John

  The sun was shining—almost too bright for a city that hid so much filth. The people in this city need someone they can look up to; I want to be that person.

  I grabbed some trash bags on my way to Mr. Gretzky’s. It’s a small task, but it shows people someone cares. Still, the hairs on the back of my neck stood up — like someone was watching me from the shadows.

  Around noon I finished helping Mr. Gretzky paint his pizzeria, which opened the next day. I snuck out of the pizzeria before he could offer me money again.

  As I turned down the road, an alleyway opened up to my right. Footsteps quickly appeared behind me and before I could react I was shoved into the alleyway.

  “I need to speak with you in private,” the man whispered. “It's about your nightly activities.”

  His face was scruffy and looked to be in his late thirties. His hands were large, his dark trench coat hid his broad stature. He looked caring, like how I always envisioned a father would look at his kid if he really cared about him.

  “Are you a criminal?” I asked.

  “No. But I know you are,” he replied.

  “So, you’re a cop?” I stuttered.

  My throat tightened up. If he’s a cop, this is it. I’ve only ever wanted to help — to do good in my own way. If this is where it ends, then so be it. I don’t regret a single thing.

  “No,” he said.

  “What? What do you mean no? If you are here about my hobby, and you’re not here to stop me, then why are you here?” I blurted out.

  “You’re exceptional,” he said, extending his hand. “You’d fit in perfectly in a team of like-minded individuals who share your… hobby.”

  I swallowed hard before shaking his hand. “I’ve always wanted to be a part of something bigger. I’d love to join.”

  When I looked into his eyes, they harbored a deep sadness within, concealed behind a faint smile.

  Chris

  I had been waiting for this day for a week. Until then I had completely forgotten it was my birthday. I stood alone where I should have been with family and friends, but that was fine — this was my purpose.

  I stood atop a brick building in the rain. It was dark; the only light out was the moon. Below, a semi-truck finished loading as I listened to the murmurs below. My skin tingled with anticipation. I couldn’t stop smiling.

  “Time to go,” someone shouted, slamming his fist on the truck.

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  I dropped down on top of the trailer and rolled under the garage door as it came down, unsheathing my knives. A guy on my left started to make a sound that didn’t finish before my left blade sliced his throat. I ripped it out and moved.

  Four more men armed themselves. I dashed to the closest, slit his thigh with one blade, then drove the other through his gut. The adrenaline felt euphoric — the slim odds, five on one, made my night.

  One man aimed a pistol. I used the corpse of the man I just killed as a shield, baiting every bullet. He fired every bullet into the body out of fear; I dropped it, lunged left and stabbed his shooting hand. A second later my right blade slid into his temple. The rest scattered.

  Another charged with a box cutter. I dropped letting him have my shoulder. I stabbed his thigh, then finished him through the chin with the same blade. The last man threw a wild haymaker. I stepped in, kicked his leg out, and shoved the box cutter through his neck until he stopped moving.

  When it was over, the high evaporated — replaced by a burning pain in my shoulder. The rooftop felt so ordinary. I sheathed my knives. I should have hated the pain; instead it proved I was strong.

  A figure stepped out of the shadows. “I’m not here to fight you,” he said.

  “What do you want?” I asked, breath staggered.

  “Come to my car. I’ll patch you up. Then I’ll tell you what I want,” he said as if holding a secret.

  I thought about lying. With my hand pressed to my shoulder no lie could be told. He descended down the stairs and waited in his car. I shadowed him from rooftop to rooftop; when he didn’t drive off, I approached.

  He sat me up, cleaned my wound, stapled it closed. I had been stabbed before, but never this deep; the burn throbbed. I chased pain, but I knew I should fear it. I am reckless, yet feel so alive.

  “Who are you?” I asked when he’d finished.

  “I have reasons,” he said. “You have a fighting spirit that’s being wasted. Join a team. Stop dying out here.”

  “Cut the bullshit,” I told him. “I don’t want to save anyone. I just want to kill. If I join, do I kill more or less?”

  “More,” he said, quietly.

  “Fine,” I stood, ready to leave.

  “At 4:30 on September 8th — Willowcrest and Stonehaven. Heal up, Chris. We have a city to save.” He watched me limp off.

  Nathan

  “Why are you scared of me?” I whispered to the corpse beside me. “Everyone I help looks at me like a monster. I couldn’t stop myself…I wanted to save you, but I—”

  I stopped, staring at the blood pooling beneath him.

  The woman I saved was already gone. Her footsteps faded like everyone else who’s ever seen me. I wiped my bloody hand across my cheek, just to feel something warm.

  “At least you got one good hit in,” I said to the corpse.

  “I didn’t really feel it though,” I chuckled.

  “Who are you talking to, Nathan?”

  The voice froze me. Someone had seen. I couldn’t move. My throat locked, my hands still trembling from what I had done.

  “Nobody…are you here to help me,” I muttered.

  “Why did I say that,” I muttered. “That didn’t even make sense.”

  I couldn’t bear to face him. He’s a cop for sure and now I’m going to prison for the monster I’ve become. If I go to prison maybe I won’t be so alone anymore. Help me.

  “You’re not alone, Nathan. You just forgot how much people matter to you. Come with me — there are more like you,” the man said softly.

  I turned around to see the man in a black trench coat. I ran up to him and he opened his arms as I approached. My escape from this hell is because of the man before me.

  “Thank you,” I whispered, my voice breaking.

  Maybe this time, I wouldn’t have to be alone.

  Vigil

  I had won. Thirty-five guards lay where I had left them. I glared at them. Pathetic. I tore the map off the wall, memorizing the other warehouse locations.

  I walked down the stairs and caught a whiff of gunpowder. The smoke still rose from the chaos. Normally, I’d have booked it, but there was nobody nearby that could hear the chaos. Hands in my pockets, I strolled out the front door.

  The sun outlined a man in a black trench coat, gun fixed on my head. A gray car sat parked behind him.

  “I mean no harm,” he said. “But I know how dangerous you are. You’d have killed me if given the chance.”

  “Fair enough. Let me guess, money?”

  “I want you to join my team of vigilantes, you’d be a valuable member to have.”