After...
I was sitting in the wreckage of my new home. I trapped members of
Durant's gang here and blew them up as they had done to me only a month before.
All that was left was the backup material I kept from my experiments. I am a
scientist [not a monster i am not a
monster] and I was methodical in my work. I had the money I took from
Durant and Strack. I could buy the equipment I need, I have all my programs,
all the software. But as I looked around I saw only my life, in ruins again.
Like my face. In ruins, destroyed. I could see it, reflected in a bit of glass
on the floor. All I could think of was Julie. I grabbed my coat and hat and
ran.
Perhaps you think I simply wanted to escape, that I could no longer
face the woman to whom I had proposed a mere few hours before my disfigurement.
But why couldn't I face her? She wanted me back. To my surprise, she had clung
to me, and I wanted her back so badly. So why did I leave? I told her I could
live with myself, with what I had become. Was I wrong? What had Strack told me?
"You can't do it, you couldn't live with yourself." There was no fear in his
eyes, as I held him there, 650 feet above the ground. I've learned to live with
a lot. I can even live with the look on his face as it was overwhelmed by
terror when I let go. Yes, I could live with it. Was it a desire for justice that
made me do it? He was evil, corrupt. He bribed the Zoning Commission, the
police force, had people killed. He was getting his punishment for placing his
empire over human life [my life he destroyed it vengeance is mine].
NO! It wasn't about revenge, that would make me [a monster] wrong, it would make me wrong. Wouldn't it?
I thought about all this as I wandered the dark alleys. It was in one of these alleys that I made my next mistake - I responded to a cry for help.
It was a police officer, I could barely see
his face in the half-light, attacking a whore. I had never liked prostitution,
but he was beating her severely, a helpless woman who could offer no
resistance. I felt the anger take control, the monster emerging despite my
efforts to contain him. Something exploded behind my eyes, the world around me
shattered [Yakitito shot NO! NO!
electricity nodes ARGHH! my hands
they took my hands] and all I could see was rage - not motivated by a sense of
injustice, just anger.
I came out of the shadows and threw
the man against a wall. He picked himself up, but came up short when he saw me.
The look of fear on his face disappeared and turned to one of disgust. He could
see my bandaged head beneath the wide brim of my hat. But I didn't care what
the rational part of my brain was telling me. I lost control completely and
knocked him down again, landing blow after blow, kicking, punching, gouging,
snarling; I can't remember what I said or did, but he got up, and did not look
back as he ran. There was blood on my hands, not my own - had I injured him
that badly? The girl I had rescued looked at me with gratitude, but mostly
fear, on her face.
She asked me who I was. The fury had
not cleared, "I am Darkman," I growled before I could stop myself, and left,
running, before I could say more, face in shadow under the brim of my hat, the
cape and wide sleeves of my coat flying out behind me through the dirty
back-alley. It was enough. Too much, even. I had been not motivated by a sense
of right - the affairs of the police are their own - I was simply consumed with
anger.
The anger was vanishing, at least for now, leaving only despair and
fear. Fear. Of myself, for myself. I can no longer stop myself acting, am no
longer in control of my own body, my emotions running amok. Am I truly the
Darkman? Has Peyton Westlake really gone? Perhaps this is how I must spend my
life now, hiding my face in the dark, or behind the faces of other people. Is
there an escape for me from this existence? I don't know.
Yes, Peyton Westlake truly is gone. But what monster lurks in his
place?