Stopped a whole gang by myself today. Thirty-two of them. Gotham’s notorious 10th Street Dragons, an offshoot of the Golden Dragons. Or rivals. Who cares.
Picked them off one by one until I got to their leader. He had four bodyguards. Four of those types of guys who will work for anyone who lets them kill people the way they like to kill them.
These guys liked to kill people the slow way. Soften them up a bit, then cut them up a bit, then get creative with power tools.
They got through the first two preferences with me, but by the time they reached for the Black and Decker stuff the blood had made my hands slippery enough to slide out of the chains.
I kicked one of them so hard I think I felt his sternum crack under my heel. Two of them aren’t going to walk anytime soon. The fourth guy threw himself out the window. He probably didn’t realize I wasn’t a killer like them. I’d much rather someone live forever with the memory of my wrath than to die for what they’ve done.
I have to live with my memories of their crimes, it’s only fair that they should have to live with their memories of my justice.
Though I have to admit, it may have been hard for that goon to know my intentions. I’m pretty sure I was laughing loudly during the whole fight.
I stopped by the public restroom in the subway stop at 18th, one of my pre-planned safe havens, so I could get cleaned up. I left disguised as a homeless man around the morning rush hour. Someone bought me a cup of coffee.
After a night of monsters it’s nice to know there are still angels walking among us.