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***
My hand pushes away from the silver sedan - I turn off the road at the driver's shout of displeasure and his expressive shake of his fist, hoping that this is the right place to take a shortcut, and my hunch is right.
I should have made it fifteen minutes ago, but circumstances are always stronger than I am, especially when New York is involved.
Streams of cold air creep under my shirt, cooling my body from the heat of the long run, but it doesn't make me feel any better. I don't care about the fatigue, the aching legs and gasping lungs-it's just flesh that gets stronger every day. But that's not what my mind is like. The mere stray thought of not getting there on time torments me more than the worst torture, driving me mad and making me clench my teeth to the point of pain.
My right calf starts to cramp. My body is signalling in every way it can, already begging me to "just stop for a minute," but I can't.
They're waiting for me, needing me more than ever, and I can't let them down.A mesh fence appears ahead, tightly blocking the narrow alleyway. An insurmountable barrier for the common man, but not for someone determined to keep this city safe from any harm.
My feet carry me forward, even for a moment, seeing the obstacle, I could not bring myself to stop, continuing the fight to the end.
A rubbish bin, a second, a third, an ajar box of slop that had accumulated over the week. I'll need my arms to get over the last part and here I am with one foot on top of the fence, jumping down to somersault smoothly, picking up a precious burden as I go.
It's lucky that I've learnt to hold on to my hat in every situation, otherwise I'm afraid I'd be without it long ago.
The last hundred metres of the alleyway lead me straight to the right house. I have to go round it, coming out onto a busy street at rush hour, but there's no more time for that.
A short run up the wall, a push, and I'm already clinging to the edge of the fire escape with one hand, so the only thing left is the hardest part: getting the parcel to the top without damaging it.
There is a lot of fussing, swearing, and threats to my own exhausted hands, but eventually I manage to get up there, standing with both feet on the rusty bars that have seen better days.
The target lives on the fifth floor, and God only knows what it took to keep me from cursing out loud at the injustice.
My shaky legs pushed me up, while the stairs shook painfully, threatening to collapse at any second.
And then there was the target. A simple wooden-framed window, with traces of old paint from the Prohibition era.
A nervous tapping on the glass turned to a woman's excited scream and a shuddering curtain pulled to the side.
Through a small slit in the fabric a surprised eye, the size of a five-litre jerrycan cork, stared at me. An ordinary blue-eyed girl with a loose strand of blonde hair. Through her ajar mouth squeezed out a sound of utter surprise, but realising that I was not a burglar, she opened the curtains, revealing to my eyes a cosy little girl's room in light blue tones, though I was more interested in the short T-shirt that barely covered her tummy.
My eyes went down reflexively, causing the girl's blood to rush, and outrage to take the place of fear. Without letting her hit first, I shove the pizza into the hands of the beauty, so carefully delivered right to the room.
-Fastest delivery for the most beautiful girl in the world. -Fastest delivery for the most beautiful girl in the world.
A chorus of female voices filled the alleyway, and a new dose of embarrassment reached the customer's ears. With puffy lips and jerky movements she pulled the money out of her pocket and handed it to me, almost pushing me down the stairs.
-Thank you...
-I'm always happy to try," I winked at the beauty and listened to the beautiful giggle from the corner of the room I couldn't see, "I hope you'll keep ordering pizza these days.
I winked with one eye, but I didn't want to impose on the girl any more and walked downstairs, once again immersing myself in the pleasant scents of New York, which had replaced the girl's room.
-I thought that this time she would definitely invite me," I knocked the cigarette out of the pack with a good finger, crunching my neck, enjoying the full end of the working day, "but there's no harm without good, but now I'll have enough money for my beauty.
Yes, all my suffering, abuse of the body and other epithets that give work, were not in vain. For a month now I have been saving money for one of the most important things in my superhero role.
Maybe someone will think that it's a weapon, or maybe some scientific gadget that will help me to fight on equal terms with all superfreaks?
Of course not, I'll be kicking their arse with my wit, body and cunning.
What I wanted to buy was a scarf. Yeah, yeah, a regular scarf. A white and soft one that would cover my neck from the cold and also help me get rid of the chafing from my cloak.
I had an unfortunate incident here. When "justice" went to save the city again, it rained hard, and then a hurricane wind came, so "justice" had to lie at home with a fever while my mum beat the crap out of me, complaining about the price of medicine.
So I'm going to have a classic Rorschach scarf. I want to buy myself a rare British one. The Limeys used to put one of these on their pilots during World War I.
-Oh, if I have any money left, I'm gonna buy some rubber bands and stop by Kristen's. She, as a connoisseur of my style, will be thrilled.
Rubbing my hands together in a lewd manner, I went shopping, not noticing a pair of prying eyes watching me from the customer's window.
***
-Looks great!
-You're wearing a scarf.
-You don't understand anything, Jon Snow.
-I don't even want to hear it," Parker metaphorically postured, "I'm not walking around school with a guy in a scarf. They'll think I'm a blue blood like you.
-What do you mean? Hey, MJ.-M," a girl walked past us and stood next to Peter, shooting him a concerned look, "is something wrong, guys?
-No, I just wanted Parker to shut up, he can't say a word in your presence.
-You're the one who can't shut up, aren't you? - Standing up for the object of his passion girl.
Boy, that lucky bastard Parker. He didn't do shit, but he got attention. Maybe we should try the languishing prince image, too. Or, in this case, the languishing co-cuckold.
-Of course, and that's why Pete and I make a great couple, don't we, Pete? -Yeah. No more girls, no more sausage friendship.
-Oh, come on, don't spill the beans. You don't think anyone knows you're in Kristen's knickers?
-А? What? What do you mean? How do you know?
-Seriously? I'm her friend. She told us as soon as you left her house.
-How could she?! She told me to keep my mouth shut.
-We were all surprised you didn't report it the first day," Mary Jane clapped me on the shoulder and winked at Peter, who was blushing. The guy's reaction was a real tidbit for her, so a predatory, sexy smile from the redhead was guaranteed," I see you didn't even tell your friend! Way to go, Sean.
Frowning under the two stares, Pete's indignant-surprised and Watson's mocking, I squeezed out the truth.
-I gave my word," I said, seeing the confusion on the girl's face, and my hesitation was blown away. That's how my father taught me, you give your word, you keep it. It's simple.
-Ma... Really, I don't know what I'm talking about. Okay, guys, good luck to you. I hope I don't ruin your boyband with my discoveries for Pete.
-No, we'll just punch each other in the face and we'll be fine. -Yeah.
-Yeah. What?
-Bye, MJ, have a good time and come and chat more often.
Pete and I had the same desire to get away from the gossipy redhead. Parker was tired of standing there embarrassed, and I was afraid she'd found out more about me and was going to spill it.
-Well, you could have told me.
-No, I promised. And it's not that big of a deal," I answered the unasked question and decided to dot all the i's and t's, "high school will be over soon, it's just a matter of time. And then we'll go our separate ways. Her parents will probably get her a job, and I plan to go to Octavius' university, if he keeps his word. Once I graduate, I'll find a steady lady of the heart.
-Fee," my friend whistled, his lower lip sticking out, parodying my voice, "what an important and businesslike man. The lip is not stupid, of course. "A steady lady of the heart...." While you're looking for one, don't pick up anything.
-You should've invited MJ over already and not be jealous of me in secret. I'm sure once you two go on a date, our friendship will go down the drain and you'll be under a nice redhead's heel....
-You're such an arsehole.
-You're no better.
***
My hat was fluttering nervously in the wind-if I hadn't held it with my fingertips, it would have gone flying with the gusts of gale force wind.
I had a day off today, free of all people, things, and worries, so it was time to leave my cosy world again and go to clean up the city, destroying the dirt.
Raindrops pounded on my cloak, splattering my mask, the soaked fabric clinging to my face, but I had long ago tried to develop the habit of ignoring any discomfort to my body.
My eyes, accustomed to the darkness, discerned the grim silhouettes of male figures roaming the ruins of the house. Nearly a dozen men, grown men who'd been in trouble more than once.
They have knives, tire irons, bats, and maybe even a couple of guns. That's a nice set.
They're not some great gang or criminal masterminds. They have no business with the FBI or any other flashy agency that gobbles up a small country's budget in a month. Nobody's going to remember a bunch of guys selling drugs and mugging passersby. That's the reason they're still here.
Satisfied with their lives because they can easily throw in a couple of crisp notes to the police chief and quietly walk away when the first patrol car shows up.
It's the impunity that makes them so dangerous. The realisation that any wrongdoing you do will be forgiven and you can continue to ruin the lives of peaceful people.
And there are thousands like them. They won't be dealt with by superheroes like the Fantastic Four - they're too small-time for Reed "Motherfucker" Richards to get his arse out of his chair.
Maybe Peter or Daredevil could take on this gang one day, but how many more years will it be before they take them down? Too long.
So I'll do my duty to society myself. There's enough evidence here, all I have to do is photograph this shit and plant it in the paper to give the cops something to work with.
But before you do that, you gotta do the easy part. Break into a building full of ghouls and scumbags, go through them and get to the target without killing anyone.
-Here we go.
The new leather gloves crunch nicely as I knead my fingers. My body tensed to the max, ready to fend off a surprise attack from the shadows in case I missed a couple of bandits and miscalculated.As I get close to the door, I hear a few voices behind it, rough male grunts and the clinking of glass. Somewhere in the background, an old TV crackles, the only normal source of light, illuminating the room with bright rays from its screen. Water drips from a leaky pipe on the first floor, falling rhythmically and irritatingly into a slushy puddle. From somewhere above, the bed creaks and the whore who was brought here a couple of hours ago squeals playfully.
-Phew... Why don't any of you guys live in normal houses?
Rhetorical question. At my level, that's the only kind of thug you get. I'm not Iron Man or Captain America, I'm supposed to protect the world from great evil from the beginning of my career.
-I had nothing against Stark, I was just a little jealous, but somebody's got to do the dirty work.
It's not every day you get to do something like this. But to be a real hero, you have to overcome obstacles and get better every time.
Fingers are threaded through metal rings, putting a simple brass knuckle on your hand without frills and extravagances.
The hand beats a simple rhythm against the door, cutting off the laughter and imposing a canopy of silence on the space outside the door. Quiet whispers, full of questions and bewilderment. The bastards were expecting someone in a couple of hours, so they don't know what to do.
-Who else could it be? Charlie, I swear to God, next time you call, you fat bastard, you scared us to--
The door opens sluggishly, the man behind it playing out his displeasure all the way. His head is thrown back to the ceiling and his eyes are covered as he continues to chatter through clenched teeth.
But not for long.
A knuckledusted fist smashes into a lucky open chin, knocking the first one out of the ten and sending him into a deep knockout with a heap of injuries.
Bursting inside, covering myself with a body that hasn't had time to fall yet, I throw this "butler" towards the gaming table, overturning it with money, booze and cards, scattering all this rubbish on the floor.
They scream, swear and threaten. The kind of familiar classics that always sound when a fight breaks out. As long as there are many of them, as long as they're on top, each of these humanoid creatures will shriek about their rights, power and authority....
My hands act out of reason, throwing an ashtray into the face of one of the criminals. The smell of ash and burnt paper fills the air. The habaricas fly around the flat, and my foot takes the healthiest one out of the fight, forever denying him the opportunity to procreate.
The blows rain down from all sides. There are more of them, they're healthier, but what difference can it make when you've spent your whole life beating a mob of one, and I've been fighting one against all.
The crunch of a kneecap, the squeal of another eunuch, my quiet hiss of an unfortunate missed hook.
Three of the five are lying on the floor. My coat is stained with blood, and my mask is slick with red stains. My mind is a mess, making it hard to just realise what's happening.
-I'll kill you!
A knife, a simple folding knife. It's what mushroom pickers use to gut their prey in the woods. Short blade, wide handle. Why the fuck did he take it anyway?
The old wooden chair shatters when his head comes into contact with such a marvellous piece of furniture. I'm left with two sturdy legs that are just begging to be used.
-Now it's fair.
From the first floor there is a clatter of clogs. The others are rushing in, and I'm barely done with the first half, and I've already taken a good smack in the face. But when has it ever been easy?
The first chair leg flies into the corridor, where a moment later I hear a painful shriek and the sound of a bulky body falling. Now there's a dozen seconds to spare.
-Hey, man... Don't...
I'm cutting off the speech of the last person on the ground floor. A skinny, long-haired man unconsciously falls to the floor, spilling blood from his busted lip.
Gotta even the odds. I was lucky the first time, but if four men pile up now, then.....
I can't finish the thought. Jumping over the fat sidekick who was rushing down the corridor, the leader of the bargaining team was the first to burst into the room.
Wide pupils, crazy eyes, drool running down his chin. Huey must have sampled his own merchandise, or, more likely, he'd just buried his face in it, letting the dope soak into the last vestiges of his brain.
He was naked, with a condom on his cock and socks on. Shaved bald, glistening with tattoos and other gangster shit plastered all over his body.
A bottle of cheap bourbon was clutched in his left hand, and a six-shot revolver rested in his right. Small, practically a lady's gun, but no less dangerous.
I'd never been much of a football fan, but this time I was glad when the can of beer hit exactly where I'd planned.
Splattering the heady liquor everywhere, the can spun frantically on the floor as Huey, trying to regain his breath, clutched at his chest.
The gun. Always loved it, but feared it. So much power and self-confidence given by properly assembled pieces of metal.
But now is not the time to philosophise.I hide around the corner of the entrance, huddling close to the wall so there's not even a hint of a shadow or my presence.
Footsteps approach. Hurried, nervous. Their master doesn't know what to expect. The fighting stops, leaving only the groans of pain from the criminals writhing on the floor.
As soon as the unshaven face came into view, a wooden chair leg smashed another chin. Not a good crunch. Looks like my weapon won't last much longer, but at least I hope so.
***
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