Author's Note: This is something of a reboot to my Hero By Night story.
Disclaimer: I don't own anyone in this story. They are all the property of WWE and themselves.
He knew he was dying.
As his vision began to blur, he could make out a few shapes. He could see the tress rustle above him. He could make out the stars above them. He could make out the birds flying above his near lifeless body. And above all, he could make out the shapes of the men who had killed him. If nothing else, he would never forget those shapes.
He would never forget the pain, either. Not just from the beating he had just taken, or the bullet that was slowly but surely taking the life from him.
No, it was the horrifying sense of betrayal that was truly painful.
Mark Calaway could only lie there in the desert sand and reflect on how it had come to this. How could he be here right now, seconds away from death, all because of a man who swore he could trust? It shouldn't be possible. It wasn't right. But yet, here he was, lying here in the desert, bleeding out, and seething at the abysmal set of circumstances that led to him being here.
Someone was talking, but Mark could barely hear him. He didn't have much longer, he knew. And then he heard the footsteps coming closer. As the world began to fade to black, he could see the shape of his killer standing over him, pointing the gun directly at his heart.
Mark knew he had time for just one last thought, and it was towards the wife and son he was now leaving behind. If he could, he would have shed a tear for the fact that his wife was about to become a widow, and his son an orphan. He would never be able to watch his son grow up. He would never be able to buy a beautiful gift for his wife, and he…
He heard the gun cock, and he knew it was over.
The man holding the gun said something, but again, Mark wasn't listening. Why should he? He was out of breath, out of time, and he couldn't retort, even if he wanted to.
And then, the heard the sound of the trigger being pulled.
BAA….
Mark awoke with a start.
Mark rubbed his eyes, cursing under his breath. Just once, he would like to get just a few minutes to rest his eyes. But every time he closed them, it replayed, over and over like a bad commercial that just kept popping up. Over and over, he saw the events unfolding that led to his de…
And then he realized what had awoken him in the first place. The police scanner had just come on. There was a mass breakout occurring at the penitentiary. Innocents would be in danger, which means he was needed.
Mark rose from his chair and looked around the crypt that served as his home away from home. Taking a moment to purge that last of his recurring nightmare from his mind, he headed to the special area where his costume was hidden. He pushed open to stone door that concealed it, and began putting it one.
The black bodysuit, the black boots, the black fingerless gloves, the black steel-spiked gauntlets, the black armored chest-plate emblazoned with the TX logo, and black hood attached to a long black cape helped to transform him into something more than human. And as he put on the black leather Phantom-like mask, he became something else entirely.
He was no longer a man.
He was an entity, a ghost, a Deadman. He was a demonic force that rained down punishment upon the evildoers who resided in Titan City.
He was a force of justice given form.
He was Death himself.
He was the Undertaker.
TO BE CONTINUED…