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The darkness was deeper and stronger than I had seen in a long time. I was just a kid then, 23, I had just gotten my first job out of school. I was a reporter for the city's newspaper. It was my dream, journalism, since I was boy. Well, except being a superhero, as the comics had led me to believe I could be. My collection still keeps dust now, in my closet. Journalism was, for all purposes, my realistic dream. I had been tasked, as sort of a hazing or test, with finding my own lead to write an article. I had been unsuccessful for weeks. Following politicians, researching food poisonings, even investigating unsolved crimes (my cousin's a cop, he helped with that one). That night was different than most. I was coming back from researching one last corrupt politician rumor, when I noticed that I was passing through a neighborhood I had never seen. I tried to hail a cab, but it sped away. I was stuck, and the area looked suspicious enough, which was accented by the intense darkness of that particular evening. I decided to cut through an alley, adjusting my glasses and holding my briefcase tightly to my chest. I immediately regretted my decision, as two individuals holding baseball bats came out of the shadows.

"Money...NOW!" The first one said, holding a hand out.

"Hey, the briefcase too!" said the second man. He was addressed with a nod in the affirmative from the first man. I cannot for the life of me remember why I reacted the way I did, maybe it was the subtle suggestion of crime-fighting from years of comic-collecting, maybe it was a subconscious effect because of being bullied in High School. Either way, I decided to fight. I attempted to knock the bat out of the second man's hand, but the other one slammed his bat into my chest. I fell to my knees, unable to stand. The second man raised his weapon, aimed for my face, when a hand caught his, pulling it back and slamming him into the wall. The other man looked astonished, but soon pulled out a knife and ran towards my obscured savior, who blocked the knife and seemed to break it into several pieces. The man then swung a bat into the darkened figure's back, breaking it into various splinters of wood. The figure seemed unscathed, and proceeded to step into the light to grab the assailant. He was dressed in mostly black, wearing some sort of metal helmet with two eye holes. He also appeared to have a blacked shield of some sort attached to his left arm. He swung the shield, hitting the man in the face, sending a splatter of blood against the wall. Both men lied knocked out, and the man in black turned to look at me. He spoke in a deep, muffled voice.

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I think so...maybe a broken rib, but I'll be okay. Nothing I can't handle" I tried to maintain some sort of ego, regardless of the fact that this man had just saved me. 

"I admire your resilience, what you did was stupid, you know, there were two of them, and they were armed." He wiped some of the man's blood off of his helmet as he spoke.

"You seemed to make short work of them." 

"Well...I'm a bit different." 

"Who...Who are you? How did you do that?"

"I' can call me 'Knight'"

"I'm Stephen." I held out my hand, but he didn't seem to notice. He advised me to go home and disappeared just as soon as he appeared. When I arrived at my apartment, only one thing passed through my brain. I had my story, and it was perfect. It was the story I was born to write. 


Created: Jul 17, 2012

Tags: super, journalist, story, hero, short

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