He enters my life unexpectedly one evening, like a storm destined to destroy everything in its path.
I have been tracking two jewellery thieves for a number of evenings now. A lot of time and effort has gone into following what feels like London's dullest criminal duo: Dave and Dan. They argue constantly over the percentage of their nightly hauls they are each due, and have about three brain cells between them. Dave and Dan might be the bottom of a very complex criminal food chain but I am forced to give them my full attention because I suspect they may eventually lead me to the mastermind behind a wider operation, and the one responsible for London's recent spike in organised crime.
I amuse myself watching Dave and Dan fight over their stolen goods in the back alley outside Beckwork & Co, a family owned jewellers in Blackfrairs since the 1800s. A policeman may have arrested them on the spot for being caught red-handed but this is where my role as a vigilante is useful, I am not an officer of the law and can therefore do as I please. Which in this case is to spy on them from the fire escape of the building next door, waiting for the criminals to drop the name I have been hearing whispered a lot recently among London's underworld.
Castlemain.
His name came out of nowhere December last year, initially I thought it was code for something but it soon became apparent Castlemain was a person who had immediately replaced Tommy Sands, top dog in the marjuana business.
After that, Castlemain bought out, or over, the Peckworth brothers (specialising in robberies and laundering), closely followed by the notorious Johnny Jameson, who ran most of the cocaine and harder drugs operations. In short, up until four months ago no one heard of Castlemain and now he seems to be organising half of London's underworld to work for him. This is a big concern for someone like me who has dedicated the better part of four years to fighting crime in London and making it a safer place to live. Currently I am compiling a file of solid evidence against the guy before I make a move. I have never taken down a crime boss before and I am certain it has to be done right, to avoid unnecessary loss of life. Aka, mine.
'My cut should be seventy cos I got us in and out undetected,' Dave grumbles, snatching at the bag so hard it splits. Necklaces, rings, and bracelets go tumbling down towards the ground between them like they are auditioning for a slap-stick comedy show.
Dan lets out a string of expletives as they both drop to their knees, lunging for the goods. They are more comedy act than criminal act at this point.
It is clear to me the two thieves are not going to be help in my wider investigation so I decide to have some fun instead. I drop down silently from the fire escape making them both jump in surprise. Immediately men both freeze mid-way through snatching up their stolen items, guilt on their faces at being caught, until recognition dawns and they relax.
'Lady Justice,' sneers Dave. 'I was wondering when you were going to show up.'
'It's Justice,' I say through gritted teeth. This is not the first time some clueless idiot has managed to get my name wrong.
'Not anymore.' Dan raises up from his crouched position and pulls out a gun I didn't know he was carrying. First rule of hero class: check your opponents are unarmed.
'Castlemain says we shou'n't be scared of superheroes like you no more,' Dave adds, swiping another couple of necklaces and stuffing them into his jacket pocket. He walks to Dan's side looking triumphant despite the fact he just revealed a key piece of information by mentioning Castlemain's name to me. Now I know who armed these two idiots and warned them about me. At last finally I might be able to get some answers.
'Castlemain?' I try to keep my voice nonchalant, and to not show concern I may get shot at any moment. I am standing close enough that even someone with a bad aim will probably not miss me, I'm not confident my thrifted (borrowed with no intention of returning) police stab vest worn under my black hooded jacket will do much to protect me from such a short distance. 'Who's that?'
'We ain't no snitches,' sneers Dave. 'We don't talk to superheroes.'
'I'm not a superhero.' First they get my name wrong and now my job title. This is getting irritating.
'Whateva'.' The gun fires.
There is a milisecond where I think the bullet is going to hit me, I don't even have time to consider dodging out of the way. But before the bullet reaches me, an incredibly strong and fast force collides with my body sending me flying off to one side of the alley and into some bins.
As the bins clatter from the impact, I lie in a heap among them, stunned not only by the force at which I flew there but also by the fact I was almost shot. As my brain scurries to process all of this, a shadow looms ominously over me.
'Justice.' A man with a deep well-educated English accent rumles overhead. 'I will take it from here.'
I blink up at him feeling dazed, and when my vision finally focuses on the figure standing over me I see he is dressed in skin-tight Lycra leggings, one leg black and one leg white, tucked into black knee-high boots. His extremely muscular chest is clothed in a similar design: a skin-tight black and white design with cut-off sleeves. He wears matching gloves that reach his elbows, a black hood, and a white mask which covers his eyes. He looks like he belongs on the film set of an early 2000's Marvel movie not in this back alley of London. I find myself suddenly overcome with uncontrollable laughter at how ridiculous he looks.
'I apologise.' He extends one gloved hand to help me up. 'I hit you harder than I intended.'
I ignore his hand and rise to my feet ungracefully, a bit wobbly after being propelled at high speed into the bins.
Dan is still pointing the gun at us, staring at this newcomer with a mix of confusion and mockery on his face that makes my own reaction feel vindicated. His finger is still hovering over the trigger like he is contemplating firing again.
'I wouldn't, if I were you,' the stranger says to Dan, turning his attention to him.
Dan does not release his hold on the gun trigger. Immediately the stranger moves, or at least I think he does, towards Dan as fast as a blur. Immediately both Dave and Dan are thrown to the ground from the impact, the new guy holding the gun triumphantly in one hand whilst a foot rests on both criminals underneath him.
'What are you doing?' I ask, my annoyance at this rude interruption overriding the impossibility of what I have just witnessed. A man, a fast and strong man, a real life superhero?
'Capturing two known criminals, and saving your life? You are welcome by the way.'
'Thanks,' I say sarcastically, rubbing my side from where it caught the bin earlier. 'I meant - what are you doing here? In London.'
I manage to convince myself that if I keep talking and focusing on something else then a plausible explanation might present itself. Because real superheroes do not exist.
He shrugs. 'I am here to fight crime and make the city a safer place.'
'That's my job.'
'Not anymore.' He speaks to me calmly, like I am on the verge of losing my temper which, given the circumstances, I might be.
I cross my arms and stare him down defiantly. 'You can't stop me.'
'Well, yes I can actually.'
'Try it.' Anger forces the words out of my mouth before I can even comprehend what I am saying. The evidence is right in front of me that this man is inhumanely strong and yet here I am challenging him to a fight? Plus, he just turns up and saves my life?
He sighs. 'Justice, I'm not going to fight you. I need to bring in these two.' He indicates the heap at his feet.
Dave and Dan are being unusually quiet and I realise they are completely knocked out. In any other circumstance this may have been impressive, his apparent feat of extraordinary strength, but all I can feel is the indignation running through my body that this man has the audacity to come along and tell me I am no longer needed here to do my job! Just who the hell does he think he is, Captain Bloody Britannica?
'You think you are good enough to be London's hero? Prove it.' He can do whatever he wants with Dave and Dan. At this point they are the least of my worries. What I do care about is the fact he thinks he can stroll into my city, dressed up like some monochrome superman, whenever he wants and start fighting crime with absolutely zero effort when I have been training for the past ten years to be as good as I am.
'Justice, no offence but you are just a civilian who-'
His words are cut short when I launch myself at him, punching him in the chest. I expect at least a modicum of impact but of course it is as solid as a rock. I bounce backwards and almost fall flat on my ass, fist aching from the impact of the punch.
I am rewarded when finally his calm demeanour slips and I see a frown appear under the mask. 'I don't want to fight you.' He sounds firmer than before.
'Then don't call me a civilian.' I raise my fists and we slowly circle each other like lion preparing to fight.
I move first, jumping forward to land another punch, but this time he is ready. He dodges left, then hits me in the side, the force is enough to send me sprawling to the ground where I scrape both my knees through my leggings.
This guy is so strong, fighting me must feel like fighting a child. But I don't want to give him the satisfaction of winning. I recover quickly, the adrenaline giving me a boost and I lunge for him again. Just before I can hit him I see a look of regret flash through his eyes before the flat of his hand whips up to connect with my chest. I fly off my feet again and slam into a wall a few metres away. Hard.
The air is knocked from my lungs and I lie on the ground winded, this time the force of his punch was much stronger and the realisation dawns he has been holding back through our entire fight. This should scare me but it only fuels my fury, however, I am in no shape to jump up and confront him once more. Whoever he is, clearly he is very, very strong.
I am vaguely aware of him standing over me, both Dave and Dan slung over his shoulder like they weigh nothing, necklaces and rings falling out of their pockets and pattering to the ground. Perhaps I am imagining the expression of pity I am now receiving.
'Who the Hell are you?' I manage to choke out.
'My name is Ghoul, and I am London's new superhero.'