Letter from a Dead Vigilante

Dear Dickie Bird,

If you are reading this letter, probably the worst has happened and we will never meet again. So it is your turn to step into my vacant shoes and carry forward my legacy. I’m sure Fred will guide you through the process.

I’m writing this letter to reflect on my last days and to clear the mystery surrounding the Clown’s Bio Attack.

As you know, the pandemic and subsequent lockdown had a terrible effect on my line of work. What was an easy nine to five job with “lovely” perks, ended up being a futile lonely trek through the dark alleys of the city..

Crime rates fell down as most people stayed indoors and work from home became the new norm. Of course violence didn’t really go down. The deficit was balanced by a spike in domestic violence. But a vigilante couldn’t barge into homes, could he?

It was just a matter of time before withdrawal symptoms kicked in. My fists longed for the soft bones that shattered under its force. My eyes longed to feast on the terror that flashed across the faces of goons when they sensed my presence. How I missed the adoration and adulation of the public when they saw their saviour watching over them.

To be honest, I was so desperate that I seriously thought of relinquishing my bachelorhood and tying the knot. Though I was not sure whether it was for the adoration or for the terror.

But anyhow I decided to take matters into my own hands. I sent out orders for our company staff to do late night shifts. Obviously in these desperate times who could afford to lose their jobs? A few tactically placed layoffs send out the message loud and clear. 

Had I known that this ingenuity would be my undoing, I might have reconsidered it. But then, my boy, foresight is not one of my gifts. 

So there I was, the following week, watching over my kingdom when I heard a woman’s cry. To be honest her shriek was music to my ears. With a satisfied smirk, I leaped into action.

For a moment, I was taken aback by the sight that greeted me. While I did expect my bait to lure a tiger, I never thought that I’d supply the tiger as well. The damsel in distress was Julie from HR. A breathtaking beauty in all sense. But my eyes were fixed on my nemesis. The culprit, or let's call him the demon, was Jackson. 

If you don’t remember him, he was the security guard who had caused a ruckus in our previous meeting. The poor guy pleaded to be taken back as his wife was expecting. Good riddance I must say. Had I shown pity, there would have been a snake in our backyard.

Anyway, without wasting time the knight in shining armour swung into action. The demon wasn’t really putting up much of a fight. He was shivering from head to toe, barely able to hold on to the kitchen knife. He did try a futile swing but the knife hardly scratched my kevlar suit. A broken nose and some fractured ribs later, the demon fell to the ground like a dead log. 

With all the chivalry of a Knight of the Round Table, I returned the purse to my Princess. Her dilated pupils told me that I would receive more than just a Thank You. And for a vigilante who was starved of recognition, I took the opportunity with both hands.

It was a wonderful night or so I thought. But I had failed to take into consideration the bacteria. Or was it a virus? Doesn’t matter now. Long story short she went into self quarantine three days later. I ran a test as soon as I got the company alert but for the first time I felt a bit negative after being positive. 

Should have taken the vaccine while I had the chance. For once my acclaimed intelligence was found wanting.

Was the world’s greatest vigilante to meet such a tame end? Was he to die at the hands of some tiny little germ? No. I refused to surrender meekly. And so decided to create a spectacle of my own. I invited all the elite of the city for a dinner party. Obviously there would be strict screening and all but then no one was going to test the host.

You might be wondering how I managed to organise a party in the middle of a pandemic. My dear friend, you will soon experience the perks of being rich.

So after a hundred handshakes and kisses later, I had the satisfaction of dragging down the entire elite to their doom. Obviously an anonymous letter to the Commissioner shifted the blame of the Bio Attack on the notorious clown. 

To be frank, they brought it upon themselves by flaunting the rules. And thus by taking down all the rule breakers I waited for the call of the Grim Reaper.

As I lay on my hospital bed, I wondered at the naivety of the public. Why do they worship us as heroes when we look down on them as mere sport? Don’t they realise that they are being duped? Are they really that dumb? 

If I had donated the sum I put into gadgets, the police department could have easily had a major overhaul. CCTVs and streetlights would have discouraged crime while better salaries would keep the officers motivated.

Maybe, it's about the charisma and machismo. Maybe they need an idol to look up to. A God. I really find it funny how it is the so-called atheists and rationalists who adore us the most. 

Anyway, my one advice to you, dear boy, is to keep up the act. There are two reasons for this.

One, a rich white kid kicking low lifes would be branded as racism by the media while a caped crusader, preferably in black, would garner accolades for what is technically the same thing. Don’t wear a white mask lest they may mistake you for KKK.

Two, make sure to file for IPR on the merchandise. This is a million dollar industry with cut throat competition. Boy Blue and the Marvs are really catching up fast.

So good luck kiddo. Take care of the Empire. Seems like I will be on the ventilator soon. 

Love,

B.W

P.S : Come to think of it, Julie was indeed a “breath-taking” beauty.