Chapter 1
Saturday. Not the worst day in the world. In fact, it was one of his favourites. Saturday night was even better; plenty of partiers and club-goers, and plenty people causing a scene for him to sort out. At first, he considered a spandex suit. Every superhero ever had one, but it didn’t really fit his persona. Instead he went for a gold, paisley print suit jacket, a white shirt and a bow tie, which never stayed done up. The distinct lack of spandex meant everyone saw his face, but he liked it. People knew who he was, and basking in the glory like Tony Stark made him infinitely happy. Although, he was never as well received as Tony Stark, and he could never work out why. He always thought that people would recognise what he was doing, it was the same as all the other heroes. Saving people from evil. That’s what they did, and people loved them. So why did they not do the same for him? And did they really know who he was?
Tonight, he was sat on the roof of his favourite club in Las Vegas, watching the street below intently. His feet swayed to the music in his head, watching the perfect scene unfold below him. A girl, maybe about eighteen years old, blonde and clad in a green sequined cocktail dress. Two men, both massive in size, flanked her on either side. They were closing in on her, cornering her and arms flying to hold her down. But she was stronger than she looked; her hands stayed firmly clasped around her waist no matter how hard they tugged at them. Her heels were gathered in her fist and her body trembled ever so slightly. He could almost smell her fear from his rooftop position. The men had a firm grasp on her now as they slowly lifted her small frame off the ground. Her legs flew out in front of her, kicking at the air in hopes that she’d strike one of them. He was on the ground now, facing her. He motioned for her to stay silent, and her bright green eyes stared back at him in fear. Her legs stopped thrashing around, and her attackers smirked, believing she’d submitted. He wasn’t nearly as imposing as these two men; he barely reached five-foot-ten, and they had to be at least six-foot-five, and he certainly wasn’t the most muscular man in the world. But still, not long after they had set her back down, one was flung into a wall. There was a loud crack, letting him know that the man’s skull had shattered on impact with the casino brickwork. The other, not as dead one span round, preparing to throw a punch. He swung his fist, but it connected with nothing. Instead, he was thrown to the ground as his abdomen received a swift punch from the vigilante. He stepped over his form, extending a hand out to the girl. She took it gratefully and he pulled her up to stand. He slightly overestimated the strength needed to pull her up, and she came crashing into his chest. He wrapped his arms around her to steady her, and her skin erupted in goose bumps, only just realising how cold it was.
Behind them, the man began to stir. He laboriously pulled himself up, ready to attack again. But the girl pushed past the man who still had his arms wrapped around her, suddenly full of confidence, and sent the heel of her shoe crashing into his neck. She pierced his jugular perfectly, and when she yanked her shoe out, he tumbled back to the floor, holding the hole in his neck in attempt to cover it. She wiped the blood off on his tee shirt as her saviour stared in wonder.
“What?” she asked, twirling her shoes around, “they’re Louboutins. Do you expect me to leave them bloody?” He didn’t respond, slightly in awe of this woman who had so easily floored a man. She began to walk away, now viewed in a completely different light.
He scaled the building, returning to his previous position and watching the streets like a hawk.