He stood in the middle of a crime scene. Blood was splatterred on the alley in an almost obscene manner - like someone took a person and smeared it on the floor; Matt wasn't aware that a human body could hold that much.
He felt numb.
This will not be a crime scene; not really. No one will come to investigate. No one will even pretend--- the only time that happens is when the murder gets recorded. Matt isn't great at recording things.
No, instead a few police cars arrived, officers unceremoniously grabbed the body and hauled it into their trunk, and they will later file a death certificate and call family. Or not.
You can't fight the police. Matt can't fight the police; nobody can. This is why vigilantism rose in his city, and this is why vigilantism is useless.
There was a rusted piece of sharpnel just behind the smear. Matt picked it up slowly. What an end for the Devil of Hell's Kitchen, flashed in his mind, but it didn't stay there long. He put the edge to his arm. He was lucky he decided to forgoe the red suit a while ago; cutting through that one would be a bother.
The black shirt offered no resistance at all.
He was just about to press when--- something distracted him. A cry? There was no use to answer to cries, but... it was close. He put the sharpnel in his back pocket and went to investigate. Just ahead...
Just ahead, in one of the dumpsters. Tired, muffled, hoarse. Alien, but that just might be because it vibrated through thin plastic walls and--- well, whatever was in there. It smelled of rot, and something worse. Obstacles change sounds.
A cry again. Like nothing he had ever heared. He lifted the lid, and--- and there was a cry again. Breathing. Heart. Heat, but just barely - like a cooling body. And it was small.
Mini-fill - The Beginning
He stood in the middle of a crime scene. Blood was splatterred on the alley in an almost obscene manner - like someone took a person and smeared it on the floor; Matt wasn't aware that a human body could hold that much.
He felt numb.
This will not be a crime scene; not really. No one will come to investigate. No one will even pretend--- the only time that happens is when the murder gets recorded. Matt isn't great at recording things.
No, instead a few police cars arrived, officers unceremoniously grabbed the body and hauled it into their trunk, and they will later file a death certificate and call family. Or not.
You can't fight the police. Matt can't fight the police; nobody can. This is why vigilantism rose in his city, and this is why vigilantism is useless.
There was a rusted piece of sharpnel just behind the smear. Matt picked it up slowly. What an end for the Devil of Hell's Kitchen, flashed in his mind, but it didn't stay there long. He put the edge to his arm. He was lucky he decided to forgoe the red suit a while ago; cutting through that one would be a bother.
The black shirt offered no resistance at all.
He was just about to press when--- something distracted him. A cry? There was no use to answer to cries, but... it was close. He put the sharpnel in his back pocket and went to investigate. Just ahead...
Just ahead, in one of the dumpsters. Tired, muffled, hoarse. Alien, but that just might be because it vibrated through thin plastic walls and--- well, whatever was in there. It smelled of rot, and something worse. Obstacles change sounds.
A cry again. Like nothing he had ever heared. He lifted the lid, and--- and there was a cry again. Breathing. Heart. Heat, but just barely - like a cooling body. And it was small.
A baby.