I don't own Batman or any characters in the DC universe. I don't expect to make any money from this oneshot, but I do hope people will like it.
Vigilante.
His quarry was nearby, and he did his best to keep his heart rate low; he'd travelled to India to learn Yoga and had studied Pilates, he'd learnt how to keep his heart rate low. He needed to be calm for this, he might have killed a few people once or twice over the years as part of his practice, but those people had been lowlife scum, they'd never been gangsters.
He had been leaning in the dank alleyway for an hour and a half, watching the night club. The mob boss inside had a fairly easy routine; after a full day of work, he would relax in either a restaurant or in a night club, always under his empire. The hard part was predicting which place he was going to go-he made up his mind as soon as he got into his car, so he'd had a hard time following the mob boss without looking like he was following.
The man wasn't an amateur. He was highly skilled, but even he had to follow the regular laws of common sense and he'd been stuck out here for an hour.
Part of him had planned to walk into the nightclub. It would be so simple to walk in there - he didn't look like a homeless man, his clothes were fairly new, casual but hardly smart - and he could attack the mob boss, kill him before anyone knew any better. But the man had decided against it because there were too many chances that his face would be seen, and his mission was far too important to him.
Ever since he was 8 and his parents had been murdered, he had been sent into care, dragging himself up and learning how the streets worked before he ran off and studied abroad.
The man chuckled as he remembered all those years he'd spent learning how to hunt, kill and protect himself. At first he had planned to take criminals and give them to the police, but he had been forced to kill a man, and he'd had the epiphany. If he caught the criminals they'd only get out again and cause more suffering. They were a disease, a cancerous tumor that needed cutting out. Besides, he had tried to give information to the police about a murderer back before he realised it was a waste of time to keep them alive.
He'd been beaten. He'd gone to the police out of the goodness of his heart, to put an animal away. The man hadn't beaten him up, but his friends had and he'd almost been left in the alleyway beaten and bloodied because he'd tried to do what was right. To make matters worse, for them, they'd talked about a police officer who'd been bent. That had given him a clue.
The man would always regret that night. Ever since he'd made the decision to deal with crime, he'd sworn never to take a life, but at that moment he'd been desperate. It had been an accident, and the man still had no idea how he'd done it. One moment there were five men, the next there were four, and his hands were covered in blood as thick as oil.
Those who'd beaten him had been stunned and he'd used that against them. He'd beaten and killed them, leaving one alive to give him answers, and instead of making the mistake of trusting the police again, he'd simply killed the corrupt police officer. Afterwards he'd berated himself for killing the police officer; he could have left him to the other police, but did he really think it would make any difference? He might have gotten off or something, come back or spent time in prison.
The man hadn't enjoyed killing anyone, let alone a police officer, but he had done it. And he had done it again and again, only now he was finally prepared to go out on his mission. The man had never intended or wanted to become a vigilante, never wanted to kill anyone. He had a job opening in Gotham and would soon be heading out to fill it. No-one would ever know what he was.
He had been waiting for two hours for his target to come out, and by the time he did, he could see the mob boss being supported by one of his heavies. He must have had quite a lot to drink to end up in that state, but he wasn't going to let that stop him from starting his mission. The man prepared himself, making sure his weapon and his hood were pulled up before his legs took a step forwards. Walking away from the alleyway, the man homed in on his target like a missile, and he crossed the street with his hands tucked away in the pockets of his coat. He needed to appear casual and he also needed to keep any signs of his weapon hidden, he could feel it in his hand.
Just a few more seconds...
It was a relief to the vigilante the mob boss, he was about to kill wasn't in the car, he was being wrestled into it, but he was protesting and fighting his men each step of the way. The heavies were impatient to get their boss into the car, but the man knew better than to underestimate men like that; some people might think they were stupid, and in some areas they were, but they weren't that stupid. It would only take a glance to the side after he passed them by, then he'd be finished.
The vigilante blended in with the rest of the crowd, pretending to notice nothing, but he knew that to his left there was a fat woman holding a dog in one hand and had a mobile in the other clamped to her ear, and all that time he was getting closer and closer...
He walked past the heavies and they didn't even see him, and they were too busy to notice him walk past anyway. That didn't stop him peering past the rim of his hood to observe the heavies to make sure they were occupied with their boss. He waited a little while when they finally succeeded in getting their boss into the car, and used that moment to plant the small bomb right on top of the petrol cover before walking away and leaning into a doorway.
No-one saw him, but he imagined the police would track down the cameras on this street, but he was keeping his head down so no one could see his face properly, and besides even if they did he'd be long gone after tonight.
The car started to pull away from the curb and it was just driving off when the bomb exploded. The petrol tank went up like a rocket, torching the car and roasting everyone inside.
The vigilante watched this with detached satisfaction. The Police might search for the killer - him - in connection to the mob boss's murder, ignoring the fact the man was a bastard who'd murdered and made the lives of people a misery. The vigilante checked his watch and saw he would need to get going if he wanted to catch the plane to Gotham. Maybe in a year when the dust had settled, he would see what had happened in this city, deal with the rest of the scum. This has been just to test his resolve.
"I'm starting to rise, like a phoenix, mum and dad," he whispered to himself before boarding the plane into Gotham.
Bruce Wayne was on his way to Gotham city to exact justice once and for all.
Please r&r.