The following morning
Sunday, March 2nd, 2014
The boy woke up feeling greatly refreshed and he grabbed a shower.
The bed which he had been using looked to have belonged to a young girl, as the room was pink and so was the bedding. Now, the biggest surprise had been the room with the keypad security. That room was very cool. The walls were fitted with a racking system and mounted on those racks were several pistols and rifles, plus a few melee weapons and knives. Many of the spaces on the wall were empty and they had obviously been empty, for quite some time. All the remaining weapons would need cleaning, of course, before they could be used again. There were several boxes of ammunition and various extras, such as spare magazines and suppressors.
Otherwise, the main features of the room were two rather old iMac computers, placed back-to-back, while off to one side, there was a small open kitchen, and in the corner a large drawing desk. Many of the pictures on the wall were faded, but the boy could swear that a couple of the pictures depicted characters that looked familiar. There was no usable food in the place and the kitchen would need a damn good clean before he could prepare any food in there and not catch something nasty.
He intended to go shopping, check out the immediate area, and then he could do some cleaning in the place.
Three hours later
The boy returned to the Safehouse with some supplies.
He had wandered around the area and had deemed it safe. No one had showed any interest in a young kid wandering around. He spent the next couple of hours or so, cleaning the kitchen, top to bottom, including the fridge. Finally, towards five in the afternoon, he was finally able to start cooking some dinner. He was starting to unwind; He felt safe and he allowed myself to think back. He was alone, and his Dad was dead, killed in that explosion. The collapsing building had caught the boy, causing his burns. He really missed Dad; he was only thirteen for fuck's sake. What was he going to do? He only had a limited amount of cash, several thousand, but he had to make that last.
He also needed to come up with an idea to get extra cash.
..._...
While the boy was eating dinner, his eyes rested on one of the pictures, stuck up on the wall.
I remembered the name: Frank D'Amico. His Dad had told him about an assassin or vigilante, called Hit Girl. He had explained how she killed only those people who deserved it and that she was very successful, as she had killed possibly hundreds of people, to that point. Some of the deaths were also quite violent, apparently. His Dad had also heard a rumour about the death of Frank D'Amico along with quite a few of his hired guards. The rumour was that Hit Girl had been involved and that she had wiped them all out single-handed. Maybe, he could be a vigilante. He could fight; he had skills. However, he would need to get fit first; lying in hospital for four months had not helped his muscles, at all!
He went to bed feeling happy, both from having had a good meal and from knowing that, at least for the moment, he was safe.
The following morning
Monday, March 3rd
After breakfast, the boy started planning.
He needed to put together a costume of sorts, to protect his identity and protect himself from bodily harm. He was not muscular by any stretch of the imagination. He was thin, and he still looked like a twelve-year-old. Puberty had not yet had much of an effect on him; even his voice still squeaked. He started by making a list of the clothing he would require; he would keep it simple, none of that cape crap or stupid colour schemes. He needed ballistic protection and he had found a few items of body armour around the Safehouse, most of it obviously designed for a physically smaller person, who was quite a bit smaller than he was. However, for the moment, he thought that I could make use of it, as some armour would be better than none at all.
The boy decided that he would wear all black clothing, at least for the time being. He needed to come up with a mask of some sort, plus maybe some headgear. He would also need to select weapons; most probably a gun of some sort, plus knives, and maybe a melee weapon. He would have a look at the weapons currently in the Safehouse and see what might be useful. The boy had absolutely no idea where to acquire weapons and ammunition from, so would have to make do with what was there. By lunchtime, he had produced a nice collection of ideas, so I had a quick lunch, before getting down to some warm up exercises.
His body still had a long way to go, before it was physically capable of both taking and giving abuse.
Updated: January 2018