Diner Dash

What a miserable night…

With hands in my pockets I walked down the concrete pavement that wound its way through the heart of Jump City. My feet slapped nosily on the wet surface.

It was raining. Hard, cold, brutal rain lashed at my protected back as I hunched over slightly, shielding my front with my rear. Sleets of water poured down from the heavens above, drenching everyone and everything that got in its way.

The whole world that surrounded me was a mixture of dark and depressing shades, ranging from gray to black with sporadic spots of white here and there. A car drove quickly past, splashing me with muddy gutter water as its wheels ran over a murky puddle. I cursed silently.

What did I do to deserve this?

I continued my walk through downtown Jump City. The slums were all around me. The buildings were black and desolate, with wooden planks haphazardly nailed to the doors and windows. Century old architecture inhabited this street, and if this was a different world, maybe such structures will be regarded with respect as an icon of our glorious past. Here however, they were abandoned, derelict old heaps of wood long overdue for demolition.

I walked, with nothing but a raincoat and a note in my waterproof pocket. The note simply read:

1 Titans' Tower

Titans Island, Jump City.

It was an address, nothing more, nothing less. The meaning of it was unknown to me.

It suddenly struck me.

Who am I?

Oh my God. I don't know… I don't know! My name, my history, my family… I have no idea! I ceased walking and stood still, the rain battering me relentlessly. I looked beside and around me, as if searching for something, anything that will give me a clue as to who I am. I turned to my right and saw light flooding the dark footpath just ahead of me. It's warming yellow luminescence inviting me, drawing me closer.

It was a small diner, one of those diners with the retro sixties feel to it. Vinyl seats, vinyl stools, even vinyl walls. It was a warm place, a cozy place, with all types of people enjoying a nice supper that brought back memories. A mother and son sat together in a booth, the child, only about five or six, sipping and slurping noisily at what remained of his chocolate milkshake. The mother scolded him, and he fell silent.

A man in weathered jeans and, of all things, a white and stained t-shirt that had a square with broken line borders containing the writing: 'Insert witty comment here' slouched over a mug of coffee, as if attempting to warm himself up from the cold outside.

A young couple, romantically in love sat clutching each other's hands over the red table-top. If only life was that perfect. I could tell that the man had lust, not love in his eyes as he held her hands over a crystal glass of ice-cream.

I entered and sat roughly on one of the soft red stools, and it spun slightly.

"What'll it be hon?"

I snapped my head to glance at the one who had addressed me. It was an elderly lady, perhaps in her mid to late fifties, with graying hair and adorned in a white apron stained all kinds of hues. A pair of rectangular glasses sat perched neatly atop her slightly crooked nose. She had a pleasant face, and an enlightening smile, one that comforted me whilst I sat and worried.

"You should relax lovey. What would you like?"

What would I like?

"I would like some information please." I said in a gravelly voice that was not my own.

"Sure hon. What would you like to know?"

The door rang, and a man entered, dressed in a similar raincoat as mine. Then another followed, then another, and finally one more. Four men walked briskly inside, and to the casual observer it seemed as if they were innocent bystanders simply getting shelter from the horrendous rain. I saw so much more, and I don't know why.

Four men, early twenties.

Black raincoat, concealing pistol.

Broad shouldered, tense, looking for a fight.

I gazed at these fellows, then back to the expectant woman. She raised an eyebrow behind the rectangular lens.

"What day is it?"

"It's Tuesday."

Tuesday…

"And the date?"

"Twenty-third."

"Of…?" I let the word hang in the air.

"November. Geez what's the matter, suffering from Amnesia?"

"Do you have today's newspaper?"

"Sure do. Here you go." She replied, handing a tattered pile of loose papers to me. I took hold of it and after a silent Thank You; I removed it from her grip and placed it in front of me.

I scoured the headlines, hoping against hope that something might click, might come to me whilst I read.

"Who is this man?" A Headline read, above a large picture that filled half a page.

I gazed at the picture. It was male, that much is certain. Everything else is debatable. The picture is truly the work of an amateur. It was extremely blurry, and the only other distinctive feature is a slight, reddish-gold reflection off a pair of what seemed to be sunglasses that he wore. I continued to read.

This man, mistakenly known to many as 'The Joker' due to his constant smiling, was spotted leaving the scene of a murder of two families who were having an annual reunion. Both families consisted of a mother and father, two sons and two daughters. All twelve were slaughtered during their dinner. The man is wanted for questioning by the police.

Shocking, I surmised. I looked back nonchalantly at the newcomers. They had split up, two circling towards my left and the other two to my right. I place the newspaper down on the bench and slide it across back towards the elderly lady.

"One last question." I said, turning my back to her.

"Sure thing hon."

They were closer now, almost ready to pounce.

"Who am I?"

The man on my left struck first. He launched a fist towards my face, but I pulled my head back and it simply grazed the edge of my nose. I whipped up a wooden serving platter, complete with scalding hot coffee and smashed it across my attacker's face, burning him as well as slapping him. The wooden platter splintered and shattered, and all I was left with were two small sticks in either hand. I turned to my right and smacked the other man in the face with both of the sticks, causing him to reel back in pain. I spun around and threw one of my wooden weapons towards a yet unaffected attacker, and he dodged the missile. I threw the last one at him as well and rolled over the bench, barely escaping the torrent of semi-automatic rounds that pummeled into the wooden top. I fell on the other side of the bench, and came face-to-face with the elderly lady, who was now cradling her head with fear.

I wanted to tell her that it was going to be ok, but I couldn't. Something stopped me, and I don't know what. So instead I leapt back over the bench in a rage. I placed both my feet firmly on the wooden top and launched myself towards my attackers, who were having a very hard time keeping track of me. My right foot landed on the right shoulder of one of the attackers, reared my left leg back like David Beckham going for a goal and, using my right foot as a guide, I whipped my left forward, nearly decapitating him. His whole body shuddered and snapped backwards, and my leg kept traveling and followed through, so I used its momentum to allow me to flip my body backwards. It seemed as if time had slowed down, and before any of the attackers even knew it I had brought my foot down, toe first, on top of another man's head, shattering his spine instantly. I fell to the ground roughly and crouched low, before extending my leg yet again and knocked the feet from underneath my second-last attacker.

I turned behind myself and stared down a barrel of a basic Berretta police-issue handgun. He pulled the trigger, and I fell, only to ram my fist into the man's gut. The man wheezed heavily and dropped his pistol, allowing me sufficient time grab hold of his head and slam it onto the bench. I reared it back up and slammed it down again, and again, and again. I pulled his head back for a final time, and his eyes were glazed over. He must've been dead, but I had to make sure. I let go of his hair that I clutched and brought my other hand down, palm flat and vertical, onto the man's adam's apple. The force of the blow was so strong it forced the man's body to increase its descent onto the floor, and it smashed with such a force it almost cracked the tiles.

The final man regained balance and pulled himself to his feet, gun still in hand.

"Who am I?" I demanded, but I received no reply.

The man simply dropped the gun and fled in terror.

Silence befell the Diner, the only noise emanating from a retro jukebox.

We're gonna rock rock rock aro-und the clock!

The elderly lady slowly peeped out from her hiding place, in unison with almost everyone else.

The child started crying, the man in the t-shirt tried to rescue what remained of his coffee, and the man with lust in his eyes emerged from behind the girl's back.

He would have a lot of explaining to do.

I left the diner in a hurry. I just killed three men, and I don't have any regrets.

What am I?