Death

“OK, I give up. If this is a trap, I don’t get it.”

The Smuggler looked up. He seemed surprised. “You. My men said you drowned.”

Shadow smiled. “You really thought you’d get rid of me that easily?”

“I probably should have known better.”

Shadow scanned the dining room. Still nothing. No henchmen, no dogs, no movement of any kind. Nothing but a gorgeous view of the sun setting on New York City.

“We’re alone,” the Smuggler said. “If you’d like to join me.”

Shadow leapt onto the table. It seemed sturdy enough. What was he playing at? If there weren’t any guards, maybe he was protected by trapdoors? Lasers? Spiked ceiling?

“Something wrong?” he said.

“On the contrary,” Shadow replied, beginning to make her way towards him. “I’ve finally caught you. You’re going to spend the rest of your life behind bars.”

It was the Smuggler’s turn to smile. Shadow froze.

“So there is a trick. Are you a hologram? Do you have a jetpack strapped under your suit? Is there an invisible bodyguard ready to strike me down?

“No tricks. Just a last meal I don’t have the appetite to eat.”

She started walking again. He seemed to be honest enough about the meal. A steak sat before him, completely untouched. A wine bottle stood beside it, still unopened. His bejeweled fork and knife were still perfectly aligned with his sparkling clean plate.

“Well, I’m about to drag you out of here, so if you want to eat, you better hurry.”

“Please don’t. I want to spend my final moments here.”

“Final moments?”

The Smuggler looked out the window. She followed his gaze. The sun had set a little lower. The city looked as beautiful as ever.

“Alright, you’re clearly expecting someone. Who?”

“Death.”

The Smuggler’s reply deserved ominous music. A roll of thunder. A gasp from the audience. Something.

“Like, the concept, or a man with a big scythe, or…” Shadow’s eyes widened. She rolled forward and knocked the plate off the table with one baton and the wine off with another. The steak landed on the glossy wooden floor with a splat, the bottle with a dull thud. “It’s poisoned! That’s the trick.”

He smiled again. Now that she was closer, Shadow saw the sadness in his eyes.

“I told you. There’s no trick.” He looked out the window again. “He’s here.”

Shadow turned. There was a man outside. He looked young. About her age. Dressed in jeans and a white shirt. Hovering in midair, hundreds of feet above the ground.

Shadow hopped off the table and took a deep breath. It had been a while since she last fought a fellow powered person.

He flew forward and stopped right before the window. Shadow knew what he was thinking about: she’d studied the specifications for this place for weeks. The dining room windows were half a foot thick, reinforced with steel on a molecular level, bullet, rocket, and even missile-proof. There was no way -

The man punched the window. His fist went straight through, as if it was cardboard. Cracks raced up the once-thought indestructible glass.

“You should leave,” the Smuggler said.

Shadow gritted her teeth. She hadn’t come all this way for this.

The man punched the window again. It shattered into giant slabs that rained down onto the grounds below. The man flew into the room.

“Wait,” Shadow said. To her surprise, he listened. “What do you want?”

“I’m here to kill the Smuggler.”

“I can’t let you do that.”

“You can’t stop me.”

The man flew forward. Shadow tensed every muscle in her body, waited for the exact right moment – and leapt up in the air. Her plan was to wrap around him in a bear hug. Drag him to the ground. Bring him to her level.

He effortlessly avoided her. She spun in midair and hurled a baton right at his head. It connected – and bounced right off. He didn’t even seem to notice.

The Smuggler stood up. He was pale. Shaking.

“Hold on. Wait. She wants to arrest me. Send me to prison. For life. Why don’t we-”

The man ignored his pleas. He grabbed the Smuggler’s head with both hands and twisted to the right. His neck gave a sickening snap. His body went limp. The man tossed him aside and flew back the way he came.

Shadow stood in silence. She felt… empty. The months of struggle, the chases, the fights, the investigations, the maneuvering – all over in an instant.

The man came to a stop beside her.

“You killed him,” she numbly said.

“Indeed.”

“You can’t do that.”

“I can. I did.”

“It’s… wrong.”

“No. The world is a better place without him.”

The man hovered above Shadow, nonchalant and unruffled. He could have rolled out of bed five minutes ago.

“You don’t get to make that decision. There's a system."

“Your system is nothing more than a game.”

“A game? That’s what this is to you?”

“Not to me. To everyone else.” The man landed on the ground in front of Shadow. He was shorter than her by several inches. He stood in a half-slouch, hands in his pockets.

“Judges in this country are either elected – pandering to the common person – or appointed – pandering to politicians,” he said.  “They go in to work every day and decide people’s fate based on the case presented to them, but also on whether or not they’ve had their morning coffee, if the defendant dressed nice and was well-spoken, and on how many other cases they need to get through that day.”

Shadow shook her head. “I don't believe most judges think like that. Besides, even if the judge is bad, we have juries.”

“Random people plucked off the street with no knowledge of the subject matter except what the prosecution and defense tells them. They’re not deciding who’s right and wrong; they’re deciding who played the game better. You didn’t read him his rights. You recorded him without permission. You didn’t make a convincing enough argument.”

“It’s a system. Systems have rules.”

“You know what else has rules? Games.”

Shadow threw up her hands. “So what we should do? Have a bunch of vigilantes running around killing everyone?”

“Of course not. Vigilantes listen to police scanners to find their next lead. Vigilantes lie and endanger those closest to them because they’re too selfish to cut them off or tell the truth. Vigilantes spend more time thinking about their costume then about morality.”

Shadow scowled behind her mask. “Don’t act like you’re any different.”

“I’m not acting.”

“You’re insufferable." She looked away from him for moment, but forced herself to meet his unblinking eyes again. "Just because I don’t know what to say doesn’t mean you’re right.”

“Of course. You came here prepared for a fight, not for a debate. Here.”

He offered her a business card. It only had an email on it.

“Go home,” he said. “Think about these issues. Do your own research. Talk to your friends. I’m certain you’ll come up with better arguments. Send them my way.”

“And what? You’ll change your mind?”

He shrugged. “If you say something I haven’t thought of. No one has managed it yet.”

Shadow folded the card and tucked it into her glove. “You make everything sound so black and white. The system is bad. You’re good. Evil people deserve to die.”

“There are plenty of complicated situations in this world. This,” he gestured towards the Smuggler, “isn’t one of them. Nor are my next targets, who I do need to be getting to.”

“Your next targets?”

“Sir Knives. Giovanni. Ladies Luck. The Almond Brothers. The Old Man.”

“You’re going after the Smuggler’s partners,” Shadow said. Her head was spinning. She hadn’t even heard of half of them. “You’re going to kill them all?”

“The world will be better place without them.”

The man rose up in the air again. He didn’t seem to exert himself in any way in order to fly. One moment he was standing, the next he was standing in midair.

“You can’t know that,” Shadow said.

“I can. I do.”

The man flew towards the window again. “Wait!” Shadow cried. This time, he ignored her. She stood there and watched him fly away until he was a speck on the horizon.

How was she going to stop him? And... why did a part of her not want to?