Justice

Prologue

Running through the empty park in Lackawanna’s second ward, close to its much worse first ward, the three youths charged ahead without looking back. Wind swept and devoid of life except for the three of them they came to a rest next to an old dome shaped jungle gym that was covered with more rust than paint. Old news papers that littered the ground flit around in the spring breeze; empty bottles and broken glass were strewn about the empty grass as well. The park, no longer used by the neighborhood kids that live in the surrounding streets of Peach, Electric, Franklin, and all the others, was a waste land. Local punks and gangs gathered there to spread their wares amongst the degenerates and other lowlifes that have long since moved into already poor neighborhoods that have been struggling to hold on to their civility for the last decade or more.

Their breath steaming in the still cold early spring night, the teenagers laughed amongst themselves and congratulated each other on a job well done. The three of them, two black and one white, were members of a local group of drug dealers that spread poor quality heroin to those unlucky enough to have become hooked on their goods. Dressed in the group’s trademark black baseball caps and dark green cargo jackets, loaded with all of the pockets they need to store their stashes, the three are only discernable by a few unique individual traits. One of the blacks, the tallest of the three kids, had a thick beard covering most of his face and a dark blue dew rag visible underneath the hood of his jacket, the other was clean shaven with a tattoo of a tear drop below his left eye. They were both large, young men who spent most of their free time in gyms working out. The young white male was thin in comparison to his two friends, with a shaved head covered in a tattoo of a pentagram visible with his hood down.

Yo man, did you see the way that little bitch cried before we capped his ass. Man that shit was fuckin’ pathetic, man. My little brother can put up with more shit than that, the white kid says to his buddies.

Yeah, we were there wit you asshole. The bearded man said. Christ, you’d think that some fuck stupid ‘nough to buy our shit would be smart ‘nough to pay for it in full, man.

Well, it’s not our fault that he was a dumb fuck, the bald one responded.

Look, Dice, the shorter black youth said to the taller man, looking around the dark park nervously, we gotta get the fuck outta here before any pigs show up.

Relax Dropper, Dice responded, using the nickname Dropper had earned after he had the tear drop tattooed on his face, ain’t no one seen us or what we did. ‘Sides, who the hell will fuck with us on our own turf man. You know those fucking pigs ain’t gonna be comin’ into this part of town because of some shootin’.

Yo, he’s right Dice, the white kid said, we need to split man, maybe stay low for a few days or so.

Man, shut the fuck up Smitty, Dice instructed, standing up from where he was leaning against the rusted jungle gym. We own this neighborhood man. You know it as well as I do. No stupid cop is gonna come down here and start shit. Not since Butterfly came along man. He runs the cops, everyone knows it, he says spreading his arms to gesture towards the surrounding area.

Yeah, Butterfly, Dropper said in disgust. Yeah, he owns this city all right. Ain’t nobody can see him cuz we don’t know how to get a hold of him if shit goes down. Ask me man, he don’t run shit. He’s just some name the papers pulled outta their asses so they came blame someone for the cops incompetence.

Well, even if he ain’t real, the fact remains that the cops are scared of us. They ain’t gonna start no shit with us or anybody else.

Look, Smitty said, trying to calm Dice down, it don’t matter if the cops are gonna start shit with us or not, the fact is that son of a bitch we just smoked probably has some friends that might just start lookin’ for us, so we need to get the fuck out of here man.

Who? Huh, who the hell is gonna be comin’ after us? We both know that Red had no real friends. It ain’t like he was a rival or some shit, he was just a fucking junkie who was too stupid pay his fucking bill. With that Dice walked away from his two friend, lighting a cigarette along the way.

Where the fuck you going man? Dropper called after him.

To get some shelter from this goddamn wind so I can light this joint, Dice replied as he continued to make his way towards an old rundown garage that had seen better days, its roof partially caved in and covered in faded, peeling green paint.

As Dice’s two friends walked to join him in the shelter of the garage a slick, a black motorcycle came to a stop at the corner of Peach and Franklin and proceeded to make a right turn and race away towards Ridge Road. Other than that, the night was calm, no vehicles moving anywhere. Sirens could be heard dimly off in the distance over the bridge that separates the first ward from second.

Man, this shit is cold. It’s fucking spring man, it’ supposed to be warmin’ up, not getting’ colder and shit, Dice said to his friends. Man, lets get the hell out of here.

The three youths turned to walk back towards the jungle gym, but came to a halt as a lone figure strode toward them. Shrouded in a black trench coat, with dark hair billowing out behind him in the night breeze the figure’s features were hidden by the darkness. His only visible distinction was a pair of blood red eyes glowing softly in the night.

The three of you killed that man, the figure said without breaking stride. I cannot allow you to get away with such actions. Coming to a stop near the edge of the jungle gym the mysterious figure stared at the group.

This close to the man the three killers were able to discern several more features about him. Other than his glowing blood red eyes, which were now starting to fade in intensity, the man was tall, thin, young, and white. The hair billowing about his face in the chill breeze was the darkest of black. Standing there alone, as he was, ordinarily Dice, Dropper, and Smitty wouldn’t think twice about putting a cap in him, or at the very least, roughing him up a bit, but there was something about the man that froze them in their tracks. Maybe it was the way in which he was standing, relaxed yet apparently ready for anything, or maybe it was the air of confidence he was exuding. Regardless of the reasons why, the three of them were unable to move as they gazed upon the young man.

Who the fuck are you s’posed to be, man? Dice was finally able to ask after a few moments of silence.

That is beside the point, he answered in a soft voice.

Then what the hell do you want? Dice asked, his courage slowly beginning to grow. After several more seconds of silence he spoke again. I’m talkin’ to you asshole, he said and took a step forward to jab his finger into the man’s chest. His hand never even came close to making contact.

Lashing out with his right hand, the man quickly caught Dice by the wrist and held it firmly in place. Then, slowly, he began to squeeze. Dice’s eyes bulged as the pressure intensified and he screamed loudly when the bones in his wrist cracked loudly. He started to fall to his knees in agony when the man pulled him forward, yanking him off of his feet, and grabbed his shirt in his left hand holding in the air, close to his face.

Who, who the fuck are you man? Dice feebly asked.

You may call me Justice. He replied. Then, with tremendous force, he swung Dice into the Jungle gym with one hand, sending him completely through the rusted bars.

Holy shit, Dropper yelled as he reached into his coat and pulled out a large hand gun and pointed it at Justice.

That won’t work, Justice told him as he took a step towards them. Go ahead, pull the trigger, and see for yourself. Coming to a stop in front of Dropper he spread his arms out wide, his trench coat flapping in the wind. Pull it! He screamed and Dropper did just that.

The sound of the gun firing echoed throughout the empty streets. The bright flash of its muzzle flair temporarily illuminated the night. The bullet slammed into Justice, who wasn’t fazed by it in the slightest. He didn’t even take a step back from the impact. He simply continued to look Dropper directly in the eyes.

I told you, he said and struck Dropper in the chest with a kick that was thrown so fast that Dropper barely had time to register the movement. The force of the kick doubled him over and lifted him from the ground. As he fell to his hands and knees Justice swung his left arm out in a wide arch, catching Smitty in the side of the head with a vicious backhand that sent him spinning through the air, landing several feet away.

Justice bent over and lifted Dropper to his feet by the back of his coat. As he was lifting him, Dropper reached in his jacket again and pulled out a switchblade, its blade snapping open with a faint glint in the pale moon light. He slammed the blade home, plunging it deeply into Justice’s stomach, blood quickly pouring over his hand. Justice let him go and Dropper twisted the blade and pulled it out. Dropper stared in horror as the wound quickly healed itself, the skin pulling together as the hole in Justice’s stomach knitted itself back together.

Knives don’t work much better my friend. Justice said and drove the palm of his left hand into Dropper’s chest. Grunting with pain as his breast bone shattered, Dropper was knocked onto his back where he slid for several feet before coming to rest.

By this time Smitty was climbing back to his feet, shaking is head to clear the effects of the blow that he had received. Justice did not give him the opportunity to run or fight, he simply ran over to him, grabbed him by the shirt and pushed him away as hard as he could. Smitty flew threw the air and slammed into the back of the old garage, smashing completely through it.

Justice turned to face Dice who was weakly trying to get back to his feet under the jungle gym. Once he realized that he was Justice’s sole center of attention he froze and stared at him, afraid to even lower himself back to the ground.

Normally I would consider ensuring that the three of you faced the proper justice due for your actions, and I probably should, Justice said quietly. But I’m going to allow the three of you to go free, because I want you to go and tell all of your friends who I am, and just what will happen when I catch them committing any crimes. Tell them that Justice is here, and that I will be cleaning this area of trash like you. Tell them, and rest assured that I will know if you harm any others. And remember, Justice is here, and I will be bringing my namesake to each and every one of you in time.

After he had finished speaking, Justice turned and strode away from the three injured men. Dice, who was struggling to rise, watched him walk away, a sickening dread rising within his heart. In less than five minutes his entire world had come crashing down. He knew, oh how he knew, everything had just changed, and not just for he and his gang. No, things had just changed for everyone. Whoever this Justice was, wherever he had come from, Dice knew that he meant every word that he had said. He knew that he had to report the activities of the evening to his superiors so that they could notify theirs. Cradling his injured arm against his chest he finally regained his footing and began running from the park

* * * * *

Fifteen minutes later Justice stood at the top of the toboggan run at Chestnut Ridge and looked out at the silhouette of downtown Buffalo and its surroundings. The windows of many of the buildings illuminated the night. From his vantage point Justice could see for miles. From up there things didn’t look as bad as they were. The area looked as it did when he was younger. Lights breaking up the darkness shining from windows where families were still up, probably watching television together. But things were bad. They were worse than he ever could have imagined. Thugs with weapons ruled the streets of the rougher areas. The First Ward of Lackawanna was a virtual no mans land, police not willing to go anywhere near it.

As he continued to stare out into the city thoughts came unbidden to his mind, thoughts that reminded him of years gone by. No, this city wasn’t always like this. The gangs didn’t rule the streets then as they do now. Drugs, while still a problem back then, were nowhere near the levels they were at now. He could easily remember the days when there wouldn’t be any murders committed in the city, not like now. Now it seemed that he could hardly go a few hours without having to respond to some brutal act of murder that had taken place in his city.

The sounds of children laughing, though still present, were now guarded and slightly on edge as the children played in the parks and streets. And it wasn’t always like this. What the hell had happened in the five years he had been gone? Where had all of the crime come from? Sure, Western New York had always had crime and drugs, but now it was everywhere. Every one who lived in the area was affected by it now. He had only been back in the city for a few weeks and he had already seen that things were a thousand times worse than they used to be, than he could have imagined them ever becoming.

His blood red eyes scanned the surrounding areas of Blasdell, over West Seneca and South Buffalo. A fire raged off in the distance, most likely an arson. Sirens could be heard coming from several areas of greater South Buffalo. Blasdell and Orchard Park were still holding on to their streets though, which was a good sign. If the people living in those areas could succeed at keeping the crime at bay then there was always hope for the other neighborhoods as well. The other areas weren’t as lucky though. Crime was everywhere with no apparent end in sight.

How had the police allowed this to happen? Where the hell were they as crime and gangs overran the streets and threatened to destroy the communities that people had lived in all their lives? And how the hell had it happened so damn quickly? He was only gone for five years, but to look at the city it could easily have been a hundred. Nothing was how he remembered it. Nothing.

And it had not always been this way…

Chapter 1

Before he called himself Justice, Justice had been known as Rictor Davis. Rictor was born in the heart of South Buffalo, at Mercy Hospital, in 1984 to Jacob and Erin Davis. Jacob was the wealthiest man in Western New York, having made his fortune in construction, real estate, and smart investing. Jacob owned the largest house in the area and had it built on a large portion of land on East and West Road in West Seneca. Jacob was young when he met Erin, he was slim with a pale complexion and thick brown hair whereas Erin was what many would consider to be a knock-out. She was tall and thin and had golden blond hair and deep blue eyes. She had been a nurse who was introduced to Jacob at a charity event and the two had fallen in love almost instantly. She continued to work until Rictor had been born, deciding then to stay home and raise him instead of allowing some stranger to do so for her.

Unlike most babies he had been born with a full head of deep black hair and with those ubiquitous blood red eyes. At first the doctors had thought something was wrong with them and that he might not be able to see properly, but they had been wrong. They could not explain why his eyes were the color they were, or why, at times, they seemed to almost glow unnaturally in dim light.

Even though Rictor was a very happy and energetic baby, he was prone to periods of crying fits that seemed to come out of nowhere. One minute he would be happy and giggling, rolling across the floor as his parents played with him and then he would suddenly burst out into tears and start screaming at the top of his lungs. There was no explanation to his fits or why some of them would only last for a few seconds and others for several minutes, the longest being just over an hour.

Jacob and Erin had had their son examined numerous times throughout his infancy to ensure that there was nothing wrong with him. At first the doctors seemed to think that the outbursts might be contributed to his strange eyes, that they might be sensitive to certain kinds of light, but there was no concrete proof to that.

Outbursts and eyes aside, Erin had always known that her little Rictor was special. She told him that daily, each and every night as she placed him in bed. She would kiss his forehead and whisper to him that he was her special little man. It wasn’t until he was almost three years old that she discovered how right she was.

Like all kids his age, Rictor had a fondness for jumping on things and unlike most parents with money and expensive furniture, Jacob and Erin did not mind his having fun so long as it was not anywhere near the in-ground, indoor pool that was always behind locked doors in the basement of their house. Rictor had been playing with his mother in the main living room, jumping up and down on the couch and chairs. It was a strange game that he played with his parents. He would quickly run to one piece of furniture and start jumping on it, laughing hysterically, until his parents would run over and snatch him out of the air, hugging him tightly. After that, he would wait until they appeared to no longer be watching him and then he would start over again on a different chair or couch.

It was during one such occasion that when Erin tried to grab him out of the air, her grip wasn’t as sure as she thought it was and Rictor toppled from her hands, his head striking the corner of an end table. The sound that his head made when it struck the table almost made Erin’s heart stop in her chest. She quickly scooped her son up into her arms and with clinical professionalism, honed after years in the medical field, she examined him. For Rictor’s part, he just stared at his mother, not even a hint of tears in his eyes. He never made a sound, never let out even a single whimper.

As Erin looked over her son, certain that she would find some sort of bruise or bleeding she was surprised when she found nothing. That wasn’t possible. She had seen kids in the emergency who were hospitalized for weeks after lesser blows than what Rictor had just received.

Oh my God honey, are you alright? She asked him as she held him close.

I’m fine mommy, Rictor told her in a serious little voice, trying to squirm away from her so he could continue his game.

After double checking to make sure that she didn’t miss anything and telling her son to tell her if anything hurt she let go of him and watched as he ran off to play with some of his toys. As she turned her head, tears finally starting to well up in her eyes, she focused on the corner of the table. There, clear as day, blood had pooled where his head had struck, and on the floor, where he had fallen, several more spots of blood. But it wasn’t possible. She had looked over him twice. There was no way that she could have missed the type of wound that would have left that much blood. It was impossible.

It was almost another two years before any sort of connection was made with Rictor’s outbursts. While he still went through them since his birth, Rictor had never really been able to explain what was going on, until one day he walked into the kitchen where his mother was getting lunch ready for the two of them.

Mommy, my head hurts. he told her with a weak voice, tears standing in his eyes.

What’s wrong honey? She asked him as she bent down to pick him up.

It hurts, he said.

Did you hit it? she asked him.

No, it just started hurting.

Thinking that he just had a headache she had given him some children’s aspirin and put him in bed for a nap. After several more similar situations over the next two months a concerned Erin and Jacob brought their son in for more testing.

I’m sorry Mr. and Mrs. Davis. There’s just no reason why your son should be getting these headaches. We’ve run every test we could and they’ve all come back the same. There’s nothing wrong with him. It might still be his eyes. We have never seen anything like them before, but I can’t say for sure. For all we know, he could just be looking for attention.

That cannot be the case doctor. Jacob had told the pediatrician. Our son is an only child and Erin is home with him all the time. He is not raised by our butler or maid nor does the driver have much to do with him. It can’t be for attention.

Then, I’m sorry, I have no idea what could be causing them. If they continue just keep doing what you’re doing. They don’t seem to last that long and he has no long term side effects from them, so he should be okay.

So it was that Rictor spent the first five years of his life. Playing and then suffering from headaches and then immediately playing again. After that things changed dramatically at the Davis household with the addition of Rictor’s sister, Samantha.

Rictor had immediately taken to the role of big brother and spent most of his time watching over Samantha. She was a beautiful little girl that looked as if she was going to take after her mother in terms of her looks. For her part, Samantha bonded instantly with her big brother and for that first summer she and Rictor played constantly. Well, more to the point, Rictor played with his sister watching on in a highchair or from a playpen. After that, Rictor started kindergarten and the amount of time he spent with Sam, his name for her, was cut short.

While Rictor was upset at leaving his sister at first, those feelings were quickly forgotten when he arrived at school and met another boy named Jason Marshall. Jason and Rictor were both the same age and about the same size. Jason was a serious faced little boy with sort, curly blond hair and pale gray eyes. The two bonded instantly and were soon inseparable at school.

About the only real difference between Rictor and Jason was the fact that Rictor came from money and Jason did not. That fact did not seem to bother the two boys as Rictor shared just about everything he had with Jason. Jacob and Erin were happy to see that their son had bonded with someone closer to his own age. When Jason’s mother, who was doing her best to raise him as a only parent, lost her job because of budget cuts at the hospital where she worked Jacob came to her aid. He set her up with a job as a senior administrative assistant at one of the stores that were renting their building from him.

Jacob and Erin had even allowed Jason to play with Rictor after school and arranged for transportation from their house to Jason’s. Jason had also quickly bonded with Samantha and treated her almost as if she was his own sister. When she was old enough to join in with their games, the two boys happily allowed her to do so, even though she couldn’t really keep up with them. Together, the three of them formed a special bond and it was apparent that the bond would carry with them for a long time.

As the boys’ friendship grew and they were allowed to play outside more and more, so long as they agreed to stay away from the pool and hot tub, they quickly started exploring the area around Rictor’s house.

When Jacob had his house built he did so on a large stretch of East and West Road so that they really did not have any neighbors on their side of the road. As a result, the two boys had a large area to explore and play in, including a large patch of woods that the boys immediately took to, pretending that it was a vast jungle and that they were hunters searching for some mysterious monster.

Rictor still suffered from his headaches, but the addition of his friend almost seemed to make them more tolerable for him to endure. They still happened frequently but the intensity of them had lessened as he got older. Though whether or not that was because they were, in fact, lessened in strength or if he had grown so accustomed to them that he was able to put up with them nobody really knew as Rictor kept most of his feelings to himself.

As the years went by the two boys entered second grade at Holy Family Elementary School on Southpark and Tift in South Buffalo. Jacob and Erin paid the way for Jason and the bond between the two boys intensified. They never seemed to have the usual squabbles that little boys had. And while they were still of similar sizes and builds Rictor seemed taken to a few differences in style. Even though he was still rather little, Rictor had insisted on having his hair as long as he could get it and he kept it tied back into a ponytail.

Rictor had also started to demonstrate a higher level of strength and endurance than Jason. Not to say that Jason was weak or easily winded, that was not the case. Jason could outlast most other kids his age but Rictor could go on for hours longer, many times outpacing kids twice his age. It was during a school yard altercation, when he had broken a fifth graders nose with a single punch to the face for picking on Jason, when Jacob and Erin realized that Rictor was different than most other kids. That he needed more discipline and guidance than he was receiving at home and school. It was then, in the spring of his second grade year, that Rictor and Jason had started karate.

Even with the noticeable size different between Jason and Rictor compared to the other students, the two of them learned very quickly. After only a few months they were training with other new students who were five or six years older than they were. The two of them were naturals at the form. Their sensei, Sensei Thompson, was incredibly impressed with their progress and had even started to train them personally, just the three of them, after his other classes.

Samantha was very upset at the fact that her brother and friend were suddenly doing something that she could not take part in but her complaints were quickly silenced when she was allowed to start in dance. So the three of them would practice together in the gym of their house or, when either Erin or Jacob were present, in the shallow end of the indoor pool. They still found plenty of time to play together, but they always made sure to get in at least an hour of practice in a day after school.

When summer arrived the three of them would spend even more time together. Jason would spend days at a time at their house, sleeping in one of the guest rooms. They would play together, have picnics together, at Samantha’s insistence of course, but the two boys didn’t mind so much. It also gave them time to continue their practicing. Rictor had even started taking gymnastics at Sensei Thompson’s recommendation.

As the school years went by and Rictor and Jason entered sixth grade the two of them started taking more advanced classes in karate. They were finally allowed to spar with other students, though they started with each other. Because they were never allowed to put their training to use because of their ages nobody knew exactly just how good either of them were. As it turned out, the two of them were better than any one could have expected. They fought with clear and clinical precision. The two of them were incredibly evenly matched in their skill levels. They would go back and forth with punches and kicks for several minutes at a time before one would even land a punch on the other. Where Rictor was easily the faster and stronger of the two, Jason had a higher level of awareness that bordered almost on premonition as he reacted smoothly and flawlessly to Rictor’s attacks. And even though there was always a victor in their matches, neither ever won more than one match in a row.

Once they began sparring against the other students in the levels they quickly destroyed the competition. It was clear at that point that Rictor and Jason were two of the best in the class. By the end of that school year they were fighting against older students and winning. Neither of them faced defeat at the hands of any other student save each other.

After the sparing started they were also introduced to basic weapons training. Jason loved working with knives and the staff but Rictor fell in love with the sword. Even with the weapons, which they hadn’t worked with for very long, they excelled and were quickly at the top of the class in skill.

Even with all the extra training the two friends still had a lot of time to spend together outside of school and karate. Most of their time was spent either in the indoor pool during the colder months or outside in the woods during the warmer ones. Samantha was always a member of the group and even started playing some of the other games they made up.

One particular game, which they had learned from Jacob, who learned it growing up in South Buffalo, was Manhunt. Once they learned how to play the game, which was really nothing more than hide and seek with toy guns, they played nothing else. They would invite friends over to Rictor’s house as often as possible and would play out in the woods surrounding the house. Split into two teams, one group would hide while the others would wait inside for ten minutes then go looking for the others. The only way to win the game was to kill all of the team members on the opposing teams. To kill them you had to see them before they saw you and shout out bang, you’re dead so and so. Needless to say, Jason was never allowed to be on the same team as Rictor.

With Samantha playing with them often, even though she was almost five years younger than he was, a special bond formed between Rictor and her. He always seemed to know exactly how she was feeling and had a very strong sense of loyalty and protectiveness to her. Regardless of what he was doing, whether it be homework or practicing, if she needed something, he was there immediately. He would rather sacrifice anything else for her than to feel as though he et her down, even if it was just to play with her.

That protectiveness came into play the first time when he was in seventh grade. Sam had just started second grade and was walking down the hall at Holy Family when a group of five eighth graders started picking on her. All boys, they started by knocking her book bag out of her hands and then kicking her stuff around as she tried to pick it up. Rictor had just turned into the hall with Jason as one of the older kids pushed Samantha down.

Hey! Jason screamed. Rictor didn’t make a sound. Instead he ran down the hall, fire in his eyes, with Jason right behind him.

Well look who it is, one of the eighth graders said as they charged towards them. Little Rictor and his boyfriend Jason. The kid’s friends started to laugh, a laughter that was cut short as soon as Rictor was within reach of the one who had spoken.

It was a short fight, as Rictor and Jason pummeled the five boys quickly. The older kids didn’t have a clue what was happening. They barely had any time to react before they were assaulted with a flurry of kicks and punches that sent them sprawling. Without breaking a sweat and with the same clinical precision executed in karate class, they moved as one, always watching the other’s back. By the time a teacher had made it over to the scene, everything was over and the two of them were standing victorious over the five now crying kids.

Even though they were expecting the worst in forms of punishment the two friends were ecstatic over their easy victory. When their parents and those of the eighth graders arrived to meet with the principle they were surprised at how things went. Because several of their classmates had witnessed what happened before Rictor and Jason arrived they were let off the hook and were even thanked by the principle, Sister Jean Marie, for standing up to the bullies. After that they became near heroes in the eyes of the other students. And while they did not allow the attention to go to their heads they secretly enjoyed the wide berth that the known bullies gave them and anyone else they knew when they were around.

Sensei Thompson, a burly man with thick brown hair and arms the size of a normal mans thighs, was prouder than words could describe when he heard what the two of them had done.

You see, he said to the class during the routine speeches before class, that is what I have been trying to teach all of you. Anyone can learn how to fight and then go beat up the first person they find. But this, this was what I want all of you to take with you. Use what you have learned only for others. Now obviously, if you are in a situation that demands it, then yes, I want you to defend yourself with every ounce of energy you have, but when someone else needs your help, I want all of you to react without hesitation, without thought for yourselves. I want you to go in and fight because it will always be the right thing to do.

At first expecting to be treated differently by their fellow pupils, like teachers pets, Rictor and Jason were surprised by the positive reactions and praise they received from them instead. That praise and recognition prompted them to train even harder than ever before.

As the remainder of the school year passed by without any incidents, Rictor and Jason were excited to enter the summer. It would be the first year that they were allowed to compete in tournaments and they were both eager to see how their skills matched up to students from other studios. With their first tournament taking place in late July, they spent almost every waking moment with Sensei Thompson sparring. Because many of the other students refused to fight them they were forced to spar against each other more often than not. As was usual, neither of them ever beat the other more than once in a row.

The night before the tournament Jason stayed over at Rictor’s house with his mother. Nerves kept them from getting much sleep that night, but it didn’t matter, they were more than confident that they would do fine the next day.

How do you think we’ll do? Jason asked in the darkness.

I don’t know about you, but I’m gonna win it all. Rictor replied jokingly.

Thanks, came the sarcastic response.

Seriously though, I think we’ll both do fine. I mean, we’ve been practicing harder than any one else in the school and I bet more than any one we’ll be going up against too.

When the morning came and the six of them drove to the Buffalo Convention Center for the event the mood was light and jovial. Nobody showed how nervous they were, especially Erin and Jason’s mother Pam, who were probably more nervous than the two boys combined. For their part, Jason and Rictor joked around with Samantha the entire ride.

The entire leftmost section of the convention center was set up for the tournament. Contestants from dozens of local studios as well as those from neighboring cities and states filled the room to capacity. There were so many contestants that many of the spectators had to watch from the balcony surrounding the room.

Because the event was originally supposed to be set up as age group against age group, Sensei Thompson had to pull out all the stops to convince the judges that Rictor and Jason were too good for their groups and that they should be allowed to compete against older contestants. In the end the judges agreed under the condition that if either of them were to lose or get hurt, they would not be able to cry fowl because of the age differences.

When the time came for them to fight, they did not disappoint. Jason defeated his first opponent, a fifteen year old brown belt, in under three minutes when he landed an ax kick on his adversary’s shoulder and then followed it up with a lightening quick backhand that sent the older boy sprawling.

For his part, Rictor had just as easy of a time, if not easier, than Jason. His first opponent was a sixteen year old Hispanic boy who was a little shorter than Rictor but was technically a higher rank. Rictor was struck by the first blow, which was usually the case as he needed the impact to trigger his fighting spirit, and after that it was over. Blocking a side kick with swift efficiency and following up with a rapid series of punches to the chest that could barely be followed by the spectators which was immediately followed by a spinning leg sweep, he brought the boy down and won the match.

That was how the day went. Both of them easily wining their matches against older, more skilled students. By the end of the first day of the tournament both boys were in the finals the next day. They would have to face four opponents each in order to get to the championship round, where, if they reached it, they would have to fight each other.

Jason won his first round the next morning and Rictor followed suit. With his second match, Jason was almost beat by a sixteen year old girl.She was considered to be one of the favorites to win the tournament, but he ended up beating her with a well placed kick to her hip that caused her to stumble to the side where he was able to knock her down with a side kick to the back of her thigh giving him the win. Rictor was able to beat his opponent quickly and they were on to the quarterfinals.

In his quarterfinal fight Jason brought down a fifteen year old boy who was more than a foot taller than he was and Rictor defeated a sixteen year old boy who was about his height but a good fifty pounds heavier. In the semifinal round Jason was beaten when he lost his footing trying a complicated series of kicks and was brought down with a simple right cross that caught him in the back. Rictor won his bout and it was on to the final.

Rictor’s opponent was eighteen year old brown belt who stood half a foot taller than he was and had him beat by about thirty pounds. As he prepared himself for the fight Jason came up to him and offered him his best wishes in the fight. While disappointed that he was not going to the final with Rictor he was still happy to see his friend get the opportunity to win it all.

Besides, he said as Rictor was pulling on gloves, I would have lost to you anyway.

Why do you say that?

I won the last sparring match. Good luck Ric.

The fight between Rictor and the eighteen year old brought the attendants of the tournament to a hushed silence as they eagerly waited to see the seventh grader that was destroying all of his opponents. In the history of this particular tournament no students were allowed to participate in matches outside of their age group.

Stepping up to the mat and awaiting his adversary, Rictor, wearing his customary gi, black pants with white shirt, looked around at the gathered masses and found his friend and little sister and gave them a nod in acknowledgement. Always remaining focused on the task at hand he never allowed himself to show emotions that would be distracting to his concentration. When his challenger appeared he was ready. What he was not ready for however, was the brief tingles of a head ache that started to build up behind his eyes. Remaining determined to finish this fight and hoping that the full blown headache would not come until after he could finish he nodded his ready at the ref. The ref dropped his hand.

The older kid, with short brown hair and the starting of a beard on his chin attacked immediately. Lunging with a straight kick that Rictor easily avoided and following with a backhand that was blocked, his opponent gave him a brief nod of respect as they faced each other again. This time it was Rictor who took the first step.

Quickly stepping to the right side of his opponent, giving the appearance of preparing to launch a left jab, he instead lashed out with a left hook that caught the taller teenager in the chest and sent him staggering back as he tried to dance to his left to avoid the blow he had expected would be thrown. Sheer luck saved him from being knocked down as his stumbling took him just out of reach of the follow up right cross Rictor threw at him. Rictor prepared himself to move in for the win, the crowd roaring in support of him, when his headache struck him full force. That, and something more.

Along side the usual blinding pain came, on the corner of his vision, flashes of images that he couldn’t quite understand. To him it appeared as though he were seeing through someone else’s eyes. Instead of seeing just the ring and opponent before him he also saw what he thought was a short, middle-aged, overweight white guy with a knife in his hand. The man was inside of a darkened room, the feature of which Rictor couldn’t really make out. The pain in his head was intense but the visions were what stood out the most to him. He could now clearly see the man who held the knife and saw that he was wearing a dark brown sport coat and wore glasses that looked as if they would fall from his face at any moment. The room that he was seeing started to sharpen as well. He could see that they were in an office of some sort and that the lights had just been turned off. And then, as quickly as they came, the images faded from his sight. Strangely though, even as the vision left him, he could feel a pull in his head that seemed to draw his attention away from the convention center and out into the heart of downtown Buffalo itself. Had he been sitting in his room or even at school, Rictor would have spent some time trying to piece together just what exactly it was that happened, but that was a luxury he did not have at the moment.

When he failed to press his attack because of the headache, the eighteen year old came at him with an attack of his own. Striking Rictor in the stomach with a side kick, causing him to double over as his breath was knocked out of him, his opponent immediately struck again with a left jab to Rictor’s face. Stumbling to the side of the mat, and maintaining his footing by sheer instinct, Rictor was hit again, this time by a palm strike to the back of his left shoulder that turned him around, only to be hit again by a kick to the solar plexus that almost finished him off. Almost.

As he started to fall backwards and the images faded away, Rictor was able to twist himself to the right and utilize his gymnastics training to save himself. Planting his hands on the floor, he lifted himself into a hand stand and quickly twisted his body again to land on his feet facing the guy who had been pummeling him for the last few seconds. When he came to a rest, his adversary, who had been rushing in to knock him off his feet and win, came to a stop as he took in Rictor. There was no mistaking it, not this time. There did not appear to be a faint glow to Rictor’s crimson eyes. They were glowing, brightly.

With a calm precision, Rictor took advantage of the momentary pause of his opponent. He hit him in the chest with a lightning quick jab and struck him again with a short kick with his left leg to the shin. When the boy stepped back and tried to punch him in defense Rictor shot out his right hand and caught his arm by the wrist. Holding the boy’s hand high and away from him, Rictor struck him in the chest with four quick shots from his left hand. Releasing his grip he finished the boy off with a leaping snap kick to the chest that lifted him completely off the ground to land on his back several feet away from Rictor.

Standing over his opponent, chest heaving, fury in his eyes, Rictor was barely aware of the crowd cheering for him, or of the referee raising his arm in victory. All he was aware of was the pounding in his head, the anger that came to him, and with it, the strength. He would know later on that his kick fractured his opponent’s breast bone.

When his family ran over to meet him in celebration, his eyes were still glowing faintly. In the excitement of his win, nobody really seemed too concerned with them, focusing instead on the fact that he had beaten someone who was almost six years older and who had more training than he had. Samantha ran to him first and threw her arms around him excitedly.

You won! She exclaimed. You did it, you beat him. Dressed in one of her favorite purple dresses she stood out next to him only because of the fact that she took most of her characteristics from their mother.

Man, I thought you were gonna lose for a second there. Jason said as he came over to congratulate him with Sensei Thompson. What happened?

I don’t know. A headache came out of nowhere. I couldn’t see for a second there either.

That was an unbelievable display of heart you showed there. Thompson said to him, also dressed in his deep blue gi. You really fought well.

Are you okay now Ric? His father asked in concern.

Yeah dad, I’m fine now. Like I said, it faded pretty quickly.

Well, I think we need to go celebrate, his mother said receiving several nods of agreement. Good, then lets go to the Spaghetti Warehouse for lunch.

Rictor was awarded a massive trophy for winning the tournament. Standing more than five feet high and adorned with two bronze figures in fighting stances. Jason received a much smaller trophy for his efforts and the pair both received plaques as well. The trophies would go to the school, and the plaques with them. Jacob and Erin felt it necessary to take the boys out for lunch in celebration, inviting Sensei Thompson along as well.

As Jacob guided the van he used when going places with the entire family instead of the usual limo that transported him, the family continued to congratulate the two boys. In an amazing display of friendship and camaraderie, Jason showed no resentment over the fact that he did not win. In fact, he offered the loudest support of Rictor.

Man, I still can’t believe how you won. He said for the fifth time. It was totally awesome. When you did that handstand and then caught his punch. Man, I wish I could move that fast.

You could have beaten that guy just as easily Jay, Rictor replied with nothing but sincerity.

Yeah Jason, you would have beat him pretty good too, Samantha chimed in.

As the group drove through the downtown area, the strange pulling sensation in Rictor’s head lingered, almost as if it was trying to guide him somewhere. As they drove down Pearl Street, past the Main Place Mall, the pull grew even stronger.

Hey dad, can we turn down here a second? Rictor asked on sudden impulse, pointing down West Eagle Street.

Sure son, but why?

I just want to see something that’s all.

Jacob turned the van down the street and traveled down it until Rictor asked him to turn down Delaware Ave. They drove by city hall and continued down past West Huron when they suddenly could not go any further. Several police cars had the entire area blocked off and were directing traffic away from the area. When Jacob pulled his van to a stop and motioned for the police officer standing nearby to come over he asked him what was going on. He owned several buildings in the area and wanted to make sure everything was okay.

There was an attack at the federal building sir, the officer said, referencing the Dulski Federal Building which was visible from where they were. Some ex-employee broke in and killed one of the workers.

As soon as the officer told his father what had happened Rictor knew exactly hat had happened to him during the fight. He couldn’t explain how he knew, but he was certain that the images that flashed through his mind were of the killer. The pulling in his head had drawn him directly to this location and was now, though dimly, pulling his attention in the direction of the federal building. After years of suffering from the headaches, the reasons for them had finally clicked into place. And when, after a few more minutes of talking to the officer, a squad car drove by, the same middle-aged bald man he saw in his mind riding in the back seat, the pull shifted away from the building and followed the police cruiser until both it and the pull faded away.

Along with the visions that went along with the murders, he also noticed that his strength had greatly increased. That discovery was made when, during a particularly stressful day at the studio, he ripped a punching bag off of its ceiling anchors with a single punch. Sensei Thompson chalked it up to the old chains that supported it but when Rictor examined them he could see where the steel links had torn in half. His stamina and agility also increased. He found that he could run several miles at a time without being winded. His gymnastics routines became increasingly more difficult as he was able to perform moves that many professional gymnasts wouldn’t even consider attempting. His reflexes were heightened and he was able to respond to any actions quickly, the sole exception of which was Jason. Jason did not experience any changes outside of what a normal pubescent boy would, but he was still able to best Rictor half of the time they spared.

It was as though, with the onset of puberty and the changes it brought with it to his body, Rictor’s unnatural abilities started to fully manifest themselves. From that moment on, each and every headache was accompanied by those strange visions, visions that showed him clearly where something happened. When asked by his mother how he knew to come this way, Rictor lied and stated that he had heard the sirens from the convention center and that he just wanted to see what was going on, but in his heart he knew the truth. When the fat man killed whoever it was that he killed, Rictor had seen through the murdered, apparently through the victims eyes.

He kept these discoveries to himself, fearing that people would start to ask him questions he did not want to answer, but he knew that what he was going through was not normal. He knew that, whatever it was that was happening, had changed him forever. And those changes terrified him.

Chapter 2

As the years went by and Rictor and Jason entered high school at Bishop Timon High School in South Buffalo, their friendship endured and grew. Even though she was still in grade school, Samantha was allowed to do anything she wanted to with the boys, with no complaints from either of them. Rictor was still very protective of his little sister and made that fact known on several occasions throughout his freshman year at Timon. When a group of seventh graders started picking on her again, he was there, at Holy Family, to put them in their place and ensured that they would never even entertain the idea of picking on her again in the future.

Because of his increased strength and skills over the other kids in his school and the lessons that Sensei Thompson drilled into him, Rictor always tried his hardest to limit what he did around others. If they were playing football in gym class, he made sure that he was always the quarterback so he wouldn’t accidentally injure anyone by running into them. When it was time for baseball he would purposely mess up the timing of his swing so that he didn’t always hit homeruns. With each and every aspect of school, he made sure that he was never put into a situation where he had to demonstrate his differences to others.

His appearance did not help him much, but that was something he endured because he would never change anything about himself. He still had a fondness for long hair and always kept his long enough to pull back into a ponytail. His eyes made him stand out wherever he was in the school and during the instances that he experienced his trademark headaches, signaling that someone was murdered, when his eyes glowed brightly he made sure to avoid eye contact as much as possible until he was sure that the glow had faded. It was to the point that, even though he could have been the most popular kid at the school, he did not really have that many friends except for Jason and a handful of others. Because he didn’t care what others thought about him, it was very easy for him to ignore the grief that some of the students put him through.

Try as he might though, towards the end of their freshman year, Rictor was forced to demonstrate what he was capable of to some of his classmates.

During a gym class, dressed in their usual yellow shorts and green t-shirts, he, Jason, and the other kids in the class were shooting around with basketballs before the start of the class. One particular student, Timothy Fredo, a sophomore who towered over the already tall Rictor and outweighed him by almost eighty pounds, started picking on him relentlessly.

While Rictor was taking a jump shot, Tim hit him in the back of the head with a basketball thrown as hard as he could. When Rictor turned around to face him, eyes flashing with anger, he almost let his control slip, but quickly fought down the urge to strike Tim.

While Rictor tried to pick up the ball he had dropped, Tim pushed him down to the floor.

Oops, Tim said with a grin, exposing the missing front tooth he had received during a football game. He was not what one would consider an attractive teenager. He had curly brown hair that looked as though he never combed or even washed it and he always had an odor about him that people only put up with because he was the best player on the football team. I didn’t see you there.

Ignoring him, Rictor got back to his feet and started walking away. Tim had other ideas however. With Rictor’s back to him once again, he shoved him as hard as he could. Rictor’s head snapped back from the force of the push and he fell to the ground.

Aw, what’s the matter little Ricky? Tim said with mock sincerity. You can’t walk yet?

Leave me alone Tim, Rictor said calmly, his eyes betraying the anger roiling within him. He tried again to get back to his feet and walk away, and again, Tim knocked him down. Dude, what the fuck is your problem man? Rictor said and quickly sprang to his feet, glaring at Tim with unrestrained hatred. While not one to swear too often, he did so when he became angry.

Excuse me? Tim said in shock and anger. What the hell did you just say to me?

You heard me, you dumb fuck. I’m not one your little bitches that you can push around whenever you feel like showing your lack of intelligence.

Are you calling me stupid? Tim asked incredulously, stepping closer to Rictor, trying to