Heros Project

1

Present day, on the Upper East Side of New York City, there are many neighborhoods that are littered and torn up by the spring of crime in the area. Even the neighborhood is mostly clean and friendly, there are still streets that are filled with holes and trash, and the surrounding buildings are all worn out and run down in appearance. It’s what gives the area it’s name of “Dangerville.”

Police in the area are always kept up on alert and it seemed to help. For a while. Strings of robberies and murders have begun to increase, until suddenly out of nowhere, they slowed down. The neighborhood began to rebuild, and suddenly, it wasn’t as bad as it used to be. That’s thanks to one man, a figure of the night, who disappears in the blink of an eye. A hero to the city and to all. No one knows his real name, they just call him the hero.

On a rooftop on the corner of E 84th street and East End avenue, the lone figure waits atop a perch on a corner building. Cloaked in all black kevlar suit, and a black mask, the hero retrieves a pair of binoculars from a pocket, and peers into them. All is calm. The hero sighs, and places the binoculars back into his pocket. He had been waiting almost all night for a drug deal that was supposed to happen, but to no avail. “Man.” the hero groaned. He then yawned and stood up, stretching his sore muscles.

Reaching behind him, the hero retrieved a bow and an arrow from his back, then tied a wire to one end of the arrow. He cocked back and fired the arrow from his bow, sending it around a fire escape railing and letting it tie around the beam. The hero smirked, then tied off the other end of the wire to a pipe, before hooking his bow onto the wire and zip-lining across the large gap.

The man quickly untied the wire, then opened up the window on the fire escape and hopped inside his small apartment. Inside were various maps and police scanners, as well as supplies and tools and a spare “Suit”. It still had the same amenities as a regular apartment, but it was his base, and home. The hero sighed, and took off his equipment, before rubbing his face, and looking at himself in the mirror.

Meet Mark Wrightson, an 18 year old, Native American college student, delivery boy, and crime fighter. Sure juggling everything right now was a struggle, but he loved every minute of it. It was exciting and fun, and yet he was still able to learn and keep money on the table. When he wasn’t kicking bad guy ass. Still, he manages to scrape by without any complaints. Looking into the mirror, he found a post it note from earlier in the week that read “TO DO: Call Dad, fix suit, get groceries, patrol.” on the yellow paper. “Well, I guess I forgot to call Pops.” Mark grumbled, before he sat down on his bed. The vigilante sighed and ran a hand down his face. “Being a hero is exhausting.” he muttered to himself, eyes blinking slowly. In a few short moments, Mark had fallen asleep, ending another night of patrols.

The morning brought a new day to Dangerville, and with it, a groggy, but somehow awake Mark. The hero quickly changed into somewhat “Clean” attire, hid the suit, gathered his things, and left his apartment to head to the subway station. Today was Thursday and he loved Thursdays. Only two classes to go to, and they’re all over before lunch, which meant more time for exploring and less time studying. Waltzing down the busy and crowded sidewalks of Manhattan, Markus happily welcomed in the familiar scents of the morning. Bacon crisping away in a frying pan from the corner deli, the old men smoking cigars and chattering about the old neighborhood, and exhaust fumes from the congested traffic in the streets.

Ideal? Not a chance. But it made him feel right at home. And to Mark, New York was his new home. It was a big change of pace from his small reservation in Upstate New York, but he loved everything about it. The “Can do” attitude of its citizens, the flashy lights and billboards, and especially the large masses of different cultures in just thirteen miles of land. The glitz and glamour was just as everyone said. “New York is its own world.”, how right they were.