The Evils of Men

By Disciple of the Forest

Bang.  As the gun goes off in his hand another life is ended.  "That makes 13 heroes this week.”  He said aloud to no one in particular. 

He didn’t have a name anymore, or at least no one remembered it.  He was not too remarkable, to look at him is not to recognize the pure evil within.  He stood 6'5" 190lbs, toned but not bulging muscles.  His shoulder length black hair, hung uncombed as always.  He wore his usual "work" clothes, black jeans-loose and baggy secured by a black leather belt, black leather trench coat with the sleeves torn off, and of course his sunglasses. 

His sunglasses were the most remarkable thing about him.  Not because of any special power they had, but just because he wore them all the time, unless he just killed someone.  Then he made sure the last thing they saw were His cold, black eyes.  They were lifeless.  There was no pupil or white to be seen on his eyes just a dead black. 

He left the scene of his 13th murder of the week and returned to the burned out complex that was his lair. 

The world had changed shortly after the Second Coming of the Revolution, when the people of what was once The United States, revolted against their current leadership.  Those in power didn’t take too kindly to the revolt and sought to put it down as quickly as possible.  A tactical missile strike aimed at the heart of 10 major cities seemed the most effective way to stop the peons from rising up against them.  It did not have the desired affect.  The people outraged by the abandonment of the government sent to protect it, immediately seized hold of all locations of government influence and spared no one.  It had been the single highest body count since the first nuclear war in 2008.  The government was now destroyed and the population slipped into anarchy.  By the time the dust settled 50% of the population was dead or dying.

On the outskirts of what once was Phoenix, now called Sunrise City there was the husk of a campus.  It used to be a school, before the nuclear plant blew up and gave the city its new name, after the distinctive radioactive glow that surrounded the area.  Only one man would enter this area, for it was His home. 

He entered alone, walked to the center building that once housed a great repository of knowledge.  But this was before CD’s were considered obsolete and replaced with the infinitely better, more expensive, and of course fragile memory crystals; they had all been destroyed during the plant explosion.  On the second floor which once housed the completed works of Stephen King (A-M), He sat in his throne and waited.

While He waited He remembered His first day of school....