Kabal sat in his one bedroom apartment. It was dank, dirty, yet everything he needed. It was covered in darkness, the only light source illuminating the room came from the television. In his hand was his hook sword, with a stone running along the blade. Sparks occasionally emanated from it. It took a bit to clean the blood off, but that was coming with the territory nowadays, it seemed. Still, whenever he put the mask on, he felt that he had a goal in life, more than he ever did without the mask and trench coat.

The TV was currently on the news, speaking of his actions. It was currently a heated debate over if his actions were justified or not. He tried not to kill during the first month, but he kept seeing the same criminals committing the same crimes. It sickened him to his core, biting and gnawing at his insides. So, one day, when he was once again on patrol, he came across a man whom he put away. This man was a true monster. Not only did he enjoy the killings, the things he did to the bodies when he was done was… unsettling. Kabal thought back on that day three months ago. The first life he took…

Kabal stepped into the house. It was brightly lit, very few shadows appearing. That made him nervous. Whenever a criminal had a house like this, they thought they had nothing to fear. As if they were untouchable. A few weeks ago, Kabal saw that this man, named Edward Jacob, had been released from prison, cleared of all crimes he committed. The controller the vigilante was holding in his hands when he saw that was shattered. The bodies started to appear soon after, all done with the same M.O. as Jacob's.

The creaking of the floorboards alerted Kabal that someone was upstairs. His head darted upwards, eyes narrowing into slits. A few days ago, a little girl was kidnapped. A girl named Elizabeth Shaw. She was thirteen years old. The masked vigilante was able to track Jacob down to this humble abode. It was easy. He didn't exactly make it difficult to find him. Hell, Jacob even showed the press his home the day of his release, claiming that he was starting with a clean slate. He showed that there was nothing to hide, nowhere to put any bodies. There was always a place.

A bang upstairs caused Kabal to venture further. He turned the handle, opening the door to the staircase. He slowly made his way up the flight of stairs, a bead of sweat dripping down his forehead. When he caught Jacobs last time, the monster was about to bring his knife down on a little boy. Thankfully, Kabal was able to chuck a rock at the man's head in time. He doubted the boy got out of that situation without any mental scars.

Once Kabal got to the top, he saw three doors. He estimated which room the noise came from. He chose the door closest to him, and peered into it. Edward Jacob was cleaning a knife. But that wasn't what got Kabal's attention. No, it was the little girl in the chair. She'd been dead for days, based on the rate of decomposition, but all of her clothes were missing. And Jacob was just standing there, whistling to himself as if this was some everyday occurrence.

Filled with rage, Kabal kicked down the door, breaking off the hinges. Jacob looked at the vigilante in shock, dropping the still bloodied knife. Before the killer got a chance to react, Kabal seized him by the throat and slammed him down into the tray of tools. Sharp object scattered all over the floor, blood streaking the floor. Kabal grabbed Jacob by the hair and had him turn to face Elizabeth. He shouted, "Look at what you did!"

Jacob, too stunned to even comprehend what Kabal had just said, didn't respond. He was jarred back to the real world, however, when he was thrown back into a wall. He slid up the wall, but a knife embedded into his shoulder stop him. Kabal felt some blood splash onto his person, even some falling on the lens of his mask, but he didn't care. He took out another knife, and stabbed it in Jacob's other shoulder. Another scream filled the air. The vigilante opened his mouth to say something, but he couldn't find the words to do the situation justice. But Jacob had regained enough of his wit to plead. "Please, don't," Jacob cried. "I-I didn't mean to—I just found her like that, honest!"

Kabal raised a fist, but he couldn't punch the man. No, he deserved far worse. He lowered his fist, instead picking up a meat cleaver. He raised it over his head, read to bring it down on Jacob's head. Jacob once again tried to beg for his life. "I beg of you! Please!"

The blade slammed into his skull. It lodged itself firmly into Jacob's brain. Kabal turned to leave, but saw the little girl once again. An all new rage filled inside of him, as he turned back towards Jacob's body. Kabal pulled out the cleaver and slammed it back down into the murderer's head repeatedly. Blood splashed out of Jacob's skull, staining both the wall and Kabal's suit. It was done. Both Deacon and the world had one less monster to look out for.

Once outside, he pulled out a phone and dialed 911. The operator answered. "911, what's your emergency?"

"There's been a double murder. In the attic. Trace the call. The phone will still be on when you get here." He dropped the cellular device, and walked the rest of the way home.

He threw the rock he was using to sharpen the blade across the room. Whenever he thought about that moment, he realized he would not have been able to stop all the crime in this city by letting those who kill live. They needed to be taught a lesson themselves. Kabal put the hook sword away, letting out a deep sigh.

The TV began to show static, causing him to turn his attention towards it. After about half a minute, a figure appeared. He was dressed in a red hooded trench coat. The hood was pulled over his head, with was covered by a porcelain mask. The mask had a blank expression on its face. The man's arms were folded behind his back. Painted onto the black background was a single, red anarchy 'A'. Kabal tilted his head in confusion.

"Citizens of Deacon," the man spoke in a deep, baritone voice. "I am your salvation. For too long have you become oppressed by this wave of corruption and fear. There was once a time where you could set up a business anywhere in the city and no have to pay 'protection.'" He said the word with an air of disgust. "Not anymore. Starting in a week's time, you will have your freedom. To do as you wish in this once proud city. You will not have to fear people like Commissioner Gor Roh, the Rain, or anyone else that would do you harm. As a great man once said, the only thing you will have to fear is fear itself.

"You are all probably wondering what happened to your television viewing pleasures. Do not fear. They will be back on temporarily. But for now, let me give you a message. In a week's time, I will press a button. This button will blow up the source of greed. If you disable it, you will be rewarded. If you do not, my plan will move forward. Now, a message for the commissioner. You are not safe. There is no way that you will be able to escape this. I will kill you myself. I don't expect you to go down without a fight. In fact, I would be disappointed if you didn't. And to this masked vigilante roaming the streets. I admire your talents. I hope you will join me.

"Don't bother tracing this message. You will fail. Now, back to your regularly scheduled programming." With that, the figure disappeared, and the debate crew sat stunned. Kabal narrowed his eyes at the TV screen.

The cops are going to have a field day with this.

"Get me a trace! I want this guy's head!"

Jackson Briggs walked out of Commissoner Gor Roh's office, a frown on his face. It was only a few hours ago that the interruption on the TV appeared. And Gor Roh had been screaming at Briggs the entire time. He passed several officer jogging by before getting to his office. Once he stepped in, he saw Kenshi leaning on the wall in the corner and Kurtis Stryker sitting in the chair. Briggs ignored them both, and sat at his chair. He rubbed his temples and asked, "What do you two want?"

Stryker shrugged and said, "We were in the station when we, well, I saw the broadcast. Kenshi heard it." Even with the blindfold, Kenshi glared daggers into Stryker's head. "We figured that you would want us to do something."

"Actually, I do," Briggs confirmed. "Continue searching for the vigilante. Right now, the commissioner is sending a couple people to search the Deacon banks."

"Banks?" Kenshi asked.

"He said the source of greed. The banks hold money. That's what we're assuming, at least."

Stryker asked, "Do you think that's right?"

"I have no idea," Briggs admitted. "But I'm hardly in position to argue with my boss. So, go back to doing what you were supposed to be doing."

And with that, Kenshi hopped of the wall, and walked out, Stryker soon followed. Briggs rubbed his temples and sighed. This week just got even longer.

Stryker stood at the coffee machine, gulping down his third cup. Kenshi raised an eyebrow and asked, "How many have you drank?"

"One?" his partner meekly offered.

"No."

"Alright, fine. This is my third cup."

Kenshi's eyes widened in disbelief. "You've had three cups of coffee today?"

"Actually, I've had three cups in the past hour," Stryker corrected. "I've had ten pots today."

The swordsman jaw dropped. Ten cups of coffee today, and it wasn't even noon. "I only heard you drink four cups."

"I got up earlier today," Stryker replied. He took another guzzle, sighing as he finished it off. "You really should try some. It might help you 'see the outside world.'"

"Thanks, but my senses are overloaded enough from the smell," Kenshi admitted. He then crinkled his nose. "What'd you do, fill the entire filter to the brim?"

"Maybe." He put the cup down and said, "We should get going. See if we have any leads on this vigilante."

Kenshi nodded. "Where should we begin?"

"Witnesses, probably," Stryker affirmed. They turned to leave the coffee pot. "There are, by the last count, fifteen known witnesses, three of which have left town a few weeks ago. No point in hunting them down."

"And the others?" Kenshi asked as they walked to the front desk.

"Still in the city, but I doubt they're going to be that cooperative." Stryker took the folder that was offered to him by the receptionist. He flipped through its contents quickly. "I'd say start with the latest witness. Get any and all descriptions on this man. Who knows? This might end sooner than we think."

"So long as no anarchist gets in our way."

"True." They left the station, Stryker putting on a coat while Kenshi stuffed his hands in his pockets.

Night again. His favorite time of day. The day was spent collecting his weapons. He buttoned up the coat he wore, and slipped on his mask. It hurt whenever he put it on, but it was a necessary precaution. No one could know who he was. It would make his job a hell of a lot harder than it already needed to be. He clasped his boots on, making sure they were secure. After putting on his gloves, he climbed out the window. He was directly by the fire escape, which made sneaking out easier. Dropping from his two story apartment to the ground floor hurt the first couple of times, but the pain dulled as time went on.

After hearing the crunch of dirt as he hit the floor, Kabal looked around. His heavy breathing audible over the speeding cars on the nearby streets, he looked both ways to make sure it was safe. He rested his hands inside his pockets and walked out of the alleyway.