room, that damn gut still protrudes mockingly. Some might say bad genes, others will claim declining social standards and a more sedated culture, with a growing few claim parents just suck at making sure their kids are in shape. I perfer to blame those damn genes. Regardless, there is one undeniable fact-I'm overweight. Not disgustingly fat, the kind of fat that if you saw me at an eatery-you couldn't finish your meal. No, I like to call it a cross between husky and jolly. No, I think out of shape describes it best. Yeah-I like that better.

Despite this, I'm your normal 16 year old kid. A few months ago I earned my junior's driver's license. Now, My mother fears I'll drive off a cliff and explode mid-air every time I leave the house. The fact of the matter is when I go to use the car, she stops me and says goodbye like it's the last time she'll ever say goodbye to me. The emotion in her voice, the long hug, the clasped worried hands. My usual smart reply is: "Don't worry mom. I'm a teenager-I'm invincible!" This causes her plenty of worry but I can't help it.

My father was killed during a traffic stop three years ago. Frank Lasker, my father, was a good descent man who worked hard and loved his family. Naturally, there's those tense times that you just need to weather through. Other than that, he was a good father to me and my sister and a good husband to my mom. Grace-my mother, is a teacher at another school district, instructing students on English literature of the high school level. Jane, my sister-is a year ahead of me and has ambitions to go to Penn State and become a successful lawyer.

I still have a few years to decide which is good because I can't make up my mind. The trials and tribulations of every day high school life await me as I stare at the alarm clock on my dresser. It's nearly time for me to trudge out of the house and less than eagerly await the bus.

"Honey! I have to go now, have a nice day at school-okay?" My Mom sweetly shouts with one foot out the door already.

"Bye Mom!" I exclaim through the open door from upstairs. Then, the front door closes, signaling her departure from my life for most of the day. Now, I finally have some peace away from overbearing maternal love. This is where I can escape from reality for just a short while. You see, my guilty pleasure is comic books. Ever since I was a little kid, the world that comics offer just captivated my imagination and took me-an overweight, socially awkward teenager to a world where I could be anything and do whatever I pleased. In this world, the impossible is very probable and the unexpected is around every turn.

My comic book collection is...extensive. As well as numerous models, posters, as well as a plethera of dvd's. Everytime a superhero movie comes out, I become giddy like a school girl and eagerly await its' premiere. Now, I'm not one of those D&D losers, or a Star War's nerd. My passtime just happens to involve iconic figures like Batman, Superman, The Flash, and many many others. My favorite if ouf course, Batman. The complicated Dark Knight, prowling the streets, brandishing an array of high-tech gadgets to fight some of thee most incredible enemies imagineable. The personal conflicts, the battling ideaologies, the fine line between justice and revenge. I love it!

Sadly, my alone time with my collection comes to an end as I see the familiar yellow outline of my bus turning down the street. Damn! I dart down the stairs as fast as I am able, grabbing my bookbag, and leap out the door. The bus pulls up just in time and I climb aboard. The driver, Bob welcomes me with a thick southern drawl and offers a small smile as I say good morning to him. I'm one of the first kids on the route and there's only three other kids on the us. Linda Gray, Eddy Ferguson, and Vince Searson. Eddy Ferguson is one of my few friends. His head is plastered against the seat infront of him. I angle my way down the narrow row, past Vince who says nothing and Linda is bust texting on her phone.

"You alive?" I inquire as I sit down next to Eddy who mutters something incoherently.

"Sure...For now" Eddy mutters, finally lifting his head up. His hair is curly dark and scratches through it.

"The day's just started" I reply, feeling bad for waking him but it's too late to take it back.

OOC: This story is about a young, idealistic teenager who decides to become a real-life superhero. I got the idea from Kick-Ass but don't worry, this is going to be different.

At school there's an eerily somber tone. Silence streaks across the hallways and invades the classrooms. It's like some huge cat prowled through the school and stole everyone's tounges. I don't understand what's going on and Eddy-still in a slumber-is of no use. The crowds of students clogg the arteries of the school, causing a heart attack of congestion. In my homeroom on the second floor, manned by Mr.Brunswick, the tone is equally somber.

"Did you hear what happened?" One student asks another over homework hastily being completed for it's due date which is today.

"Yeah-it's terrible" replies another nearby. It seems like everyone is privy to this information except me. I'm used to it by this point in my life but it's still a sore point to be on the fringes of school society. Though it has it's advantages at some times, this isn;t one of them.

My ear's only detect bits and pieces, but the details are too scarce for me to formulate anything coherent.

"So Charlie-Can you believe what happened?" asks Tim Messigner, sitting behind me. The kid is usually just a lump in the seat behind me that shifts from time to time and is the last one out of the classroom whent he bell rins.

This is the fiurst time we've ever spoken.

"No, what's everyone talking about?" I inquire.

"Jim Paulsen overdosed-man" Tim informs me with a casual tone, "Yeah, did some bad drugs and died on Sunday"

Jim Paulsen? One of the elite? This is too incredible to be true!

"What?-I didn't know he did drugs" I shift to sit easier while talking to Tim who fills me in.

"Yeah, they all do it, man. All the rich kids are into that stuff, they're just careful about how they do it-except for Jim. His parents are a wreck and Tracy Ulanski didn't come into school today." Tim sniffles and wipes his arm under the offending nose.

Tracy Ulanski and Jim Paulsen were dating since sophmore year and the envy of the school for their ken and barbie outward apperance. Tim decides he told me enouch and plops his head back onto a stack of books and is out cold. I sit there sideways in the seat and ponder this new revelation. It makes sense in a way. Drugs were invading numerous schools increasingly. Our own high school as well as the surrounding school districts were falling prey to a wave of drugs, namely heroine.

The rest of the day moves drudgingly as usual. My classes aren't tasking for I nornally exceed in my studies. Much to the shigrin of the lesser types in each class who view me as nerdy. Oh well, I guess the talent for being able to throw a ball will pay dividends outside of school. Whatever drives them to...be less driven is beyond me but they do whatever the hell they please. The clocks that dot the walls of the hallways tick away the time at their leisure while the rest of us bite our nails anxiously.

At lunch the overweight lunchladies were serving sloppy joe's. It's a sad thing to see slopped onto your tray as you pass down the assembly line but it's all you got unless you pack your lunch. Today I wish I had. The long tables sit horizontally as you walk in. They expand from horizon to horizon with the walls painted by students from the art class. A montage to youth imagination sprawled out onto the walls. Some are primative while others are masterpieces by high school standards. It's loud-almost deafening. All the while-diligent teachers stroll down the aisles, dutifully observing the actions of their students who laugh annd snort at immature jokes. Mrs.Yates rolls her eyes as I wlak out of the lunchline and weave my way around my peers who don't seem to notice me.

My lunch table is off to the side and is rather smaller than the other ones. Each beginning of the year myself and a small group lay claim to this table as our own soverign domain. At the table is Eddy, digging away at some mound of food on a tray. There is also Paul Santini, his father is also a cop...a detective I think. Not to mention one of the most tech savy kid I know, Riley Jenkins. From behind thick glasses he's reading up on some homework. My tray slaps down and I snug myself down and observe the sad display on the tray.

"You gonna eat that?" Eddy asks through a mouthful of slop.

I stare at the tray then back at Eddy, "Of course, it's too nutricious to pass up"

"You guys hear about Jim Paulsen?" asks Paul. His hair is matted and shaggy. A tall and lanky kid but nice enough and most people like him.

"Yeah, it's pretty fucked up" My mouth utters slowly.

Eddy sets down the spoon, "The Kings and Queens took a hit yesterday. Now, everyone's gonna suspect them all of being druggies."

"You think?" I challenge, "Or maybe they'll distance themselves far away and emerge unscathed"

"Only time will tell, buddy"

After a few minutes of silence, other then the clanking of utensils and the slurping of milk, Paul shatters the silence, "My Dad's workin' the case" his voice is low to the ground, "Says it was heroine...a new kind"

"What's it's name?" I ask

"Don't know, he was only in the house for a bit then had to go back out. I won't be seein' him on a constant basis for a few weeks now. This kinda thing happens." Paul admits. I'm sure the family members of a detective must be strained by the long, stressful, and dangerous work hours of these sleuths.

Hours Later...

Finally...the hour is upon us...the end of day. We all do it-sitting on the edge of our seats at whatever class is our last in the day. Almost biting nails, dripping sweat, and chattering teeth. The small hands plots around the clock as the big hand edges ever closer to our deliverance. Tehn, we're standing at the edge...the bell rings and the kids around me explode out of their chairs, shuffling through the rows of desks, and jamming out of the small door. Our Creative Writing teacher, Ms.Tanner, shouts instructions for our homewokr due tomorrow but no one adhears and will be cramming the work in study hall tomorrow.

All the classrooms empty out and the congestion in the hallways is ridiculous. It feels like I am fighting against the tide as the only person heading in one direction while the world is heading in the opposite. Chad Parkins and Ronny Hensley move like a brick wall beneath school jackets. Sadly, they didn't see the reason to get out of my way and the books in my hand magically fly into the air as papers from a folder helicopter to the ground or fly away.

"Loser" one of them utters as I stand still, not even responding. These are the flashpoints that could end in a nosebleed and suspension. So, I say nothing and try to let it slide off of my shoulder depsite the anger brewing.

Outside...

For some reason...I feel like walking home today. It's not a terribly long distance as I live in the same town as the school. It's just more conveniant to ride the school's transportation. Anyways, it's a nice day out and for once I feel the motivation to do some sort of physical activity outside of gym class which even then, I give something less than a shit about.

My path takes me behind the school where the service vehicles travel and unload supplies to the school. It's deserted for the most part and a line of dumpsters rest along the brick wall of the school. The sun blazes overhead and a light breeze brushes under my nostrils and fills them with freshness. Who would've guess that the outdoors...not the rugged mountains and never ending forests outdoors but the literal interrprutation.

Suddenly, a commotion around the corner catches my hearing. I edge along the corner and dip my head around to see a kid whom I've seen but can;t place a name being thrown against the wall. He hits hard and snaps his head back against the bricks and it is obvious that it hurt. Two kids move up to hi, tough looking kids who from first looks conjur up images of a hard homelife if there is a home life. One stands him up while the other sinks his fist into the poor victims stomach and steps back as he crumples to the ground. They laugh and sya something that I don't catch.

"You get the idea?" asks one of them as he kneels down to the kid who is coughing violently and I'm sure blood is coming out with each hack. I don't know what it was, but something seized me and propelled my body forward with a clenched fist and an angered opinion.

"Leave him alone!" I interrupt, squaring off against the two hooligans. Momentarily startled, they come back and size me up. I'm nowhere near Brad Pitt from Fight Club. A part of me immediately regrets stepping forward on behalf of this stanger but another part of me felt the exilleration and adrenaline rush.

"Get the fuck outta here!" one of them dismisses me while the other looks down at the kid then switches back to me.

"No!" I throw down the gauntlet.

Without hesitation-they rush me...

The ground and me became close friends after a short period as my cheek grinds against the pavement which isn't smooth anymore but jagged and falling apart. My expert fighting skills failed me against their onslaught. There's a burning sensation in my jaw and warm blood pulsing from my lips. My left eye can't open and is searing with pain. Not to mention to vomit that lay on the ground from when my stomach punched one of their fists.

"We told you to get lost...But nooo-someone has to be a hero!" One scoffs, resting a foot on my back-testing its' durability.

"P-Please get off of me!" I struggle.

"You need to learn your place, bud!" says the other, I can't tell where he is but I quickly figure it out when I feel a sharp pain against my ribs. The pain causes me to scream in agony and my eye wells up with tears. They mock me and let their grip loose and all I hear is disappearing shuffle of feet against pavement.

Everything goes black...

Sometime Later...

Blurred images mix together into a picaso-esque dream. Bits and pieces blur and faze between reality and dreams. There is no more pain...Am I dead? No-I can't be! It was a disgusting beating but not life threatening in my brief opinion before I slipped into blackness. Regardless, I am not afraid strangely. Not to mention the fact that I am not pissed at myself for stepping forward just to get my ass kicked. It was for a noble cause. Most people would've probably just kept walking and forgot all about it. This fact-above all else-filled me with a sense of pride.

My mind is sparkling with images. An idea...it hits me-like one of those hooligans did. Only this time I don't flinch nor feel any sort of pain. A blinding white light hits my face but I don't look away but rather accept it. Is this the light? No, it's got to be something else. Whatever it is-I stare endlessly back at it and understand, slowly nodding. A silent voice speaks in my mind and it all becomes clear...

"You alright?" asks a homeless black man. Next to him is a nearly filled groccery cart. His clothes are tattered and naturally, he smells. His beard is unkept but eyes soft and gentle.

"D-Did you get the number...of that truck?" I finally get out.

He looks around, "No trucks here"

"Damn-then I did get my ass kicked" I shift my body and sparks of pain ignite across my body and I groan.

"Lemme help ya up" he says and loops an arm through mine and gently lifts me up. My body sears with pain but I muster the strength to get through it and shakily stand on my own two. Of course, the homeless man is supporting me.

"Who are you" I rub a hand over my ribs which are probably bruised if not broken.

"Name's Rosco" Rosco pats my shoulder. I stagger away and manage to keep my balance but start coughing violently.

"Appreciate it, Rosco" I wave a hand and begin the slow trudge home. I sigh but realize that there's no point in complaining because it won't do any good.

Later...

My mother is frantic and crying when she sees my broken body stagger through the door. My good eye catches the time to be around six o'clock. She must've gotten home early today and nervously waited around for my return home. Maternal instincts take over as she descends upon me with a flurry of questions, none of them I can answer. It's all understandable and she breaks all traffic laws geting me to the emergency room.

The on-duty doctors examine me, check blood pressures, and breathing. Of course, my breathing is irregular because I fractured what would end up being: three ribs. Not to mention numerous lacerations, twelves stiches, and swallowing alot of blood. Luckily, no internal bleeding. The doctor gives me painkillers, two other kinds of pills that do two different things.

I shy away from a wheelchair or any help out of the hospital as my mom questions me on what happened. The story quenches her thirst for answers and there's even a nod of satisfaction and pride.

"You did a brave thing-sweetie" Mom comments as she opens the door. When she rounds into her side, "But you can't fight all the fights out there"

"Why? The police would've taken forever to respond. If I hadn't stepped in, they might've done worse to him-"

"Or they could've done worse to you as well, honey" her face is a plastered mold of worry. That look every mom has at least three times a day, it increases with the more kids you have.

I cradle my head back and against the frame and close my eye...

My injuries offer me a chance to stay home from school...alone. So, maybe it's a give and take but at least I'm away form school for at least a day. My friends called me at different intervals and eagerly wanted to know the details of my attempt to uphold justice and the inevitable ass kicking. They really are a good group of friends. I may not have many friends but their real ones. Not a mob of unimaginative drones who cling to someone just because of their social standing.

The day consists of regulated pill consumption, rithing in pain, and playing video games. My hands escaped damage mainly because I don't think they landed a single blow. After a while video games bore me and I uneasily lay back and stare up at the ceiling and pass out.

I wake up a bit later and decide to roam the house. The pain in my ribs constrict my breathing but I have to get up anyways. All my thoughts are consumed naturally by what happened. The kid was long gone by the time I came to and is probably alright. Those punks are still out there-doing God knows what. The thought of them still out there infuriates me as I manage down the stairs and into the living room. Over the fireplace is a simple picture frame of my father in his State Trooper Uniform. A single flower in a glass vase rests next to it and a candle on the other side.

Whenever I feel frustrated-I go and see him. My father was killed by some gun runner three years ago. Flashes of that night pierce my consience. The memories of a priest, my father's captain in the living room with a shamble that was my mother. They stood up as I came downstairs and broke the news to me. All before that I stayed at the top of the stairs and heared their solem murmurs.

He held this family together through thick and thin. We reluctantly managed to pull together in the wake of his death and move on, which is what he wanted. My father is the main reason I wanted to do something involving the law. Possibly as a policeman or a lawyer. Whatever it was, it had to do with justice. My mother feared the idea of being a state trooper. Many times she argued against it, citing good reasons. She just didn't understand my viewpoint.

A million things swarmed around my head. Was it the drugs? The blinding pain? Or a realization of a higher cause? I stagger back into the couch all the while my eyes remain on my father's stern face. His distinct jawline, high cheekbones, but gentle eyes. They were reassuring. The picture spoke a thousand words of comfort and guidance. A floodgate of emotions open up suddenly and I miss him more than ever now.

"W-What do I need to do?" I ask him, yurning for a response. There is nothing but silence and the ticking of the grandfather clock. A distinct need fills the empty void. It's impossible to explain. He would've been proud of me! I have to do him justice!

Then-a crazy idea enters my mind...

Once again the image staring back at me is disappointing. Only this time it's beat up and bruised ontop of everything else. I raise an arm and flex my muscles...not impressive. All I can do is laugh at myself and understand why I got such a bad beating. I have to get in shape! No-Not just in shape, I have to become better than that. There's also the fact that my fighting skills are...well, none existant. That will have to change as well.

I begin scrawling down details on a notepad from the desk. Jotting down ideas, a to-do list, and so forth. This is going to take alot of planning and preperation. One can't just jump into something this big! Well, I already did and luckily I learned from my lesson. Yes, it's going to take patience and determination to see this one through.

Have you gone insane?! A sharp and poignant thought. It does seem rather...odd. No, I perfer the term: mentally unorthodox. Yes, that sounds much better and less degrading than the word insane. Maybe one of the blows did joggle a screw loose and allowed two metal plates of sanity slip loose from one another and let this spill out. Who knows? Truly insane people think they are perfectly in control of their mental faculties. Since I think I am insane, I must truly be normal minded. Er, I think that makes sense. This undertaking does indeed require a degree or two of abnormality I suppose.

One more thing pangs against my brain. A fact I can't escape and must come to terms with. It will be impossible to do this on my own. My technical skills aren't the best and I have no clue how to fight or even get in shape. As much as I'd like to keep this between me and myself, the truth is this is too massive of an undertaking to do alone. Who can I trust? There's a rather small pool to choose from and an even smaller one that I can dip my hand into and come out with a 100% trustworthy partner in this scheme.

Eddy? His brother is a health-nut so I'm sure Eddy can help me out in that department. Not to mention he's my best friend and already a impromptu sidekick. Riley is a tech wiz as well as a master engineer for his age. That says a million things that will come in handy. Paul has access to his father, an actual policeman which could get me close to the real action. The more I dwell on it the more this whole thing seems plausable. It becomes scary, the notion of me moonlighting as a teenage superhero. Wait...I don't have any powers so a masked vigilante sounds more appropriate for the times we live in. Yeah, that works out fine. The downside to having all these people privy to my activities is the fear of reproach from outside forces. They could be put in jeopardy. Having other people's lives at stake just because of me doesn't settle right. Well, I'll have to find out when my injuries heal if they're interested in helping. If not, then I return to the life of a mild-manner nobody. Not much to lose, for now.

Tagged

Interesting story. Definitely original compared to other stories.

A week later, back at school...

"You wanna do what?!" Paul's reaction is less than what I hoped for. Luckily, he hisses it like air leaking from a tire as opposed to standing on the table and repeating my plans for the wgole cafeteria to hear.

"I'm serious" I reply, shifting eyes around to see if anyone caught an earful of my plans or noticing Paul's reaction.

"Do you honestly think this'll work?"

"Yes, as long as I have people I can count on" I point to him and the others. They are sitting around me, bodies leaning forward so as we're all in a tight circle over the table.

"I'm game!" Eddy elates at the opportunity, "This sounds like fun, like playing superhero only taken to a whole new level"

"You'll be needing some gadgets and shit, right?" Riley puts in his two cents of important imput. Those thick glasses twinkle in the luminescent lighting.

"Thanks guys" A sigh of relief lets out.

Paul snorts, seizing me up, "Look at you" he points out, "You're still busted up, not to mention you're out of shape and stuff. This is going to take alot of fuckin' work, bud"

"You willing to help for something that will help?" I score a direct hit on his ethics nerve. Paul is an Eagle Scout and volunteers all the time. He's got high sense of morals and this strikes the right cord and an orchestra of ideas pang around his virtuous mind.

"I guess" he relents. For the rest of the lunch period I carefully lay out my plans and the rules. No one, not even our parents could no about this under any circumstances. The risks were plenty, though they took them in light stride, I slugged with realization that things could get hairy.

The bell rings and we clammer around the large trash bins to toss away our garbage and uneaten food. Jody Henderson catches the corner of my eye. Her medium black hair, olive skin, and round face appear angelic to me. Sadly, I normally clam up when I see her but ease into conversation once contact is made.

"Poor Charlie Lasker" Jody says, falling in next to me out the door.

"We're actually middle class" I retort.

There's a quick smirk, "I'm writing a story about your heroic exploits for the school newspaper and I wnat to talk to you directly about the incident" Her eyes graze over me like a herd of hungry cows, greedily taking in everything they can. Jody's a pretty good judger of characters.

I turn to her, "Not interested" We continue down the hallway and I quicken my step but she catches up, puffing out a blast of air that shoot up and through the front of her hair.

"Your the hero of the school...at least till next issue that is-" Jody suddenly stops her track of words, "Sorry Charlie, I'm in reporter mode right now. Uh-How ya doing?"

"My jaw clicks from time to time and I take at least three different kinds of drugs that end in -zine. Other than that-I'll live" I sink into the realization that she won;t leave me alone. There's no need to bring attention to me. Now, I just want to sink into a dark hole and never emerge. But, the light of truth is shinning on me and The Hounds are on my trail.

"Yeah, I'd be doin' lousy myself. So-you still interested. My editor greenlighted me for this but I need an interview to get it off the ground"

"I guess you'll just have to cancel due to weather then, spacegirl" I brickwall her and walk away. Afterwards, my facade softens and regret giving her the cold shoulder. But, it had to be done.

In Charlie's Basement...

After school I arranged for us to meet in my basement and brainstorm further ideas. There's alot of ground that needs to be covered. Luckily, my mom won't be home till late and made something that I can eat tonight that is in the fridge. The basement is homey and inviting. It's large as is the rest of our house. Immediately to your left as you walk down the stairs is an open space with a couch, a recliner sitting infront of an entertainment center with a large black screen and rows od dvd's. Further down along the wall is a minibar built by my dad and only has a little alcohol. I admit we've stolen away some capfulls here and there but not enough to rouse suspicion. There's also a pool table with a rack of pool cues next to it. Various movie posters line the walls ranging from The Big Lebowski to Fargo A computer is also present next to where the stairs drop down.

"What's your name gonna be?" Eddy inquires as he sits indian-style on the recliner.

A name? That's something I forgot, "I'm not sure, any suggestions?" I offer the floor.

"How about Fatman?" Riley chuckles, as do the others.

"Haha, very funny" I stoicly reply, "How about The Paladin? Like our school's mascot?"

"Lame" Paul replies. He's leanbing against the wall, arms folded.

"The Judge? The Crusader? The Vigilante?" I offer more ideas, they cascade off the top of my head like a overflowing sink, "That's all I can think of"

They all let those suggestions sink in and there's a long, drawn out silence.

"The Trooper?" Eddy chimes in

"Too militaristic" Paul dismisses with a wave, "Or is that what you're goin' for?"

I reply, "Naw, I'm thinking more along the lines of Batman"

"The Spook?" Eddy chimes in again.

"Too rascist, you moron" Paul shoots down another one of Eddy's bright ideas.

Riley snaps his fingers, "Nightman! How does that sound?" There's a moment of silence and this time I dismiss that idea. We decide to each compose a list of ideas for my new name.

Potential Hero Names:

1. Captain Shadow
2. Mr.Mysterious
3. Hawkboy
4. Shadowman
5. Cockman (A joke name, I hope)
6. Boy Blubber (could cause copyright infringement)
7. Cowman
8. The Judge
9. The Incredible Bulk
10. The Paladin

The final list disappoints me. There's a few snickers from some of the names. I try to reason that this is serious but even I have to laugh at a few of them. For a while longer we continue trying to hammer out a suitable hero name for myself. Already, I can forsee this being a rather difficult venture.

OOC: You have a chance at giving him a hero name. Just telegram me with an idea of your own. However, don't be offended if I don't use it. If anyone actually sends me a possibility, I'll greatly appreciate it.

After what seemed ages of bickering, arguing, and imbecile names-I finally placed a thumb on a suitable name. The Hunter, an appropriate title for someone who hunts injustice and villany. The rest of the gang noded in satisfaction.

"Now that we have a name...Now comes the hard part" I begin, "Eddy, scrape together whatever health stuff your brother can spare. Just tell him that you have a friend who wants to get in shape"

Eddy nods.

"Learning to fight's going to be even more difficult than getting in shape" I flick a finger off of my bicep and frown.

"My Dad's an ex-marine too" Paul informs, "He taught me some of their fighting and I'm sure he's got a manual or somethin' lyin' around my house"

"Excellent" I snap my fingers, "This might actually work"

Riley tells me that he'll get to work on some gadgets. Cues from Batman's utility belt give him a guideline to work with. We spend the rest of the evening trying to hammer out the fine details and the plans. It's getting late and I tell them that I'm not going to wait until all the preperations are complete.

"What are you going to do? Run around in coveralls and a bandana?" Eddy asks, understandably confused.

"No" I defend, "There's the detective aspect as well. My first case is going to be about Jim Paulsen overdosing. The Police to my understanding have no leads...at least no leads that they're revealing to the press" my attention draws to paul who nods knowingly.

The Next Day...

Paul convinced his father, a detective in the Narcotics Division that Jim Paulsen was a close friend of his. After working that angle he uncovered an interesting bit of information being witheld.

"It appears that there's a new drug on the streets" Paul tells me before History Class. We're off in the corner, away from the other kids, "It's called Blue. This stuff is gettin' big man. I did some research last night as well and it turns out that this stuff is linked to several drug-related crimes throughout the city in the past three months."

"Alright, I'll try to work things out on my end" I pat Paul on the shoulder and offer a satisfactory smile. He did good, now it was my turn to start shaking up the druggies for answers. Of course, I must be subtle or else my actions might alert whoever is behind Blue.

The druggies around school can sense the slightest ripple in their close-knit and smokey world. The midest rift in the continental shelfs, the most minuet vibration can send them into the shadows and lock their lips up tighter than a concerned father for his slutty daughter. There must be tact and grace in this dance for information. The only source that is guarranteed safe from notice by the druggies would be...Jody. Her ear is always to the ground like an Indian brave. Her finger is on the pulse of the school and the whole city 24/7. She has the ambition and talent to be a real journalist and is obsessed with becoming one. As being one of the chief writer's for the school newspaper, The Paladin Paper, she's actually written some nice pieces. Ranging from unbalanced test scores for the jocks all the way to helping bust a group of Emo's who were planning to commit a mass-suicide.

She tipped off the school who initiated a random metal detector check. The main entryway clogged with students during the bitter winter last year as teachers, armed with metal detectors scanned up and down the bodies of every student. I remember standing at the doorway, the cold wind to my back. The emo kids with their jet black hair, moody attitudes, were sweating bullets. It was obvious what they were planning to do. They discarded boxes of razor blades into the nooks and crannies leading up to the metal detectors. Despite their ingenius coverup, the school cameras caught them and expelled four students as a result.

Mr.Pots taught journalism and helmed the School's Yearbook. An aging man who was seven inches away from retirement left the inner workings of the Yearbook and the School Paper up to his students who were more than capable of handling the affairs on their own. Nathan Weaver was Editor of the Paper and Jessica Collins headed yearbook. Jody was on both teams. Whatever free time she had was spent in Mr.Pot's room.

I enter in between classes, my next class is a study hall and the teachers never even take roll so there's no rpoblem there. Also, Mr.Po's doesn't have a class this period and is usually in the teacher's lounge, cozied up to the coffee maker.

"What brings you here?" Jody asks, peering from the back room, "Here for that interview?"

"Sorry, I'm here for something else" I say as my feet shuffle through the doorway and take a seat in one of the desks.

"What's that? Find anymore drug dealers?"

"No, I want some info"

Her nose scrunches, "So direct! What's the magic word?"

"Please, with sugar on top and whatever else you like" I roll my eyes.

"Okay, slick" Jody teakes a seat in front of me, "What do you want?"

"Know anything about Blue?" I lean in, one eye at the door which is still open.

"Maybe...what's in it for me?" a smile bridges across her mouth playfully.

"That interview" I simply put it.

"Gossip around the water fountain is that Blue's making it into Petersburgh. This stuff is serious from what I hear"

"Me too, who's selling it?" I ask.

That look appears on her face, the look I dreaded seeing: suspicion, "Why do you want to know? I don't hook up people with dealers"

"No, it's not that" I search for an excuse, "I'm doing my own independent research"

"Reeally?" her eyes narrow on me, "Anyways, the prevailing rumor is Johnny Wheeler has something to do with it."

Johnny Wheeler? That name sends the hairs on the back of my neck up at attention. He's a bad kid, comes to school maybe half of a year's worth of days at best. A toublemaker, bad apple all around. He's tough as nails and commands alot of respect at the same time. Rumor has it he's head of the Punks. A school social clique that is more like a street gang than an innocent clique.

"Interesting...Anything else?" I add

"Nope, now how about that interview?" Jody magically produces a small notepad and clicks a pen with delicate finger, ready to jot down anything. No one knows how she does it but she always has it handy.

A time later...

The whey protein shake scratches down my throat. It's chocolate flavor...chalk flavor is a better term. I force it down my throat as it plops into my now estranged stomach. Stomach doesn't talk to me anymore since I changed up it's diet. More greens, red meat, and whole grain are now the staple of my diet. Snacks, much to my dismay, are in the trashcan.

"No more snacks?" MY Mom scratches her head.

A stern nod

"Okay" she smiles, "Nice to see you changing things up"

My fist pounds against the counter top in the kitchen as the last of the chuncky sludge drains from the cup. The past few weeks saw some great gain. I've already lost some twenty pounds and thanks to Derek-Eddy's brother, my exercise regement is ironclad and uninterrupted with workouts every day and I run as often as possible. At first, my legs moved like putty after only a short distance, but now I'm getting better. The image in the mirror improves each time. Now, I can actually smile when my form reflects back. It's easy to disway the suspicions of Mom when all this activity has double meaning. Of course I'm trying to get in shape and the fighting lessons stem from the fight with the punks. So, she doesn't ask questions but rather assist when she cans. Of course, the large tubs of whey are expensive and I must cough up the loot for that.

The news flickers on as my Mom sets the table. Jane clammers around upstairs with a cell phone morphed into the side of her face. The cell phone bill for her is ridiculous and after many heated debates my Mom threatened to snap that damn phone in half.

"Our top story tonight" the young and attractive anchorwoman, Chelsea Spring props up in her chair, "A senior at Elkridge High School was found dead early this morning in his basement."

My ears perk up

"Police have identified 18yr old Ryan Vargas as the deceased. The coroner report states that Ryan Vargas overdosed on Blue..."

I don't hear the rest of the story. In the wake of my training, the case with Jim Paulsen grinded to a halt...until now. This time, another kid overdosed on that shit. A toxic scurge threatens the youth of Petersburgh and the surrounding area. I know other kids who are using the stuff and we all compiled information that would make a white lab coat wearing researcher proud. It's highly addictive and withdrawl symptoms are terrible-that's why almost no one who starts using it can get off of it. Too much of it can kill easily and quickly.

It seems that The Hunter will have to go out hunting sooner than originally intended...

That Night...

"But Charlie-I don't have any of the equipment ready" Riley pleads.

"It doesn't matter, another kid is dead and we have to find a way to put a stop to it" I explain, "The police aren't making any headway. Sure, they're collaring the street dealers but there's bigger players behind the whole mess. They have this organizaed, seperate from central leadership. Like most of the drug trade in the city, someone controls it. The criminal underworld is a small world too"

"And a dangerous one too" Paul intervenes. Eddy sat silently in the corner as the others attempt to dissuade me from going out. Over the course of the weeks, I tracked Johnny Wheeler's movements. That digital camera I got for last Christmas came in handy. In the bottom drawer of my room, under a false panel are tons of notes and photos concerning Johnny Boy.

"It has to be done. This stuff has to be brought down!"

"You're just one kid!" Paul throws his hands out, "How can you take down these dealers? You're not Batman" his tone softens.

"I'm not going to do it all" Time to think quick, "Whenever I find sufficent evidence, then I'll make an annonymous call to the Cops, that's all"

Paul arches an eyebrow but relents, "Fine, make sure you have your phone"

A smile spreads across my face and I retire to the downstairs bathroom and dress in my attire for the evening. Unfortunately, it's primative. A skin conforming black ski-mask, black clothes, boots with special soles that I bought online. The gloves stretch over my fingers and I flex the didgits to wear them in. It will have to work for now. They might be right, I'm still a beginner with fighting lessons...too many sore evenings after lessons.

"You look like a terrorist or somethin' off of Rainbow Six" Eddy comments as I step out.

"I still have a bad feeling about this" Paul sighs, "I hope you know what you're doing. Remember to be quiet or else people will think you're some sort of night prowler."

My equipment is primative as well. Black cord rope, a small knife, some clips for rappeling, and my father's expandable baton. Tonight I planned to solely take pictures so the camera gets to tag along on my night mission. Luckily, around this time Johnny's still at his home which is just a half dozen blocks from me and will be leaving for a destination unknown in fifteen minutes. Paul agrees to drive me somewhere off from the way but close enough so that I'm not prowling aaround half the city. My Mom thinks we're going to Riley's house for a sleepover or something.

In his beat up Chevy Corsica, I stare out the window and feel my heart racing like a speed addict in NASCAR. A knot developes in my throat that just won't clear. A mixture of excitement, dread, and danger swirl around.

It's cool out tonight. Luckily, there's sufficent cloud cover blotting out the moon. This creates a perfect atmosphere. Everyhting is incumbased by darkness, devoid of any light except from street lamps. Of course, they're easy to avoid.

"Be careful-alright?" Paul says solemly as I grasp the door handle.

I turn back at him and smie beneath my mask, "Don't worry. Just gonna take some pictures and see what else I can dig up"

I gently close the door and dart across the street in between two houses and sink low to the ground. Paul drives off and my vision shifts from all angles, at windows-did any curtains move? Excitement courses through my veins as I sleak like a stray cat down the alleyway, past trashcans, dumpsters, and piles of cardboard boxes. Johnny's house is just at the opposite end. The fences create a narrow alley that I have to navigate down. I pause after every sound that I don't make, A distant dog bark sends a shockwave of fear crippling up my spine, halting all muscular movement. Maybe the sounds of a cat scavanging for food in a tin trashcan, racketing around at the bottom.

Steel nerves, Charlie-you can't afford to lose it now. The end comes in view when suddenly an outburst of arguing from the home on the right forces me to the ground, hugging the pavement.

"Get the fuck out of my house!" screams a woman, pots and pans clatter in the kitchen.

"Fine!" responds an angered male who kicks the door open and storms out into the back yard. I freeze as the gate explodes open. Luckily, he's so wound up with whatever arguement he just had with his wofe to notice me practically hugging the side of the fence in the dhadow of a trashcan and old tv box.

My heart is desperate to escape from my chest but luckily a line of sturdy ribs hold it back and tell him he has to brave it out judt like the rest of my nervous organs who hadn't forgotten the beating they took a few weeks ago. Despite the momentary disruption, I slink onwards until finally getting to the end house. It's a plain house, faded white paint. The backyard looked like no sharp object touched it in over a century. An olf Toyota pickup with a cab ontop sits in the garage. The garage is open and the engine is choking.

This black truck belongs to Johnny so I sneak into the cab and hunker under an old tarp that smells damp with mildew. My body shrinks as much as possible and await Johnny Boy's arrival. After a few minutes the shuffle of heavy boots clump past the truck and the smell of an Al Capone Rum Dipped Slim teases my nostrils. His frame comes into view through a slit in the canvas tarp. He jumps into the truck and shifts into gear. The gears crank and the truck slugs out of the garage and makes a left. I try to remember the turns and amount of time passing between each but there end up being too many to memorize.

After what I assume was ten minutes the truck makes a turn onto a roug surface and all the objects in the cab bounce with the bad shocks. A metal box crashes into my knee and it takes all the strength musterable to keep from making a sound. The truck stops and everything shifts again and he steps out of the truck and slams the door shut, shaking the abused truck. I decide to wait for a minute or two before moving. The scent of Rum Dipped Slims disappears and the sound of boots fade. Now! I slowly work out of the canvas and peak up through the plastic windows of the cab and see and unfamilar factory, possibly outside of town. It's too dark to make out the whole compound.

A figure disappears around a distant corner across the yard. I hurry from shadow to shadow, looming just a few yards behind him as he turns again and enters a smaller building next to a warehouse. All the windows are borded up but a soft glow emminates from the cracks in the wood. The gaps aren't large enough to see through but the windows up higher are. There's no gangway running along them and I have to find a way to see what's going on. Luckily, I have my rope and find an emergency ladder that reaches all the way to the top. It's rusty, not so sturdy, but will have to do. The fire escape offers the only way to get a look at what's happening.

I climb slowly, feeling every vibration and hear a creek. Uncertainty and the image of me falling to a painful death freeze me momentarily. When no bolts shoot loose I continue my ascent skyward. At the top of the warehouse that is dotted with pipes, old heating units, and fans. The roof feels uncertain as well but it's too late to turn back. From the top to the windows it's about ten feet. I grapple one end around an air conditioner unit and slowly rappel over the edge. I did this once at Boy Scout Camp. It took me over fifteen minutes on the edge to finally trust my team enough to continue. Now, I am all alone and let the slack slip and slip as I go over the side. My feet are slick against the metal siding but find a grip. Along the side of the window I dangle, starining my muscles and focus in on the gutted inside.

There's several flood lights and overheads. Under their light are long tables with various beekers, tubes, trays, and other equipment. It becomes obvious that it's a small drug lab operation going on in the middle of an abandoned warehouse compund. It sounds cliche but I guess cliche works. There's a few other people sifting through piles, adjusting burners, and mixing liquids. They are wearing masks and white gloves as they work. Johnny moves around, hands folded behind his back as another person walks next to him. Their voices are hard to catch. This is exactly what I was looking for. My free hand fumbles for the digital camera and zoom it in on the whole operation. My thumb depresses and a bright flash errupts from the camer. Damn! I forgot to turn-off the flash, Shit! All eyes blare upwards at my general direction and a clear shout from Johnny bellows from deep within his gut. I scramble up the rope, straining my already tired muscles, frantic to claw my way up. There's more shouting and it is at this moment, I realize that I am fucked!

It's a scramble over the pipes and vents. Shit! The gravity of this whole mess finally hits me like a sledgehammer to the face. There's more shouts from below and it's obvious that I can't use the fire escape. Dark figures scale up it. Think fast! There's not other way off of the roof except for the rope. I frantically gather up the slither of rope and coil it aound my arm and dart to the other end of the roof. By this time sweeps of light are passing overhead, soaking every dark corner with unforgiving and merciless light.

My body shrinks between two ducts as much as possible, knees shaking. Two lanky shadows move with flashlights, canvassing the whole rooftop. They mutter to themselves and one goes off to another direction. The other heads for me.

"I don't see nuthin'" One comments, lazily.

"Johnny saw that flash. Someone's snoopin' around up here" Reassures the other.

The unenthused goon moved parallel to a long airduct that ended up at the twin ducts I was hiding in. This was my chance to make a break for it. But, there's no way to get passed them. My muscles seize up in anticipation. He steps closer and closer, unware of what's in store. Just a few more feet. My hand forms into a fist as I slide up the metallic side of the duct as the goon makes his way cloer and closer.

At Last!

My fist flies through the air and cracks against his nose, my body follows with the rest of the fist and I stumble forward as he stumbles back. It's a shattering blow and spouts of blood shoot up as his hands instinctively springboard to guard his face. We both fall and I scarpe to my feet when I'm illuminated by a shaft of light.

"What the fuck?!" The other one bellows, "Who the fuck are you?!"

This was it-my chance to announce myself to the criminal underworld and let it be known that anyone whio devotes themselves to a life of crime will pay for each and every injustice committed. That the streets are no longer theres and that they will be hunted by The Hunter!

Instead, I make a sheepish noise and run balls to the wall away as fast as my legs will carry me. You blew it! There will be time for inward self-loathing later, there's more important things at hand. I don't look back as the other one is too stunned or just not fast enough to chase me. I latch the grapple onto a pipe and practically jump off the side of the roof, screaming with the wind at my face. The line taughts and I slam against the siding of the warehouse and fall another good ten feet to the ground and feel my shoulder give the ground a gentle nudge.

Fuck! I take off in a dead bolt across the yard and through a hole in the tattered and weary fence. The woods are thick and overgrown and provide excellent concealment as I navigate a huge arc around the factory area. Now, my outdoor skills come into good use...

Hours Later...

"You look like Hell!" Eddy points out the obvious. The others throw in their two cents about my tattered clothes, boots caked with mud, sweat soaked mask and all.

They stayed up and were sustaining themselves on Red Bull and watching YouTube. I can't even begin to guess how many miles I walked and snuck through, desperate to beat the sun which now began to crack the seal on the dark lid of night.

"What did you find out?" Paul asks.

I collapse onto the recliner and tear off the mask, "Well-Johnny Wheeler is involved deep with whatever's going on. I snuck into the back of his truck and we ended up at some abandoned factory somewhere. There's awhole operation there!" I take a few breathes, "I got a few pictures here-"

The camera! I must've dropped it, dammit!

A constant stream of curses exit my foul mouth without so much as a thought. All in all I'd say my first mission had limited successes. But I'm too tired, mentally, physically, and emotionally to continue and slip into a deep sleep...

"Where's the fuckin' tylenol?!" My voice sounds like course grains of wheat being grinded by a millstone. I woke up today and the whole of my body flared in pain. A dazzling light of discomfort. My shoulder cursed me while a sore head chimmed in agreement.

"Isn't it in the cabinet?" Riley scratches his head. It's midday on Saturday and the rest of them were buzzing around, bright-eyes and bushy-tailed. I; on the other hand, awoke a cranky monster, sore from battlewounds. An inspection of my shoulder depicts bruising that criss crosses and spiders over the length of it.

"Oh, nevermind" I reply, grasping the long awaited prize and quickly swallow away more than the recommended daily dse but am too blinded by pain to care about later consequences. During my painful slumber, a dream occurred where everything that actually happened last night, went the way I had hoped it would.

It was a sweet ass dream where I lept to the top of the warehouse, fought off a shit ton of ninjas. Then, in the heat of battle, while grappling a polar bear-Shakira flew in from whatever South American country she's from and we fought crime together and saved the day. After we defeated the drug lords and a kick-ass high five, we made love for three straight days. Sadly, I awoke to the searing pain in my shoulder and the embarrassment of having run away like a little girl. It's a damn shame that I didn't tell them that there is a masked vigilante out to thwart their evil plans. Ah well, life goes on.

The others are gathered around the dinner table. I limp in as they hush down.

"What's the plan now?" Paul asks.

"Seeing how I fucked last night up, we have to start from scratch. More than likely, Johnny Wheeler is going to move his operation."

"Why don't we do that annonymous tip thing and tell the cops that Johnny Wheeler is behind this?" Eddy asks.

I sigh, "No, we can't do that. There's no evidence to tie him together. If I hadn't dropped the camera then we'd be in a different situation. Besides, that kind of heat will force him underground. Also, I don't think he's in charge. He's probably hire muscle or something"

Riley's mom, Janet, enters the room. Her hair's done up in a bun and sleeves rolled up for housework.

"Nice to see you're finally awake, Charlie" she smiles softly, passing by the table.

"You know me, Mrs.Jenkins" I laugh it off uneasily.

"Are you hungry?" Janet scrounges around the kitchen, "We have lunchmeat...left over pasta..." she reads off a groccery list of items in the fridge and freezer, "Want some pizza rolls?"

We look at each other, "Pizza rolls sound delicious" I speak.

"Alright" Janet claps her hands together, "I'll make some pizza rolls"

"Thanks, Mom" Riley says.

"Thank you, Mrs.Jenkins" the rest of us say in perfect harmony.

The pizza rolls were indeed delicious but now it was back to business. As Mrs.Jenkins toiled away sorting out junk in the garage, we plotted our next course of action. Having parents buzz around made our operation all the more dangerous. All our parents were good people but wouldn't understand our actions. My mother would wave it off as juvenile shenanigans.

"You should lay low this weekend and recupperate, man" Eddy tells me as we play on a XBox 360. My eyes are glued on the screen as scenes of player controlled death flash in epilleptic glee.

"Sure...where's the rocket launcher?" I ask, manuevering my character around a battlefield of destruction.

"Behind the freight box" Eddy informs as he blasts away three bad guys.

Later...

Riley patters into the room with a look of achivement smack on his normally blank, expressionless face, "I have some stuff finished, Charlie"

We pause the game and follow him into the garage. Mrs.Jenkins long since vacated the garage and moved onto dusting. He placed before me a black belt. It's obviously a utility belt of some sort.

"It's got a hook here for when you use the grapple gun...that's still being worked on" he eyes a piles of pieces and metal, "There's various pouches for stuff and an attachment for your baton. Here's where you can store throwing objects...still working on that"

"Interesting..." I note, "When can I start using this?"

"Now, but there's still some stuff that needs to be adjusted and-"

I snatch up the belt and examine it myself, "I'm sure I'll figure it out. Now, I have to go and think of what I have to do next"

"You're in dead water with the drug case. Maybe you should do somethin' else, work your ay up to the big leagues" Paul adds.

"True, very true" I admit, "That brings up another point, how am I going to find crime?"

They give a collective shrug

"Damn!" I curse, "I'll figure something out"

W00t! Keep the story comin'.

OOC: Thanks for the encouragement

The weekend blurred past. Sadly, nothing was accomplished other than the fact I finally leveled up a rank in Call of Duty 4. Though that's a noteworthy accomplishment, it pales in comparison of the greater good for justice. The masked vigilante business is tougher than I realized, no wonder it's all only in comic books. Or, you'd have to be a billionaire playboy (like Batman, also fake) to pull off the double life. The world of comics allows you to do the impossible and stretch the face of reality like a rich, California wife yurning for youth. Sadly, this is the real world and I'm not a billionaire playboy but a mere teenager from a middle class family.

Not suprisingly, Johnny's not at school today. It's doubtful that the teachers even notice another abscent juvenile. Mr.Cricks, the geometry teacher doesn't even take attendance. But rather just looks above his copy of the Petersburgh Post-Gazette then back at the Sport's Section before class starts. It turns out the two of us actually have a geomerty class together but don't recall ever seeing him in it. Lucky for me because I'd just seize up on sight. A plethera of complex equations are chalked on the board and a due date for an upcoming assignment scrawled at the top left corner, just under the dinky American Flag.

"Psst" Jody hisses from behind me, "I got a fresh copy of the school paper for you"

I crane my neck and offer a grateful smile, "Thanks Jody" I take the paper from her, it's crisp off the copier in the main office. The story is very flattering of my efforts to thwart a beating and the red badge of honor I earned over half of my bdy shined like I actually did something noble.

"Looks like an inviting read" I comment. There's a noticeable blush in her cheels that quickly sinks back down, slipping beneath her tough exterior, possibly never to resurface again. My gains from exercising and proper nutrition were beginning to show, not to mention my already existing dynamite personality.

"Always in pursuit of the truth" she winks, "How's your research going?"

"Nowhere" I bluntly put it, "So I'm giving up...for now"

"You shouldn't give up" Jody tells me, "You gotta be persistant until the very end"

"Like you?"

"Like me" Jody smiles. Mr.Cricks clears his throat and rustles the paper to the desk. Class starts. Our teacher readjusts his simple red tie and smiles.

"Get your pencils ready" Mr.Crick forewarns...

After the Suprise Quiz...

There's no question about it that I failed that suprise quiz Mr.Crick threw out of left field. He likes doing that from time to time, keeps us on our toes. That's the line he feeds us and for the most part, we accept it with a grain of salt and swallow the bullshit. Teachers never cease to amaze me. They're tireless devotion to their students. Of course, they're all bright young apples when they fall from the tree to the trecherous ground we call the public school system. Naturally, over time they rot out, becoming hollow, coffee sustained shells of their former selves.

In the bathroom I lock myself in one of the stalls. The various engavings and crawlings left by prior occupants always offer amusement.

4 a good time, call Billy at 548-9081

Kelly fucks good

Mr.Cricks sucks big dicks from horses

Jeremy wuz here

While I'm on the toilet, the shuffle of feet alert me to the inbetween class smokers. These lot sit through each period with nervous anticipation. The itch starts irritating up the back of their neck. The nicotine demands a sacrifice from their lungs. When the bell rings, they clammer into the bathrooms to get a quick puff of their cigarettes.

"Does Derek got the cleaner?" asks a crackling voice

"Yeah, he says to meet up at one" another replies between puffs.

"This is gonna be a good one. Looks like school's out tommorrow" the crackler chuckles.

I sit silently, breath held tight in my lungs. They finally leave and I exhale and ponder the next Hunt. My detective skills lead me to believe that some shenanigans are afoot tonight. They way they put it, sounds like they're gonna pour cleaner into the gas tanks of the buses. I smile at this chance to do something cool as The Hunter.

Pretty impressive, I'll probably follow this one to the end.


(And, tag)

That Night...

The buses are kept overnight in a large fenced off area across the street from the high school. A sea of yellow buses line up with one another in perfect rows. There's a garage and admin building attached to it. I respect bus drivers for the mere fact that they deal with all the loud-mouth retards who occupy their bus. The noise and slander can be deafening and offensive and they take it in stride. I often wonder if a bus driver will one day snap and decide to drive his/her bus off a cliff, taking all those dipshits with them to the pits of Hell. It's a thought I toy with often and secertly wish would happen.

Sneaking out of the house is easy after years of doing it for other purposes. I'm like a night puma or something cool like that. Stealth is the name of the game as I sleak out of my window and climb down the side of the wall which has aterrace running up it to allow vines to coil upwards. It's shaky but suitable enough. My bicycle offers the only mdoe of transportation avaliable. The Hunter's outfit is packed neatly in a backpack as I peddle out of the garage and make a left.

The air is cold and my gray hoodie doesn't do much to keep me warm as the wind rushes past me. Right now, there's ordinary people resting for another boring-ass day at work or school. Meanwhile, there's a real life masked vigilante insuring that they sleep soundly and peacefully. I stash the bike off from view and change into my outfit.

The fence is low and luckily no barbedwire. Inside it is still and quiet. My watch says 1:15. So, either they're late or I am. After waiting under a bus for over twenty other minutes, the jangling of the lock on the main gate jitters and falls to the ground. Three shadows stumble past the gate and close it behind them. They are each carrying a bag and spread out. Now, it's my time to strike.

A husky kid breaks open the latch to the gas tank of a short bus and begings unscrewing the cap. I sneak under the bus and grasp his feet. The shock forces a yelp from his mouth which alerts the others. I disappear and he's left there wondering what the fuck happened.

"Dennis!" one of them hisses, "What's wrong?"

"Somethin' grabbed my fuckin' leg!!" he jolts back and drops the cleaner. The others try to calm him down as I loom around the side of an adjacent bus. This is too fun! As they argue amoungst themselves, I climb at to the top of the bus and stand tall. The extending of my baton alerts them to my presence.

"Who the fuck are you?!" the hefty one asks nervously.

"I'm The Hunter!" I leap off the bus and collide into all three of them. What follows is a good old fashioned ass whoopin' from which they are unprepared. The hefty one falls like a ton of bricks. The other two scatter. One of them swings the atchel at me but I duck and sweep his leg. The remaining kid takes off running without a fight. I move over to the kid who tried to clock me and kneel down.

"Shouldn't you be in bed?" I continue with the witty banter.

Suddenly, two huge arms pincer around my waist and lift me up. I struggle in the air as the vicegrip tightens. I cock my head back, smashing into his nose, forcing him to drop me. The other kid recovers and takes off too, not wanting to back his hefty buddy up. The fat kid is sprawled out on the ground, making a few noises, spitting blood up.

"You should leave" I demand. My voice is harsh and deeper than normal. This is my vigilante voice, I think it's scary.

The next day in class...

"Mr.Lasker!" the voice of Mr.Vargas interrupts my sleep, "Mr.Lasker! I'm sorry to disturb you but this is not study hall"

I reluctantly lift my head up to see Mr.Vargas standing over me, arms folded and a scowl stamped on his face. Not to mention the burning eyes of twenty other students. There's a few snickers from the peanut gallery in the back.

"Sorry-Mr.Vargas" I wipe my eyes and fight back a yawn while sitting back up.

"Nice to see amoungst the land of the living" Mr.Vargas turns away to continue his Spanush lessons, "Today we're going to translate Chapter Two of Don Quixote"

Damn, I suck at Spanish! My eyes sluggishly pear down at the text provided and struggle to keep my eyelids open. They beg for sweet slumber but I must decline. This is a downfall that slipped my attention. Being a night vigilante has another disadvantage. That was just one sleepless night, there's bound to be many more. Yeah, it's easy to just say no, I don't feel like protecting the city tonight. Of course, criminals are hard workers too and won't call in sick or anything. Now I have to concentrate on staying out of trouble, can't afford to give people the idea that I'm up all night, then that'll start the questions.

Dennis Yates, all 200+ pounds of him lumbers down the hallway with a bandage over his nose. I have to look away because I don't want him to see me laughing. His face is downtrotten, understandably so, he did get his ass kicked last night. It's a small victory for The Hunter and his war on crime. Nonetheless, it's a victory that I'll share with the others at lunch. Hooligans have no place in my city, not now, not ever.

As the day progresses, I shook out of my lathargic state and managed to put some pep in my step. Seeing Dennis's mashed-up face brought a spark to my face. At lunch I informed the gang of my victory which drew praise. This is a great jumping off point for my campaign. Riley tells me that he's almost done with his work. The other two offer continuous moral support.

"What are you going to do next?" Eddy asks.

"I'm not sure, maybe just let crime come to me" I slurp on my chocolate milk.

"Did you hear what happened?" Jody asks me as I stow away a book into my designated locker.

"No, what happened?" I ask, closing the locker and giving the lock a good twist.

"A couple of kids tried to sabotage the buses last night"

I turn to her, "How did you find that out?"

"They pulled Dennis Yates, Ross McGuffy, and Cody Sednov into the principal's office. A girl I know who works in the office told me about it. They were stopped by some guy in a mask"

The words hit like a bomb onto a thatched roof. It's a slight ping of fear that quickly subdues, "What?" I half laugh, trying to play it off.

"Yeah, can you believe it?" she throws her hands up, "The three of them admit to being thrashed by some guy in a mask. There's rumor that a security camera saw the whole thing"

Impossible! There's no cameras at the bus yard-fuck!

"I didn't think there were cameras there, what did he look like?" My outside demeanour is cool and collected while I'm running around like a decapitaed chicken on the inside.

"Wearing all black, like Batman or something" Jody recollects aloud, "I'm going to write a piece about it for the newspaper"

"Oh yeah?" I raise an eyebrow, "Maybe it was a gang thing or something"

"Yeah right" she scoffs, "What gang or for the fact of the matter-anyone would want to protect the buses?"

Now I feel like an idiot

"Good luck with your piece then" I wave and casually walk down the hallway and duck into the bathroom. In the mirror I see The Hunter and panic. Fuck! When did they put cameras in the bus yard? Calm down, they don't have a clue what's going on. There's no picture of your face or anything, everything's gonna be alright.

I splash some water onto my face and feel it cascade down over the contours of my face and drip steadily back into the sink. Unlucky for me there's no paper towels left so a bit of shirt offer the only alternative. That's another risk not accounted for. Other people could discover me. It's an awkward balance of wanting recognition while shunning the limelight. Batman does it fine enough. Oh wait, he's not real. So there! I have one up on all of those superheroes, I'm actually real.

At home, our hero's in for a suprise...

Strange, her car's home before me for a change. I wheel the bike into the garage past her Mazda in wonderment. Perhaps there was no case that needed attending. Maybe no crimes were committed today. It's silly that my suspicions are raised and should rather be turned to happiness to see Mom home early from the office for once.

The inside of the house is quiet as the door pushes open and I place my house key on the table. The backpack slips from my shoulder and next to the door.

"Charlie-is that you?" Mom calls from upstairs.

"Yeah, hi Mom!" I reply.

There's a pause

"Can you come up here?"

The question raises the hairs on the back of my neck. It's that one phrase no teenager likes to hear. 9 times out of 10 it means you're in deep shit and there's no shovel for miles. I take a gulp and climb the stairs to find my Mom in my room, back towards me.

"Can you explain this?" she asks, clearly holding something in her hands.

Fuck! Shit! Dammit!!! Where did I put my costume?! FUCK!!!

Fear grips me, hinesight stares menacingly at me and says, "You are a complete moron". I await the barrage of questions that will surely flow from her judgemental lips. What are you doing with this? How long have you been fighting crime? It's too dangerous, what's the matter with you?

Mom turns and instead of my costume and array of gadgets, she simply holds a six month old copy of Playboy. "What is this?"

A flood of relief comes over me, "I can explain that" I point, struggling for an excuse

"I don't approve of this kind of smut in my household" her voice is brime with maternal sterness, "When you're out of the house you can do whatever you want but not while you're still under my roof"

"A friend got that for me months ago, it's not that big of a deal"

"Save it!" she cuts me down, "You're grounded for the rest of the week and that's final"

"That's not fair!" I resort to juvenile outbursts. Don't you know what's at stake? I can't be grounded! Though I want to tell her the truth, it's just not plausable.

"Neither is life" Mom says, rolling up the magazine and walks past me. I'm left standing at the doorway, grateful that The Hunter has not been compromised but pissed that I'm grounded for having a nude magazine stuffed under my mattress, how cliche.

Doing push-ups help to pass the time. The repititions ease worry and it's proven that physical activity decreases stress and helps one to relax. Mom confiscated my cell phone and unplugged the room phone. Isolated, alone from the world. I am now an island in the middle of a continent, somehow disconnected from those around. Pumping out a steady rythmn clears my clouded mind for the time being. She's got a pretty tight leash around my neck. Straight home from school, no diversions, no alternations.

This time alone offers plenty of chances to rework the numerous kinks in my operation. The Hunter is flawed and those flaws need to be fixed. Being an amateur artist, I scrawl rough drawings of costume ideas. The black color fits best for my nighttime adventures. Maybe some camo for being a hunter? What about an H on the chest? All these ideas are taken into account.

While working on cencept art a sudden fit of laughter crawls over me. This is brought on by the fact that I'm a masked vigilante who's grounded by his mom! It's embarrassing but funny at the same time. The perdicaments I'm in, geez. But there's nothing I can do. Her maternal alert system is on high alert and there's no way for me to even escape for a night. Like a sentinel guarding a maximum security prisoner.

"Honey?" Mom pokes her head into the door frame.

I stop mid push-up and stand up, breathing heavy and sweating, "Yeah?"

"There's someone who keeps calling for you" She tells me, leaning against the frame, arms folded.

"Oh yeah?" I wipe sweat from my brow.

"He really needs to talk to you, I guess" she hands me the phone and turns away.

"Hello?" I ask windidly.

"Charlie-It's Paul. There's been another crime tied to that drug"

"What?" I turn away, voice lowered, "What crime?"

"Some Blue Junkie robbed a 7/11 just a few hours ago, it's all over the news. The guy I guess runs into the store, waving a gun around and shoots up the ceiling."

"Anyone hurt?"

"A cop was wounded and so was the junkie. Something's up with this drug. It's turning people into psychos. When you free from your punishment?"

"At the end of the week...in three days" I peak at the calender, "Try to do what you can from your end. It's straight from school to home, sorry"

"We'll do what we csn, c'ya at school" and the line goes dead.

I step into the hallway and give the phone back to my Mom who either didn't hear anything or was playing it off well. Regardless, Blue is back at the front burner.

Three days later...

At lunch we're all business today, none of us even got any food. My appetite suffered a curbing after the revelation about the rise in Blue-related crimes. Riley tells me he's nearly complete with the modifications and Paul updates me on the police investigation, his father is one of the detectives trying to dumb down Blue. So far, they're not making much headway. Whoever is behind all this is far more clever than originally thought. Johnyy still hasn't been to school.

"I've driven past his house on occasion over the past week and his truck's not there" Eddy reports, "He's long gone"

"Or it's moving day at that factory. Only if I knew where it was" I lament, "Only if I had planned that better"

"You did the best you could for your first time" Paul cuts in, trying to cheer me up.

"Who else hangs with Johnny?" I ask, trying to find a way to get to him.

Collective shrugs

Dammit, Johnny's more mysterious than I thought. This kid's like a ghost. This makes things all the more difficult. He's like a wolf, dangerous and stealthy. My apperance at the factory momentarily shook them, but this group recovered and are probably at a whole new place of operation by now.

"Alright, I'm going to try and find who his friend's are" I give out instructions, "Riley-I need you to dig up current city zoning records and...I dunno, find out what areas are abandoned and unused"

"Suuure..." Riley soaks in this new assignment, "I'll see what I can do"

"I know that sounds like a lot, but don't worry-I'm still gonna look too" I reassure my overwhelmed friend. Now came the task of finding who hangs out with Johnny. Sadly, the only other person I know who knows that info is Jody. As always, she'll start drilling me for reasons why I want to know and that will draw her closer and more uncomfortably closer. Damn

Our hero looks for answers...

"I have another question, Jody" I say as she's organizing some papers in Mr.Pots's class. She's wearing glasses this time which I think look hot but keep this thought to myself.

"What's that?" Jody asks, still shifting.

"Who's friend's with Johnny Wheeler?"

The papers settles onto the desk and she looks up, "Why do you want to know?"

"Independent research" I offer a weak smile.

"Did anything that warrants an interview?"

"No"

"Then sorry, can't help you there" she tells me, this is unacceptable.

"Pleease? With sugar on top?" I beg

"Nooo"

"Pleeease?" I sound like a child, "I'll be your bestest friend"

A crack surfaces in her armor and relents, "Fine, Carl Ludver and Mike Winters are the two most noteable people"

"Thank you" I wink and dart out of the classroom.

As night falls...

My first target is Carl Ludver. Last year's Yearbook paints an accurate portrait of who I'm dealing with. It's one of those photos taken by the last minute by some kid from yearbook as the deadline nears and not every kid had a picture taken. So, they prowl the halls with a camera, stand them against the wall, and snap a quick picture. This is one of those pictures. His hair is shaggy and unkept, eyes dull with dimwitted luster. The eyes in the picture are also red from the flash effect, not a well taken picture but he's not a good person to take a picture of. Some people give wide-ass grins and are photogenic while others shun away from it's soul-stealing powers.

I pedal quickly and through the back alley's to Carl's address. It's another perfect night out for hunting as the weatherman expects rain later into the night and early morning. This time, I'm hopped up on NoDoz and two red bulls. So, my heart's clawing its' way out of my chest. It's a descent home, nothing special but not shabby. However is the owner of the house, being his parents I assume, take moderate care of the red bricked home with white roofing. I peer into the window and luckily his room is on the first floor. It takes a few moments of fiddling with the window lock to unlock it. It slides up carefully and I creep in. The room is a mess with piles of clothes strewn about in an organized mess. Numerous punk band posters plaster the wall. Most notasbly is a huge skull from The Misfits which glares deathly right at me.

He's sound asleep, face down in his pillow, just a pile of shaggy hair atop of a blue pillow. I use the rope the bind him down and gentley place a hand on his head and begin tapping.

"Fuck off" he says in a half daze

Tell me to fuck off?!

I smack his head forcibly and this time he stirsd awake but can't move.

"W-What the He-"

"Ssh" I calmly say, placing a small piece of pipe at the back of his head, "I have a gun to your head, be quiet and I won't stain your nice pillow"

He begins shaking beneath, exhaling fast.

"What do y-you want?" he asks nervously, "I got money in the drawer and pot too!"

"Watch that volume" I warn, "I have a few questions for you. Where is Johnny Wheeler?"

"Who?"

"Don't fuck with me!" I latch onto a tuff of hair and pull upwards and twist

"Ah ah-okay!" I loosen up the grip and he continues "I-I don't know, Johnny split a few days ago. Said somethin' went wrong"

"What went wrong?"

"He wouldn't say. All he said was he'd be gone for a bit and would call if he had to"

"Has he called?" I ask, feeling impatient

"No, no he ain't called" his voice strains as I apply more pressure.

"Tell him I'm looking for him" I lean in close

"Who are you?"

"Just a concerned citizen" I reply, "One who knows about what he's doing. We'll be seeing each other real soon" I let go and loosen up on the rope, warning him not to get up till I'm gone. Then poof! I am a mist. He probably pist his pants. Now that the message has been delivered to the messenger, now it's time to just sit back and wait for a reply...

The nexy day, after school...

Riley, much to my disappointment, couldn't get access to the city zonning plans and records. Despite his best efforts, Riley didn't want to be tracked and his anti-tracking software was out of date. Just a small setback, doesn't matter. I told them Johnny skipped towna dn no suprise, Ludver is abscent today as well. Right now we're at a standstill, that's the frustrating part. Each of them have done their parts exceptionally well. The problem is lady luck is blowing someone else.

After school the craving for a slushie overwhelms all other priorities. A 7/11 just on the main drag offers the perfect stop for a refreshment. Ah, the memories of working at 7/11 last summer. The numerous and colorful characters who entered my life for brief interjections. The crazy old guy who's gonna make it big with one of the twenty lottery tickets he buys a day. The bright youth of the school trying to score cigarettes, the man who comes in for coffee at exactly 7:30 every morning and pays in exact change, not to mention the crazy homeless guy who rants on about how Disney and Wal-Mart are the true forces behind The New World Order. It's a quaint little stop for any traveler or weary soul.

Inside, at the end of the half-assed stock shelves I come upon the MegaSlush Machine. Slushie machines are a marvel of modern technology. What do I want? Kickin' Cherry? Twisted Berry? Or Awesome Grape? Hmm...Twisted berry sounds good. At the counter with my big-ass cup filled to the brim of with twisted berry delight, the guy infront of me seems rather peculiar.

As I sip on the slushie, contemplating what's wrong he suddenly rushes up to the counter whith his hands in his jacket pocket. The poor girl working at the counter is terrified.

"Gimme your money!" he demands, shakily. I'm standing behind him, trying to figure out what I can do. This guy looks like a chump, like he just pulled this one out of his ass. I don't think he even has a gun, probably a snicker's bar or something in that pocket.

He snags the money from her hands as she pleads not to her her. The guy pockets the money and looks around, then turns back at me.

"Wallet! Hand it over!" he demands of me this time.

I slurp on the slushie

"You deaf?!" He's getting frustrated and smacks the slushie out of my hand. As he watches his own handy work spill on the ground I collide into his chest, pushing the arm with the 'gun' off to the side. He stumbles back against the counter and we wrestles, battling across the edge of the counter, knocking over dispoable lighters, lottery tickets, and small nick nacks.

An elbow comes up, shattering against his jaw. His feet lift off the ground for a second then falls gracefully back down to the ground. His arm is outstretched, revealing a 100 Grand Bar. Damn, I was wrong. He begins groaning in pain and I look back up at the counter girl. She's in shock but snaps out of it.

"T-Thanks" she utters

"No problem" I chuckle and decide to leave, not wanting to stick around for the polcie to ask questions.

At Paul's House...

"What were you thinking?!" Paul exclaims. We're in his house today. I told my Mom we were doing a study group for American Government.

"That I had to do something!" I return fire. His basement is smaller and filled with more clutter. Detective Henry Santini is asleep upstairs and will be getting up for the dreaded nightshift in a few hours. Mrs.Barbara Santini is a teacher for another school district.

"Do what? Jeopardize yourself like that?"

"I did it because it was the right thing to do, Paul" We're just a few inches from each other's faces. He's angry that I'm taking things to another level, I don't give a shit.

"You're doing it because it gives you a rush!" Paul retorts, "Because you want to feel big and bad" he mimics.

I'm at a loss for words, maybe he's right. Maybe this is all just an adrenaline-fueled joy ride for me. It did feel good, the ease of which I thwarted that robbery, the satisfaction of seeing grateful faces, and the power over criminals. A flood of new feelings and impowerment are swarming around me, drawing me, drowning me. It felt good and at the same time did some good for the community.

It goes back and forth: accusations, denials, the works. Paul thinks I'm a cocky asshole with a mask who's doing it more for the thrills than for justice. I claim he's jealus because he won't do what I do.

"Guys!" Eddy cuts a swath through our argument, "Why are you fighting? This sin't about one person over another. We're all a team here trying to do something good for a change!"

Eddy's words bring silence to the Western Front. Paul's face softens and he backs away and leans up against the wall.

"I'm-I'm sorry, Paul" I rfinally relent, "Maybe you're right"

"We just need to stay focused on what we originally intended for this thing to go" Paul says, "What do we do from here?"

"Uhhh-We still need to find Johnny" I run a hand through my hair and try to think, "But we're having no luck so far"

"There's no way to find that factory?" Eddy asks

"Like I said, it was too dark and I don't remember how I got back" I admit.

"You warned Ludver and told him to pass it on to Johnny, do you think he'll reappear? I mean-it's getting pretty dangerous for him to come out of hiding"

"He'll eventually come around. It's just a matter of time. What's more important is trying to stem the tide of this drug. Paul-what's up with the police?"

Paul clears his throat, "They've collared a couple dealers and a shot-caller but no big fish and none of the small fish appear to be talking"

"I should go have a chat with Mike Winters" I crack my knuckles...