"Casey Jones, you're getting up in your years." Standing before a small mirror affixed above a leaky bathroom sink in his New York City apartment, a tall, broad-shouldered man with shoulder-length, shaggy, black hair gave a sigh as he spoke back to his own reflection.
In the background, he could hear the small, decade-old television sitting atop his dresser drawers; a newscast was on – breaking news about a bank heist that had just occurred.
"The suspects just blazed off in a 90s model convertible, and are headed down 13th and Main, according to bystanders –"
"Meh, according to bystanders the bank robbers are headed down 13th and Main; according to me, the long arm of the law in this city needs some serious exercise – what the heck are they doing, not being hot on the tails of this convertible? Why is the news team more up to date on them than the police are?"
Leaving from his bathroom to step over to his bedroom closet instead and sticking one arm into the closet space blindly, Casey quickly withdrew from the tiny room an old, beat-up looking golf club. "Well, my old friends are probably already busy dealing with other city scum anyway . . ." he said aloud to himself, wielding the stick like a weapon, before tossing it over onto his bed as he reached back into his closet to grab a hockey mask.
"What's this? An unidentified, masked subject has appeared out of nowhere – their motorcycle pulled onto Main Street, coming of off of 9th, before skidding to a slide of a halt right in front of the assailant's car!"
"Say what?" Casey blurted out, ducking his head back out from the closet to instead step around the side of his bed, to get a better look at the ongoing newscast.
Watching with widening eyes, the tall, bulkily built man watched as the news crew's cameraman quickly turned his lens on the image of a tall, thin, chainmail-covered person wearing an opera mask over the upper-half of their face as they hopped off of their parked motorbike while simultaneously reaching behind themselves to withdraw a golf club from a satchel affixed to their back.
"Hey!" Casey cried out, throwing his hands in their air, before bringing them down to his head, tangling his fingers in his hair. "They're seriously cramping my style! Poser – who does this guy think he is?"
Still feeling distinctively miffed by the audacity of this other, out from nowhere vigilante's actions - Casey ultimately sighed and lowered his hands, before crossing his arms over her chest. This poser, whoever they were, was doing a damn good job of mimicking what Casey himself would have done to a T, before going above and beyond the call by actually pulling off a smoother attack than he could have operated.
Clucking his tongue once in an impatient manner, he watched as the vigilante on-screen jumped atop the hood of the vehicle that had been forced to screech its brakes to a sudden stop in order to avoid hitting the motorcycle that had cut them off in the first place. The unknown person then proceeded to strike the windshield three times with the golf club – the second a crack formed there, the two bank robbers escaped by hopping out from either side of the car's front seats.
Quickly doing a backflip off of the hood and onto the ground, the half-masked crusader ducked low and swung their golf club once, hard, striking the passenger-side robber in the back of the legs, right in the calves. Crying out, they fell to their knees at once, and finally Casey was relieved to see an officer of the actual law make an appearance, running over to the fallen criminal.
Meanwhile, the chainmail-clad hero had already cartwheeled twice to get around the front of the car and over to the other side, before committing a repeat offense in that they again ducked low to the ground and swung their golf club at the robber's calves, striking true to their aim once again, bringing the other thief to the ground with a wail of pain.
Standing and surveying the situation for not even a millisecond afterward, the person swiftly slipped their golf club back into their satchel backpack, before turning and running to their motorcycle; hopping atop the vehicle which had been left running while in park, the vigilante revved the bike's motor before shifting it into gear and blazing away, leaving the police to deal with the rest of the situation.
Shaking his head and wondering what the world had come to when a simple-living New Yorker who liked to bash heads in now and again that deserved it couldn't even go about his day without having some mook or something infringe on their way of life - almost copycatting it - Casey was unwittingly even grumbling aloud to himself about how indignant it all was when his cell phone buzzed in his back jeans' pocket.
Reaching for it, he took it out and glanced at the Caller ID, before relaxing his grumpy demeanor a bit as he flipped open the mobile device. "Hey April," he said, bringing the phone to his ear. "You won't believe what I just saw on the T.V.! Some Yours-Truly impersonator – although, I have to admit, the chainmail and Phantom-of-the-Opera mishmash was all their own, I'll give them that – well they took on two bank robbers and stopped them in their tracks just in time for the cops to get there and arrest the idiots. I mean, I'm glad that whoever it was stopped the criminals, but that's my job. I do what the law seems unable to do most of the fricken' time – me – Casey Jones."
"Well maybe this person realized that sometimes the great and amazing Casey Jones can't do everything all the time. Maybe they realize that as much as he'd love to be able to save the entirety of humanity in a single night, that it's simply not possible," April replied from the other end of the line.
"There you go, using that tone again – that patronizing one, talking to me like I'm some hothead who needs to be calmed down."
"Well –"
"Oh, never mind, April. Anyway, when can I see you again? I know you've been busy working with that artifact salesman or what-have-you, working together to fix up that old museum but still, I haven't seen you in a week. Can I swing by your place tomorrow?"
"Well," April said again, and then Casey heard a knock on his door. "I'm kind of already here. I hope your neighbors won't mind where I parked the motorcycle."
Walking over to answer his door while keeping the phone at his ear, Casey said, "Since when do you have a . . . motorcycle – wait. April – you, the artifacts aficionado, wouldn't happen to have access to, say, chainmail, would you?"
"Maybe," the redhead answered simply.
"And are you also – maybe - the reason some of my golf clubs seem to disappear into the clear blue sky?"
"Just answer the door already, Casey – I can hear you speaking to me on the phone right through the door! I know you're right there, for goodness' sake," April exclaimed.
"Yeah, yeah, just one question," Casey said, staying on the phone as he reached forward and unlocked the doorknob, before turning it and pulling open the front door. "Were you even planning on letting me in on how you're temporarily moonlighting as me?"
"Depends," April replied, lowering her phone and slipping it into her jacket pocket as the door opened and she found herself face-to-face with her boyfriend. "How'd I do?"
Sighing slowly, a smile gradually broke out and spread across Casey's face as he lowered his own phone and flipped it closed. "Are you kidding? You were completely radical, babe."