Underneath the mask

He reclined in the soft comfort of the chair, his lower lip tasting like blood & possible broken ribs. He had a pounding headache & knew he’d be nursing a concussion for the next two weeks.

“Damn this hurts!” ,he grunted before looking to the ceiling & letting out a sigh as he inferred “I’m getting too old for this crap.”. The dingy room smelt of sweat, smoke & booze it was the farthest thing from luxury but at least he could afford it. He surveyed the bed in front of him & observed the kevlar vest that was ripe with bullet marks, stab marks & droplets of blood. The tight fitting charcoal spandex pants lay alongside the vest torn & tattered looking nothing like the new pair he’d custom made two weeks ago. The boots & gloves, all black, also lay on the bed although haphazardly in the way a kid would leave his things after school. In his hands held his most sacred possession - his mask.

He was glad to be wearing his bathing robe so that his skin could finally breath & cool from the heat of this last battle. He held the delicate garment gently between his thumb & index finger whose once shiny black had faded to a subtle grey. It was a simple contraption that covered his eyes & could be bought for a few bucks at any novelty shop or fun fair. Its design was the kind you saw in comic books worn by trusty sidekicks, boy wonders & gun slinging cowboys. His fingers caressed the fabric as they acquainted themselves with every rip, tear & bump. He brought the thing to his nose & inhaled its bloody & sweaty scent. Memories came flooding back of foiled plots, vexed foes & thousands of would be evil doers who’d had the fear of God knocked into them - literally.

The mask had become his sacred confidant seeing the dark world of Midon city along within him whilst simultaneously safeguarding his identity. If anyone knew that he in fact was Mason Reilly then his world would be over. Whilst that didn’t worry him yet his anonymity was a vital part of his crusade. He chuckled as he tried to remember why he’d chosen such a bizarre line of work. It was a strenuous task that paid nothing at all. All done in the name of “doing good”. Maybe he did it because he’d watched too many films featuring masked swordsmen & caped crusaders? Maybe this was his idea of living out some pre adolescent comic book fantasy? Perhaps it was the result of some existential crisis?

The answer simply lay in the streets of Midon city.

Rampant unemployment & a surge in criminal activity meant that the morgue was filled with innocent corpses each & every day. Corpses that could have become productive members of society or just enjoying the simple joy of life laid wasted in frosty cacoons whilst awaiting transfer to the grave. Life was extinguished at an alarmingly rapid rate in Midon. This was how it was even Mason had accepted this reality.

It was only until his nephew of five years old, Nate, had been kidnapped, held for ransom & eventually killed thar Mason decided to don the mask. He remembered his first outing in intense vividness as a masked adventurer like it was happening right there in his room. It was a frosty December evening as the wind howled with a chilly bite. He stood atop one of the buildings of Midon’s skyline despite his deathly fear of heights. All he had to do was think of Nate & the rest any misgivings disappeared.

Suddenly without warning he heard a shrill cry cut through the air. He looked down to find a woman surrounded by four grizzly men who obviously had no benevolent intent. One of them grabbed her purse whilst the others drew closer to fulfill her doomed destiny. The young lady looked around for an escape like a gazelle surrounded by a pack of hyenas. And as he watched her distress unfold he smiled. This was the opportunity he’d been waiting for & without hesitation he leapt from the towering building with the agility of a galago aided by a tight rope & a sturdy harness. His feet found safety on the ground in front of the trembling woman. The poor damsel thought he was a fifth assailant & swooned to the ground.

One of the men joked, “What the hell is this? Trick or treat season?”

He didn’t return an answer but glared at them through his mask as if almost daring them to make the first move.

“Ok man if you won’t get out of our way your tutty fruity behind goes down first.”, he replied before adding menacingly with a yellow toothed smile, “And then maybe later we can have some real fun with this wench.”

He was surrounded on all four sides & quite outnumbered but he wasn’t about to lose his cool. One of the men to his left threw a left hook to which he ducked. After years of dormancy his Special Ops military training was kicking in. Another man lunged at him but wound up eating Mason’s knee & possibly losing a tooth or two in the process. And just when he thought he could take a brief breather the remaining man with an 8 inch blade in hand attempted to stab him but was caught mid way with his quicksilver reflexes suffering a broken wrist, ulna & radius.

The thugs regrouped to reassess & calculate their next attack but he knew he could handle anything they threw. He’d been trained for situations like this. It was now three on one as the other assailant rolled in the snow writhing in agony & uttered expletives. Now it was Mason’s turn to take the offensive & end this debacle. With three well timed decisive blows to the groin, throat & nose to each of them respectively these would be criminals turned them into cowering children as they fled into the night. It was an exhilarating & vindicating rush for Mason as he turned his awareness back to the woman who was now coming to.

“Wh….what…just happened?”,asked the shocked woman who was hyper ventilating once she remembered her predicament.

He preferred not to be a man of many words & just gruffed, “You're safe now.” as he faded into the snowy night. The following day the papers reported his debut exploit with a sensational editorial. What had started from stopping common thieves soon grew to uncovering drug rings & thwarting human trafficking. He was quickly becoming the dread of the underworld & Midon city’s favorite son. One time Mason even stopped an extremist group from flooding the city. Apparently their goal was to usher in a new “purist” age in the city by “wiping the slate clean” & starting over.

As the months rolled into years he gained more notoriety in Midon. He was a symbol of resistance to the soul sucking status quo & a thorn in the flesh to the underworld. He’d have preferred no publicity & just being an anonymous enigma. He certainly didn’t have the heart to become some ‘super’ celebrity & avoided the press at all costs. It didn’t suit him nor did it stroke his ego the right way. All he wanted to do was effect good change in Midon city & honour Nate’s memory. However soon halloween festivities saw kids dressed in make shifts of his famous green & black costume. Some welcomed the positive impact evidenced in the falling crime rate whilst other more sceptical critics “noted with concern” the potential harm he was causing to the fabric of society particularly his impact on the children.

He didn’t quite care if people liked him or hated him. He was simply a man with a job to do so he wouldn’t be phased by any praise or negativity. All that mattered was that Midon was safe & its residents could sleep better knowing that he was on the prowl. Ironically he never received a name in the vein or “Superman”, “Batman” or “Spiderman” like his fictional counterparts. The papers & other media either called him “hero”, “vigilante” or “menace” depending on the context. What really mattered to Mason was his unending war on all forms of evil.

A sputtered cough brought him back to the present & he felt his lungs burn. His chest heaved up & down in a desperate bid to fill up with fresh air. His fingers rubbed the mask once more as the solemn realisation came over him that this last mission would most likely be his last. His body wasn’t what it used to be & he wasn't who he thought he was anymore. He hauled himself out of his chair & slothfully dragged his body to the wardrobe feeling like an undead zombie in horrid post apocalyptic movie. Once opened he shifted some clothes to the side & retrieved a small container. He proceeded to the bathroom, dumped its powdery contents on the rim of the sink basin & snorted them. Afterwards he stood there in a dazed euphoria seemingly transported to another plane where he saw colors, clouds, shapes & then Nate. Sweet sweet Nate.

This wasn’t the first time he’d seen him nor would it be the last. Mason had seen Nate plenty of times especially when he needed strength for his next patrol. All it took was the powder & Nate was there. He never spoke but just stared back in his gentle child like manner & in those few ecstatic minutes Mason found solace that enthused his tired body. Usually he’d wear the costume & go out to fight the good fight some more but this time his body felt exceedingly weary. It was a fatigue that informed his soul that he’d worn the kevlar & spandex for the last time. His spirit was too spent after fifteen years of heroism & although still aged forty he felt double his age. He’d defeated most of his foes under the mask except one - father time who had come to collect.

He began to sense reality come back again as the powder wore off & Nate began to slowly fade away. Desperate to remain in his nephew’s presence he inhaled more of the powder but it was too late. Nate was gone & all he faced was a mirror reflecting his tortured soul. Nate never stayed long no matter how much powder Mason took. He let out a yell & punched the mirror sending reverberating shock waves in the room. This also wasn’t a first but a regular occurrence so much so that his neighbours had become accustomed to it & every month Mason would hire a contractor to fix his mess.

The depressing part was that in his soul’s agony he was all alone in his apartment. All the years of heroing & dealing with bad guys pushed the notion of romance & family to the tail end of his priorities. He didn’t want it anymore - only the powder would do. Only it could offer some comfort for his self imposed isolation. A wife & children would only be forced to watch him suffer & eventually leave.

He stared in the mirror with the mask still in his hand knowing he’d never wear it again. He brought it to his face & fastened it one last time. He tried to conjure up some hope or courage as he’d done many times before but found none. Although he’d done all he could for the city of Midon nothing he ever did would bring Nate back. He’d freed others however nothing could free him from the pain. He’d saved the weak & innocent but he couldn’t save himself from this powder. As a tear rolled down his cheek he instinctively knew that the vigilante had become the victim.

END