I had this idea a few days ago, and I really liked it. I'm sure some of you will realize what I am doing, and I appreciate all of your critique and criticism even if you do not. I tried something like this before, but it was a different sort of genre, and I think this one will hold my attention longer so that I can actually flesh it all out. I have ideas for where to write the story, but I'm simply going to write them in the postbox and submit them... after writing pages and pages of Mafia, this is stupidly one of the most comfortable mediums I have to use.
"This doesn't cut it anymore, Gabriel. You know that. Things have changed."
The voice was waiting for him when he made it to the top of the building. A white sleeve reached out from over the ledge, and he took it by the hand and let it pull him onto the roof. They stood by a pair of gargoyles, more than a dozen stories above neon-lit, night-life streets. Once on his feet, he clasped his second hand onto the extended arm, and the man did the same.
"I'll keep fighting the good fight, John. The way I always have, and the way I always will."
They held their greeting for a few seconds, keeping eye-contact. Gabe snuck a wry smile. The shorter man's faceless mask betrayed no emotion, but if it had, it could have been anything from condescending disappointment to compatriot understanding. He was impossible to see through, even to The Eye.
John Doe adjusted the knot on the red necktie that completed his "everyman" ensemble. He wore an unassuming business suit - commonly gray, today black - a pair of simple shoes, leather gloves, and a faceless white mask covered what his short-cropped dark hair did not. A black beat-stick sat snugly holstered at the side of each of his thighs. The getup was nothing fancy, though it was fitting - compared to the iconic outfits of the cities heroes and villains, the impressive suits of the business people, and the colorful, candy styles of the youth... it was Mediocre.
Gabe turned to look back toward the street, where the moderators were finally arriving at the scene; their guns drawn but held low, one of the pair approached the struggling, wire-bound thugs. Gabe narrowed his eyes and watched the man's mouth - put your hands in the air where we can see them. He let out a sharp, disappointing laugh of a breath.
"The mods bring them in, book 'em in, question 'em, post bail, and throw 'em back into the streets. It doesn't clean the streets anymore. You know it.
Gabe straightened his mouth and breathed through his nose, listening. Mediocre continued, steady in tone:
"It doesn't keep the peace anymore. It doesn't make the streets safe. The people who can afford protection live in the protected communities. The rich are untouchable. They're just stealing from themselves. Or they're getting used."
"That doesn't change anything, John."
He wore a lightly armored, leather suit of crimson red, his height accentuated by long, sharp black boots and similar gloves. His black cape played slowly behind him. His black mask covered all of his head save the area around his mouth, chin, and inner-cheeks. On his crimson chest showed a black icon of a square made of a letter E and its symmetrical opposite, and in the center of that square sat an open eye - The Eye.
He crossed his arms and surveyed the territory. A bustling, busy district, the Center was at the heart of the city; to Gabe, and those he watched, it was the city. The streets were crowded with stores and shops, restaurants and bars, apartment complexes and business offices. Older buildings were lined, topped, and dotted with Gothic influences - gargoyles perched at the corners of many buildings, and there were a few more churches in the Center than anywhere else in the city. As the streets led out in all directions away from the Center, the buildings became smoother and sleeker, or smaller, or taller.
"I wanted to show you something," Mediocre noted while they stepped away from the ledge. "A few blocks over, near Carter Park."
"Oh?"
They began to run across the rooftop, slowly at first, picking up into an incredible pace. They ran alongside each other a few feet from the edge, Mediocre explaining with a louder but steady voice, Gabe listening and running while he surveyed the streets below as they passed.
"There was a break-in at one of the apartment buildings. A few hours ago. The tenants were robbed and murdered, and it went unreported. The landlord told me it would have been too much trouble to tell the mods."
The two leaped across alleys onto the next buildings - Mediocre ran slightly stiffly, while Gabe's lightly-armored suit allowed for his lithe style and long strides. When he crossed an alley, Mediocre jumped very high, landing with a roll and remaking his footing without pause. Gabe felt his cape resist the fall with every leap.
"I wonder if he gave the mods the same excuse."
Mediocre did not laugh. "He didn't. I didn't take him in."
"What? John, are you kidding?
They waited until reaching the end of a building to take a turn - a habit second nature now to Mediocre, as The Eye always ran with the streets below in sight. Very briefly he turned to catch a glimpse of the shorter man, but it yielded no response. As they ran, the buildings gradually became shorter and the roofs smaller.
"I know you don't think it does any good, but you still do it, John, don't you? What else are you doing out every night, if not-"
"It's not like that, Gabriel. We're here."
Mediocre dropped off the edge of the two-story building and landed with a forward flip. Gabe followed, allowing his cape to slow his fall to a gentle pace. He landed silently and turned, following Mediocre into the brick apartment complex.
The building was old but fairly clean. They passed through the main hall took a turn before stopping at a room. The wooden door to 24 was damaged, splintered and cracked above the knob, but jerry-rigged shut.
"Undisturbed," Mediocre muttered as he removed a bolt from the doorknob and entered the room. Gabe hesitated before entering.
"Don't worry," Mediocre turned to face him, extending a palm out into the room, "they don't mind."
Gabe entered, his eyes darting around to piece together the poorly-lit mess of a room. On a couch against the wall, a young Latino woman lay face-up, bloodied and motionless. The front of her face, her arms, and her legs were coated with bruises, she wore no shirt or bra, and her simple yellow skirt was torn. In front of her, shattered glass from a broken coffee table and broken remains of cheap porcelain tableware scattered about over a stained brown-patterned rug. In an open doorway where the dark carpet became kitchen tile, a man's body spread out face-down with more than a few knives in his neck and back. Dried crusts of blood and hair sat indented in his head where he had been repeatedly bludgeoned.
Before he even saw it, Gabe knew it was there - a graffiti tag, sprawled out on the wall where a television had fallen, showing a fierce, horned human skull flanked by the letters L and D in bones.
Shadows danced as Mediocre moved the dim standing-lamp from the couch to the wall to light the mural.
"L.O.D.," he read plainly.
"Ive seen it before," Gabe noted. And he had seen it before, but only recently, at various murders and along alleyways. It was often hard to find before the mods arrived, painted over it, and moved along.
"And?"
"I don't know. I don't know what it is. Another street-gang, something new."
Mediocre remained silent, waiting for more. When nothing came, he turned back to the marking.
"Say what you want about the South's G-Men markings, or the Beasts, but at least they stay home. We don't need a turf-war."
The Eye agreed, silently, before another spoke.
"It's not about our wants, friends,
The smooth, disarming voice slipped from the wall, and the dim lamp-light flickered. The Shadow stepped from the corner of the room, covered in darkness. His broad cloak tapered at the ends, covering all of him and more, dragging along the floor and behind him into the shadowed corner of the room.
"It's about 'the city's needs,' right, detective?"
The cloak of darkness ebbed to reveal the man's knowing grin. The Shadow was a slender, dark skinned man with an experienced face and a head of long, thin braids. As he stepped fully out of the darkness, his cloak disappeared to reveal a set of full black robes that rolled around the edges and, with his hood down, covered all other clothing. He approached The Eye and greeted him, shaking his hand and clasping his extended arm with his off-hand.
"It always will be," Gabe replied a half-smile.
The Shadow exchanged looks with Mediocre and slid in between the two, examining the mural.
"It started popping up around the North a few weeks ago. Always with a murder. It's a kill-mark, and it's message is simpler than you think."
The Eye continued to examine, silently.
"How do you mean?" Mediocre asked.
"The mark pops up all over the city, regardless of district or turf. The killers aren't marking their territory, they're leaving a message. And not to the other gangs, or the mob - to us."
"Us?"
"Those of us who sweep the streets. Those of us who keep the order, keep the factions in check, the chaos at bay. They aren't opposing the gangs, they are opposing us. L.O.D."
"They don't take us seriously, with a name like that," The Eye finally remarked, recognizing the skull. "The Legion of Doom. Is this a joke?"
"This is what happens when there is no penalty," Mediocre remarked, now with a tone of finality. "The system of justice in this city is a joke, and now it's spread to us. We treat the criminals with... the vandals, the rapists, killers, we deal with them within the system, and we become the joke."
"John," Gabe interrupted,
"Gabriel, you know it. If The Bear were on the streets, this wouldn't happen."
"The Bear is locked up for a reason," Gabe sharply replied. His voice became heated. "He was good at what he did. Don't you think I know that? Me, of all people?"
"It's been long enough, Gabriel."
"Maybe it has. Maybe it hasn't! We can't know, and we won't, because that's the law. We cannot change that."
"The Cat can," Mediocre replied, quickly.
"The Cat?!" Gabe exploded. "Whose side are you on?!"
The Shadow slipped backwards, placing a hand on each of their shoulders.
"Friends, enough."
After a moment, Gabe turned back to the mural and continued to examine the skull. Mediocre moved his gaze from The Eye to The Shadow.
"If you find out more,"
"I'll let you know," he smiled, lifting his hood over his head and sliding back into the darkness.
"Thanks."
"Anytime," The Shadow laughed as he moved out of sight. "Anywhere."
When Mediocre left, The Eye was still fixed on the skull.
