Everything was quiet.
So quiet, I could hear my heartbeat thudding in my ears.
The room, a hellish melting pot of the Glades' worst, had fallen still. No more murmurs. No more shuffling. No more bravado. Just eyes—hundreds of them—locked on the single figure standing above us all, like some specter of judgment.
The Hood.
I couldn't see his face under that emerald leather hood, but I didn't need to. His very posture screamed one thing:
'You shouldn't have come here.'
I crouched lower behind one of the auction crates, heart racing as if it wanted to leap out and sprint before I even could. Everyone was frozen, waiting. Even Black Mask.
For a moment, I wondered if maybe, just maybe, nobody would move. Maybe the Hood had done enough just by showing up.
But no.
BANG!
Black Mask fired first.
The muzzle flash lit up his pale mask, the carved-on grimace catching the firelight like a skull grinning at a funeral.
The Hood moved before the bullet ever left the barrel. One fluid, downward twist. He leapt, cape slicing the air behind him, and disappeared into the sea of thugs like a stone into water.
Chaos exploded.
Black Mask didn't wait. He turned, his bodyguards closing in, escorting him to the exit tunnel in a tight V.
Some gangsters ran. Others shouted.
"I thought he only went after rich folk!" one thug yelled.
"Who cares?! Just run!" another answered before vanishing through a side door.
And then the screams began.
The Hood was a blur.
CRACK! He caught one man's punch mid-air and twisted—a sharp snap echoing out as the arm folded the wrong way.
"AAARGH!"
Before the next guy even realized what happened, the Hood ducked under his clumsy swing, swept his leg out from under him, and stomped hard—the sound of bone against concrete unmistakable.
WHIP!
His bow swung in a wide arc, colliding with another thug's face with such force the man spun mid-air before collapsing like a sack of bricks.
Then came the arrows.
TWHIP! TWHIP!
Two thugs, two arrows to the chest.
The crowd that had been a mob of criminals was now a massacre.
One by one, they fell. Screaming, cursing, begging.
The Hood didn't stop. Didn't speak. Just moved. Calculated. Efficient. Deadly.
By the end of it, all that was left was the sound of groans and the fluttering hiss of a fire alarm going off somewhere upstairs.
And then he was gone.
Without even a word, the Hood bolted through the exit Black Mask had taken, vanishing into the shadows like a ghost chasing the devil.
Silence.
Bodies littered the floor. Some moaned. Most didn't.
Then, in the middle of it all, something shifted.
A black glove pushed a body off.
I rose.
I'd been flat on my stomach the whole time, not moving a muscle. Dead weight.
Now, I was alive and I had a job to do.
No hesitation. My hands darted like vipers, diving into pockets, tugging off rings, unbuckling watches, flipping briefcases. These thugs were ready to spend big tonight, and the Hood had just left all their wallets wide open.
Cash. So much of it. Thick stacks of hundreds. Gold chains. Ruby-studded grills. Phones, even some fancy custom pistols I might sell off later.
All of it went into the brown sack I'd slung over my shoulder.
TCHAK! A briefcase lock snapped. Another few bundles of cash.
I'd never seen this much money in my life.
I grinned for a second—a real, actual grin—but it didn't last.
Because even with my sack bulging, even with sweat beading my brow and my arms sore from looting, I knew.
It wasn't enough.
Not nearly enough.
I stared at the money in my hand. My knuckles turned white from the grip. This was more cash than I'd ever touched…and yet, it wasn't enough to set her up for life.
'It's not...'
I looked around at the bodies. The stink of blood and sweat clung to the air.
'What am I doing? Why am I hesitating now?'
I should be gone. Vanished. Slipped away into the alleys like I always do. That was the plan.
I'd usually see this money, pocket it, thank whatever deity there was in the sky and run without looking back.
My whole life, I was never one to be overly greedy. Despite the position I was in, it was worse to become overcome by greed and lose everything I had. Way worse. Therefore, I'd always played it safe.
But something held me.
It was like my legs refused to move. Like my lungs weren't satisfied. Something in my chest... tight.
'I want...more.'
Desire?
No.
Hunger.
Not for money. Not for survival.
But for more.
I tilted my head up.
The ceiling loomed above. Thick, concrete, and yet, in that moment, it felt paper-thin. As if I could see through it.
Back up into the tower.
Up to the Gala.
Up to where the real money was.
To where Black Mask had run.
My eyes narrowed.
I came here to die, didn't I?
A suicide mission.
That's what I told myself.
So why stop now?
RRRNNNK! RRRNNNK!
The fire alarms above wailed through the concrete.
Like a siren song.
Or a war drum.
I didn't flinch. Didn't even blink.
No... it didn't snap me out of the trance.
It fueled it.
My grip on the sack tightened, slinging it over my shoulder.
I turned, my boots scuffing against broken glass.
One last breath.
Then I ran.
Toward the stairwell.
Toward the smoke.
Toward the fire.
'Let's finish what we started.'
Everything upstairs was still.
No voices. No footsteps. Just silence, carved deep into the stone and glass of the tower. A crimson haze from emergency lights washed over the marble walls, bathing everything in a sickly red glow. The sound of sirens drifted in from somewhere far below. Distant. Growing.
I stepped cautiously into the hallway, my boots thudding against broken glass as I moved. Smoke curled lazily near the ceiling, illuminated by the pulsing red lights like ghostly ribbons.
This... should've been a warning.
A younger me would've turned around. Called it a day. Left with the money I'd taken and thanked the Hood for the clean-up.
But that was before.
Now? This meant no opposition. The chaos was working in my favor. While everyone scrambled to respond to the vigilante with a bow, no one would be watching the back halls. No cameras. No order. The rich ran just like the poor when the mask showed up.
And that meant I had a clear path to Black Mask's office.
I adjusted the brown sack over my shoulder, tightened the bandana around my face, and pulled my cap lower. Then I ran—sprinting up the stairs, heart hammering, lungs burning as I vaulted over collapsed guards, servers, and terrified guests too unconscious to finish their screams. Their moans echoed, eerie and faint.
Higher.
Always higher.
It took time. My legs screamed. My grip on the bag weakened.
Then, finally, I reached the top.
The final landing was cleaner, quieter. I slowed, creeping along the wall, cautious. I knew the office was just around this next corner. Black Mask's inner sanctum. The place no one entered without permission.
I crouched.
Just to be safe.
From my pocket, I pulled out a golden watch I'd snatched earlier. Not for the time—but the reflection. I angled the polished surface just enough to see around the corner.
There they were.
A dozen guards stood posted around the entrance, all wearing bulletproof vests and holding weapons. Pistols. A few rifles. Their attention wasn't on the hallway, thankfully. No, they were focused on the office door itself—a wall of glass, stretching floor to ceiling. Glass that wrapped around the room like a fish tank.
Through the reflection, I could also see him.
Elijah. Black Mask.
He stormed around inside the office, yelling into a phone, voice muffled but violent.
"Get me my chopper here right now before I fork your eyes out!" he bellowed, stuffing God-knows-what into a sleek metal briefcase from a safe.
One of his men spoke up, pointing toward the windows.
"There's a window washing scaffold, boss! Side of the tower—maybe we can use it as a last resort!"
"What, so he can shoot the rails and watch us plummet to our deaths?! Shut the fuck up!"
The man shrank back. Elijah was unraveling. Even through the glass, I could see it—the twitch in his hand, the sweat down his temple. The Hood had him cornered.
That's when I realized something.
If I got here before the Hood...
Then the Hood was right behind me.
My blood iced. I started to turn, to find somewhere—anywhere—to hide.
But then I froze.
In the gleam of the watch's reflection, past the windowed wall, across the massive cityscape—stood a figure. Small, distant, yet unmistakable. A hooded man, on the rooftop of the neighboring building.
The Hood.
He raised his bow. An arrow already nocked.
FWOOMPH.
The arrow sailed, trailing rope. With practiced ease, he gripped the line, then ran.
He leapt.
Mid-air, like a dancer, he twisted, wrapping the rope around his ankle just before the tension caught. It wasn't just movement. It was geometry. He played with physics and tipped it to his favor, making him look as though he defied it.
Like a pendulum, upside down, he swung as he drew his bow at the same time, flying toward the tower in a glorious, arcing motion.
CRAAAASH!
Glass shattered like thunder.
The arrow struck the phone in Black Mask's hand, sending it flying. The rope snapped free from the Hood's ankle just in time as he rolled through the wreckage, scattering glass and gasps.
The guards turned—too slow.
The Hood moved—too fast.
BANG! A shot missed.
He was already low, sweeping one man's legs from under him.
CRACK! The man's head slammed into the floor.
Another guard aimed a baton with a taser on its end. TWHIP! An arrow hit his wrist. Electricity discharged mid-air, snapping wild.
Another pulled out a Flashbang.
Too late. The Hood kicked it down the hallway like a soccer ball—KLANG!—and used the blast to duck through blind fire.
One by one, they fell. Arrows embedded into shoulder blades. Elbows shattered. Legs broken.
Stun grenades and bullets couldn't keep up. The Hood disarmed one man with a whip of his bow, flipped over a desk, and impaled a final goon with a short, razor-tipped arrow flicked from his wrist guard.
Then—silence.
Only the wind and distant wails.
He stood, catching his breath. And then—
He noticed a figure at the far end of the room, with his back turned, stuffing the contents of Black Mask's briefcase into a brown sack.
"Put it down," he said.
Voice deep. Cold.
I turned slowly. Bandana over my mouth. Cap low.
"Gladly," I replied—and threw the sack out the window.
It spun once in the air before vanishing from view.
The Hood remained silent, though hard to notice, his eyes under his hood following the brown sack for just a second.
This was what I need as I ran, straight for the rooftop access door.
TWANG!
A sharp sting—his arrow grazed my side, embedding into the frame as I burst through.
Up the stairs. Slamming shoulder-first through the final door—
WHOOSH!
The rooftop. Wind whipped around me as I continued to run. Sirens howled in the distance. A police helicopter circled far above.
It wasn't until I reached the edge that I looked down.
Far below: streets, people, the ground. But nearby?
The window washing scaffold.
Its ropes wound tightly around a nearby metal anchor. Thick, black coils.
I limped to it, blood trickling from my side, and started pulling. Fingers trembling. Almost there.
I stood up.
And kicked the anchor.
Once. Nothing.
Twice. It shifted.
Third time—
"Stop!"
I turned.
The Hood stood there, bow drawn. Arrow ready. A silhouette against the red sky.
But I didn't flinch.
Instead, I spoke.
"Isn't it funny? I came here to die... yet I'm running."
He didn't answer.
"To be honest, I don't know why I'm doing it myself. No... that isn't right."
I lifted my head.
It was hard to tell considering I was wearing a bandana, but I knew he could.
I was smiling.
"Tonight, for once in my life...I wasn't a pussy. I didn't cut anything short because I was afraid of failure or frightened I might lose what I have. Tonight, I was prepared to die and that was enough for me to take risk after risk and I turns out...it isn't as frightening as I thought. No...it's exciting."
"Playing with death and coming out on top with something to show for it. It feels good. It feels earned. It feels like... I've done something. Maybe, just once, I feel like I can do everything I set my mind out to do. Like I'm at the top of the world."
A spotlight shone down from above.
The helicopter.
Police.
"Tell me, Mr. Hood... do you feel the same? Do you put the hood on for the thrill?"
Finally, he spoke.
"Who are you?"
A pause erupted as my grin widened.
"I'm still trying to find that out myself."
Then I threw myself backward.
Off the building.
He ran forward, lowering his bow.
But before he could reach me—
FWOOSH!
Something flew upward.
He blinked as his eyes lingered on the cylinder object that loomed before him.
'The...from before...'
FLASH!
A flashbang exploded mid-air, blinding him.
He stumbled back, for once on his knees.
As for me?
I dropped.
The wind screamed past me. My fingers gripped the rope.
"Remember."
Remember. These weren't the first time I said those words. No, they were a common thing for me. At least, they used to be.
Ever since I was a child, I'd had this... skill. It made me a genius in school. I could recall material I'd read once whenever I wanted.
It wasn't long until I could transfer this skill to sports, enacting the actions I'd seen with my body that I seamlessly recalled, like my body and mind were one.
And though I couldn't remember the first time, the same could be said for the last time I'd done this.
Ever since dropping out of school, like my life, my mind had grown into this gray state I hadn't realized it was in... till now.
For a long time, I thought I'd lost the talent that made me so special.
But now?
Now, I knew it was simply lulled—as my drive, ambition, and everything I stood for disappeared.
At least, I hoped.
Otherwise—
"I'm dead now."
The wind howled. The spotlight hit me.
I snapped my eyes open.
"Remember."
Mid-air, like a dancer, I twisted.
I wrapped the rope around my ankle.
It wasn't just movement. It was geometry. I played with physics and tipped it to my favor, making me look as though I defied it.
TUG!
The rope caught. But the angle softened the jolt. No fatal whiplash.
CRASH!
I could almost hear the anchor I'd bent breaking with my weight, extending the rope I had and nearing me dangerously close to the ground.
I swung.
Like a pendulum.
Upside down.
The people below screamed. The police watched in awe.
So did the Hood.
His vision clearing, just in time to see it.
"That's my..."
But then the spotlight moved.
The police on the chopper shouted.
"Forget the...swinging guy—there! The Hood! He's vulnerable!"
As they turned toward him, I reached the lowest point of my arc.
I pulled out a short arrow—one of the Hood's own—from my belt, flicking it in a familiar manner I'd seen not long ago, watching it as it whizzed through the air and...
SNAP!
It cut the rope.
I fell.
CRASH!
Right into a dumpster below.
"Ughh..." I groaned, rolling out, clutching my ribs.
I couldn't help but lay there for a moment. I knew I had no time to rest, not yet at least, but even a second was appreciated.
But eventually, I crawled out and turned back, looking back down into the dumpster to see a familiar brown sack lacking in the same dumpster.
'Perfect aim.' I smiled.
Limping away and clutching my ribs, I muttered:
"Awesome."
***
High above, in Black Mask's office, police officers scanned the wreckage.
Detective Lance stood silently, gazing out through the shattered glass.
"The Hood's not here, sir," a uniformed cop said.
Lance clicked his teeth.
"Another rich guy down," he muttered.
But what he stared at wasn't the mess.
It was Elijah.
Lying unconscious.
Maskless.
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These are my first 3 chapters. Let me know what you think, I'll appreciate the feedback.