A tale from the Dreamseeker Universe....

Shadow Gentleman: 
The Killing Martyr



"Breaking news here on WQID -- the Martyr has escaped from prison, and is
at-large. Residents of Miami-Dade county are asked to stay indoors and lock
all possible entrances. The Martyr is considered extremely dangerous. If
you see him, do not panic...."

"Damn," whispered the Shadow Gentleman, as he drove home on the Turnpike
from work. "I should've killed him a long time ago."

***

That night, the Shadow Gentleman hopped into his famous black Dodge Ram
truck and went on patrol. He kept his truck in an abandoned warehouse that
he had bought and transformed into his base of operations. It was an
inconspicuous location, which made it advantageous for him. There was a
comic book store in front of the warehouse -- the store owner was the only
one who knew the Shadow Gentleman's secret, and he kept watch of the place
for S.G.

"Look! It's the Britishmobile!" yelled a pedestrian as S.G. drove by on
163rd Street.

S.G. ignored the curious onlookers streaming out of Dairy Queen, and thought
about the Martyr while listening to the Police channels. S.G. was
constantly frustrated by the Martyr because of his seemingly random attack
patterns.

"All units, report to Pro Player Stadium. The Martyr's been spotted at the
Dolphins game. Repeat...."

"The Dolphins game. Thousands," muttered the Shadow Gentleman. He did a
U-turn immediately, and raced towards the Golden Glades Interchange.

***

"Ha ha ha! You fools! You pay hundreds of dollars to watch the heartbreak
Dolphins? Don't you people have lives? Shouldn't you donate to charity?"
The Martyr yelled over the stadium P.A.

Some of the Martyr's gang had taken over all the exits. Fifty-five people
had already died, trying to run to their cars in the vast parking lot. Some
of the bodies rolled down the circular ramps, finally resting at the ground
floor.

The rest of the gang had locked the football players and coaches in the
locker rooms.

"If anyone else tries to escape, you die! And I'll kill someone in the
stands, too! Ha ha ha!

More people tried to leave, only to by shot. The remaining crowd, still
numbering over 50,000 people, sat down in their seats. No one wanted to
die. A nervous murmur swept across the stadium.

"Now, you're probably wondering what the hell do I want, huh? I want all
the executives in all those beautiful luxury boxes on the field, now!"

The Shadow Gentleman, wearing his famous all-black Ninja uniform, watched
the scene from one of the powerful light fixtures on top of the stadium. He
couldn't help but wonder what had caused the Martyr to act this way.

***

"But I didn't do anything wrong!"

"It doesn't matter, Martyr. You were there, and you didn't do anything.
You're omission makes you just as culpable."

The Martyr had seen Raisinhead grab Salarygirl's butt, but had chosen to
ignore the incident. When Salarygirl decided to report the incident, she
asked the Martyr to tell Human Resources what he'd seen. Of course, he
agreed. He thought he was helping out. He had no idea that he would lose
his job.

"This is bulls*&&! I don't believe this s@#$!" yelled the Martyr as he
stormed to his car in the parking garage. His shouts echoed throughout the
dark, concrete structure.

As he sat down in the driver's seat of his car, a 1996 Toyota Tercel, the
realization dawned on him: he would have to find another job.

"My God. I've lost all my benefits ... my wife ... my child ... how am I
going to face them?"

The Martyr cried in his car until a security guard walked up and asked him
to leave.

***

The executives were lined up on the left hash marks near midfield, naked.
Their hands were tied behind their backs, and they were on their knees.
They're faces were dirty; some were crying. The crowd had fallen silent.

"How does it feel, huh? How does it feel to be humbled, in front of
everybody? Hey, Wayne -- you got a real small pecker, buddy! Ha!" rambled
the Martyr over the P.A.. 

"Not as small as yours, Martyr."

"What!" The Martyr turned, and he received a fist to the face.

"No more killing, Martyr. This is where it ends." The Shadow Gentleman held
the Martyr up against the wall.

"What -- are you gonna kill me? You don't have the guts!"

"I don't have to kill you to stop you," answered the Shadow Gentleman. He
grabbed the Martyr by the head and twisted, snapping his neck.

S.G. dropped the Martyr's limp body dropped to the ground. The Martyr
coughed, and looked up. "I'm still alive ... but I can't move! What did you
do, you fool!"

"Paralysis."

"No!"

"I've stopped you now. Now I've got to take care of your buddies."

S.G. left the room, and the Martyr was alone with his thoughts. He wondered
if things could've been different. He thought of the past, and how things
had led to this.

***

"Hello, my name is the Martyr, and I'm calling on behalf of QSR Toasters.
May I please speak with Mr. or Mrs. Ostercag?"

"Oh, Jesus!" and there was a loud, audible click over the Martyr's headset. 

The Martyr hit Enter on his keyboard, and waited for dialer to bring up the
next caller's name on the computer screen.

"Hello?"

"Hello, Mrs. Wiler. How are you doing?"

"Uh, good."

"Great! My name is Martyr, and I'm calling on behalf of...."

"I'm in the shower, for God's sake!" and the familiar click.

The Martyr hit Mute and murmured, "Damn it! Like I know you're in the
shower, honey."

The Martyr was angry, but he kept it contained. He wanted to leave, but he
refused to give in to his urges. He needed this job. He needed the money.
His wife and child needed the money.

The Martyr's needs didn't matter.

"... I'm calling on behalf of ..."

"Do you know what time it is?"

"Well, let me see here -- you're in Texas, so it's about 8:45 P.M."

"You know, we're trying to sleep, and you're soliciting on our phone."

"My apologies, ma'am. Would there be a better time to call?"

"No, and please take our name off your list."

"Sure, thank you for your time," said the Martyr before hitting his mute
button and continuing, "go to hell and stay there, bitch."

Three hundred calls a day, five days a week, and THREE SALES. The Martyr
wanted out, badly.

"Martyr! Telephone! Line 2!" yelled the Intimidator, supervisor of the
call center, from his desk which overlooked the entire call center. "Make it
quick -- you need to make some sales."

"I know, I know," said the Martyr, as he walked over to one of the office
phones. "Hello?"

"Mr. Martyr?"

"Yes, this is he."

"I'm sorry to have to do this ... over the phone ... but I regretfully must
inform you of the death of your wife and son."

"What?"

"If you'll come down to the police precinct, I'll explain everything. It's
important that you get down here. If you need, we can come pick you up."

The Martyr was stunned. He stared at all the dusty grey cubicles, and the
tops of people's heads with their headsets on. "How ... how did they die?"

"I ... I think it would be best if you just get down here. We'll tell you
everything once you get here."

"HOW DID THEY DIE?" the Martyr yelled. All the other workers stopped what
they were doing, and peaked over the top of their cubicles to see what was
happening. His face was burning red, and he was oblivious to their
attention.

"A ... a QSR Toaster truck lost it's brakes ... ran a red light, and drove
head-on into your wife and child. They were going for a walk."

"Wh ... What?"

"I can assure you, Mr. Martyr, that it was quick and painless. They didn't
suffer."

"Ha. Ha ha. Ha ha. Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha!!!"

"Sir, we'll send a car down immediately. Please stay calm and...."

The Martyr hung up the phone. The Intimidator walked up to him, and asked,
"What's so funny? What happened?"

"My wife and child are dead."

"Oh my God. I'm sorry."

"If you'll excuse me -- I have to go to the police station."

"Of course. I understand. Take as much time as you need."

As the Martyr walked out, his supervisor yelled, "Call me tomorrow to let me
know when you'll be back."

"Oh, I'll let you know."

The Martyr crossed the parking lot and opened the passenger side of his
Tercel. He reached into the glove compartment, and pulled out a gun. There
were nine bullets, and one in the chamber. The Martyr had bought the gun
after being mugged at a McDonald's.

"Guns aren't for defense, but for offense. It's time to go on the
offensive. Ha. Ha ha. Ha ha ha ha ha!!!"

The Martyr walked back in the office and shot the Intimidator, and three
workers he didn't like.

***

"The Martyr is back in prison, and is paralyzed from the neck down. WQID
news reporter John Nightshade is on the scene...."

The Shadow Gentleman shutoff his car radio and drove the Britishmobile back
out of its parking spot. He waved at the police guarding the entrance to
the Pro Player Stadium parking lot, and they let him through.

The commissioner of police handed him a file before he left. "You've been
asking for this. I guess now it doesn't matter."

"How did you know to bring it?"

"I always bring it with me. I always figured you'd eventually do something
like this."

"You were hoping I'd do this."

"You operate outside the law, without a badge or gun. Why didn't you do
this sooner?"

"I thought, commissioner, that the system could handle him."

"He was always under your jurisdiction. You should've done this sooner.
Now get out of here, before I change my mind about that file, and arrest you
for vigilantism."

The Shadow Gentleman wasn't worried about what the commissioner said -- he
was just venting. They both knew that the system was the best way to deal
with the criminal element. The Martyr turned out to be an exception, and
S.G. hoped that the file contained answers that would help deal with future
exceptions sooner.