The Spiralling
Chapter 2: The Return
Next day...
I couldn't just start straight away, even the dumbest asshole would know that. I needed intel- thank God it's Saturday. After kicking my last ass in D'Amico's Penthouse, I simply assumed that everything was over, that the mob was finished, that anyone belonging to that syndicate was either a stiff or in the slammer. I had thought that Chris would be in some gritty boy's home or at least on curfew with a police tracker on his wrist or ankle. I was wrong.
I spent my morning in the library the moment it was open. Spent a good few hours poring through old and new newspaper articles. I had to work backwards starting with the latest headline covering Chris D'Amico's raid on a branch of the Bank of Asia. What I found dwarfed what I thought was possible of the mob boss' son. After being found on the crime scene, he was charged for involvement in criminal activities, but was later found not guilty with the help of his family's lawyer, who was none other than the infamous Jack Fowls, some guy with a track record of saving 153 men and women from jail time and the electric chair when it was certain that they were actual criminals.
Frank's Lumber Mill was rebuilt after that, and he had started a chain of hardware stores named Chris' Steelwares. Somehow, no one found out about Chris' alter ego, Red Mist. There was no mention of that at all. He must have hid his costume where the police had no hope of finding. Just three months ago, there was an unconfirmed report of Mob activities restarting- there was this article I found about an editor commenting on this based on sketchy sources from the police and streets.
The last time I checked my Kick-Ass email accounts were months ago, and it seemed wise to pick up the habit again as soon as I came home. When I checked, it was filled to the brim, all of them (I had email accounts in Yahoo, Gmail and Hotmail, not to mention Myspace). That was my mission from 12 to 10 post meridiem. Yes, it took me that long to look through everything, well, most of the messages. I had to skim through, I'm not Flash or anything no matter how much I wanted that kind of speed.
The bulk of it was just fan mail and people asking all sorts of questions, from advice on being a superhero to even 'Will you marry me?' from the opposite sex aged 18 to 60. I did unearth a few important messages though.
---START OF MESSAGE---
Dear Kick-Ass:
You think you're something SPECIAL, don't you? You and those fucking faggots you hang out with now really think you're THE SHIT. But you are nothing except SAD and ALONE.
My friends and I are going to find out who you are and FUCK you up BAD. We're also going to find out the names of the people you LOVE and make them rue the day you ever were BORN.
You should have ANTICIPATED this when you started this SUPER-CUNT CRAP. It's not just HEROES who appear in these books and everybody loves a BAD GUY.
As a GREAT MAN once SAID... wait until they get a load of ME.
Red Mist.
---END OF MESSAGE---
That was a month ago. He had been planning this all along. Rise from the ashes, rebuild what was lost and show Kick-Ass the true meaning of his name. To say that I wasn't terrified would be a lie. I was no hero, and gone were the days when Superheroes were flawless characters. We're all antiheroes these days. When there was no reply as I was nearly retired from the superhero business at that time, there were several more death threats from Red Mist, somewhere between 'You are one FUCKING COWARD.' To 'Anytime now, I will FIND YOU." There was nothing else new from him, so my attention shifted to this other message from someone else who wanted the Kick-Ass cake. It was far more recent- it came in just three days ago.
The email had no heading, no greetings or goodbyes, and came from an address that could not be described with only random alphabets and numbers strung together:
---START OF MESSAGE---
You do not know me, and you will never know me. Everyone thinks of you as some goody two shoes that made the cut, but to me you are just a fucking spaz in a scuba suit who thinks he's great just because of a few lucky hits.
Well guess what bitch? You may have saved a few, but you have also killed many, destroyed just as many lives, including mine. I'm coming for you.
---END OF MESSAGE---
I wasn't just afraid after reading this second threat, I was frickin' scared shitless, but then I told myself that it could be a thousand other things- a prank, a jealous 'Superhero', or even a mass email or a virus. It didn't help with that storm cloud hanging over my head after that though, because in my mind I knew it may also be my Doctor Doom on the other side of that e-threat. After deleting everything in my accounts, I lay in bed, just thinking, just hesitating, just being a coward and a little baby.
It was an hour before stupidity paid me a visit. I was angry at myself, I was angry at whomever these people were who took it upon themselves to eradicate my very existence on Earth. At the same time, I was amused at how my life remained as surreal as a comic book despite the pages burning away as the world returned to its usual, boring self. I wanted to end it once and for all, I wanted the final showdown, one that would put an end to my fear and problems while at the same time serve as a sweet memory until the day I die either from some super heroic death or from natural causes like my mother.
I emailed Red Mist and whomever the other Supervillain was and told them to meet me on the well-lit rooftop of some random skyscraper with a flat roof at midnight. The place I chose was the perfect arena for a final showdown. I told them the rules. No guns, no bombs, and whoever loses get the well-deserved attention of the closest police station. Both replied immediately and agreed.
I had another hour after that to make preparations and send my regards to those I cared in my life in case something happens. Like a samurai or a kamikaze off to the final battlefield, I drank my final cup of water, ate my final supper before donning my modified Kick-Ass suit slowly and methodically. If only Katie was there to help me, it would have made for a perfect movie scene and it wouldn't look too bad on the last few pages of a comic book either.
I left early, to perch on the top of a nearby apartment for a while as I watched the night sky. Believe me, I was that angst as I knew that it would be bloody and brutal, and it may not be me coming out on top of the gory mess in the end. I sent messages to everyone who was a friend or dear me. Katie, no matter how much she hated me now, my dad, who never knew I was Kick-Ass to begin with, the few friends I had in school whom I spent so much time with reading comic books and hanging out, and finally Mindy, the kid version of Lara Croft, and Marcus, the good cop who never fails to appear on every comic book in the world.
---START OF MESSAGE---
K, I no I'm not supposed 2 contact u nemore but I just want u 2 no that u were the best thing eva that happened 2 me n it will always b that way till the day I dy. I know it sounds corny but... That's what I want 2 say. I luv u
---END OF MESSAGE---
---START OF MESSAGE---
Hey Dad, I no ur busy patrolling now but thx so much 4 everything uv done 4 me. Will neva forget those times when u took care of me after I'm out of hospital and still bedridden. Ave a good shift : )
--END OF MESSAGE---
---START OF MESSAGE---
HELLO!!! Todd! Marty! It's been cool so far. Just needed 2 get that off my chest. Thax for the Kick ** cosplay uniform u guys bought for me on my birthday. See y'all.
---END OF MESSAGE---
---START OF MESSAGE---
Mindy. I no u're angry with me, n I no ur pain with ur dad gone n everything. Im sorry that I slapped u yesterday. I'm still sorry about ur dad. If it weren't 4 u, I woulda killed myself a long time ago. He wz cool, a true superhero that would put batman 2 shame. U could pit a thousand Kick-Asses against him n he'd still win. I wz a klutz n I'm sorry. I'm so sorry.
I luv u. Ur a sister 2 me. Ull always b my sister, that is if u still want me around.
Anyway, I gotta go now. There's something I gotta do. Cya.
---END OF MESSAGE---
That was a tad long for Mindy, but I felt that I owe her. Just how often were you the cause of someone's parent's death anyway? Think about that.
---START OF MESSAGE---
Hey Marc, just wanted to say thax. For giving Mindy a new home n everything. Take good care of her. Send her my regards. Cya.
---END OF MESSAGE---
With a mushy end to my free time, I got off the roof and hit the streets, making a steady beeline towards the arena of my choosing, ignoring the various comments people on the streets were giving me.
"You rock, Kick-Ass!"Someone in a group of high school students shouted, all I could do was to thank him absently as my eyes remained fixed upon the direction I was travelling at on foot. After so much experience walking over long distances, it became hardly a trouble for me. If I had any superpowers, that would be it.
"Talk about Kick-Ass 2.0!" Another student said in the same group. '3.0', I corrected her mentally as I reminiscent on my career as Kick-Ass. 1.0 nearly died of a stab wound and car accident. 2.0 barely survived, and without the help of other superheroes, he wouldn't have. This time, its Kick Ass 3.0's turn.
"That's some cool 'quipment you got there, Kick-Ass!" The last of the five students said just as I passed them. As soon as I had fully recovered from the battle at Frank's penthouse, I continued to refine my battle techniques. I figured out cooler and better ways to crack skulls with my batons, started coming up with combinations as if I was playing Fighter Maker 2. I've had more gym sessions than never before. I guess it was my way of desperately keeping the Kick-Ass spirit alive as the world was beginning to shit it out when the craze died down a little.
As I neared the more bustling zones of New York, I had to rush a little. Some people were cheering me on, thinking that I was out to perform some decade-defining stunt again. In a way, they were right, but I'm not exactly chasing anyone. Well, a little enthusiasm was always welcome. Every comic-book protagonist needs it, and so do I.
The office tower had forty floors, so I had to take the lift, I would need to save the energy for my final moment. The wait was long and agonising, the numbers flipping too slowly. In my mind, I was already coming up with the moves I want to use, drawing references from my favourite comics, movies and TV series as well. The media was inspired by real-life, so the way I saw it, there was no reason why real-life cannot be inspired by the media.
The lift I took opened up as I reached the final floor, and there was no hard-working, caffeine drinking office worker left to accompany me into the gladiator stadium. Breathing deeply, with some inspiring song by either Danny Elfman or John Murphy playing in my head, I rounded a 90 degrees turn in the corridor and walked up a flight of stairs leading to the rooftop. Slowly and methodically I made my way out, at the same speed as how Gladiator worked its way up to its final fight scene. I even slid my fingers on the concrete wall for good luck as I emerged into the cool air, the way Maximus rubbed the white arena sand into his hands for good luck just before that faithful battle...