Diary of a teenage superhero

[Rambo, John J]

Diary of a teenage superhero.

07-10-2002



I’ve been training for over half a year now, and I’m starting to think that I’m never gonna be ready for this gig. Its funny, when I started, I was so….so sure of what I had to do. I’m not making much sense here, am I? I’ll start with the basics, my name’s Marty, I’m a student, I have a part-time job, and in my spare time I’m training to be a superhero. Not like Spider-Man or Batman standard superhero mind (heh, I can just see ol’ Spidey trying to web out to West Belfast, that’d be some sight, given that the highest building is about three storeys) , just….trying to do my bit to make the world, or at least my part of it, a bit safer. I suppose the best way for me to explain my reasons would be to start at the beginning…

I actually can’t remember the exact date, which is surprising, given that this is when the whole thing started. All I know for sure is that it was around mid January, and the only reason I know that is because I had university exams coming up. All told, it was a real ****ty night, dark, pissing rain and freezing gusts of wind. I’d been at a mate’s house up in Stranmillis Road, in the University area of town and was on my way home. Like I said, it was a dismal night weather wise and didn’t have enough taxi money, so I was walking the four and a half miles to my house. My shoulders were haunched, hands deep in pockets, and my monkey hat over my ears, trying desperately to retain some semblance of warmth within my layers of clothing when I heard a woman scream. I stopped walking, frozen in midstep. I imagine it looked quite comical, like a cute animal caught in the headlights of a mach truck. The woman screamed again. I remember thinking something along the lines of ‘so this is what a real scream sounds like’. Not that I’ve never heard a scream before, but you know how in movies they’re always so melodramatic. I was halfway between Malone Road and Lisburn Road, two busy main roads, but there are a number of side streets in between.
Now, this is where it gets a bit hazy, cause this is usually the part of the book (or movie) where the hero comes across a woman in distress, single-handedly beats seven shades of ****e out of her attacker(s) without breaking a sweat and then has her fall in love with him. By the end of the book (or movie) they’re shagging like rabbits. But this wasn’t a book (or movie). It was real, and it was happening right now.
After a third scream, I came to my senses and ran towards the general vicinity of the screamer. I got to the end of the street and peeked round the corner to see what appeared to be a woman being held down by one guy while another was unbuckling his belt. I almost crapped my pants right there. This was real, it was happening right in front of me. Two guys were about to rape a woman and I was terrified because I didn’t know what to do. Options raced through my head like lightening. Help her, Run away, Call the police….i had no clue what to.

I Just re-read that there, and I have to confess that yes, for a brief second I considered the option of simply turning around and walking away as if I’d seen nothing.

I got that sick feeling in the pit of my stomach. You know the one that everyone goes on about but can never properly describe? The sick feeling. Like a mishmash of fear, depression, terror, shock and adrenaline. I thought I’d felt like that once before, when my mum caught me reading a porn magazine back when I was about 15, but this feeling was a hundred times more intense. I almost did it. Almost decided to play it safe and back away. Out of sight, out of mind so to speak. The guy who was holding the girl down had his back to me, while the other was slightly turned away. The guy unbuckling his belt now had his jeans halfway pulled down. The woman had been trying to back away, and I could see her face in the cast of the overhead streetlight. I heard her mumble ‘No, no, no…’ over and over, like she was trying, not only to convince her would-be rapists to leave her alone, but also as if she was denying the very fact of the event itself. There were tears streaming down her face, and I saw properly that she couldn’t have been more then 20 or so. This was someone’s daughter, someone’s sister, someone’s girlfriend. I thought of my own girlfriend, and something in me just snapped. Cliché I know, but any fear I had simply vanished. Not drained away, not faded. Vanished. Poof! As if it had never existed.
I don’t know why, but I pulled my hat down so that it was almost covering my eyes and kept my head low, so that my face was in shadow. I darted forward pretty much before I knew what I was doing and kicked semi-naked guy from behind, right between the legs. Before he could crumple to the ground, I pivoted and kicked the other guy in the face, snapping his head back. He fell onto his back and I kicked him in the side. I was about to kick him again, when I realised he was out cold. The first guy was bent double, holding his groin, so he didn’t see me swing back to give him the mother of all uppercuts. He slumped to the ground, still holding his crotch. The whole thing must have taken about 3 or 4 seconds. I breathed heavily, my breath ragged and shaky, relief setting in. To tell you the truth, up until that night, I’d never been in a real fight before.
The woman was still lying on the ground, eyes closed and sniffling softly. I held out my hand and squeaked – George McFly style - ‘Are you ok?’ Yeah. Real smooth. The girl opened her eyes and looked at the two limp forms on the ground then up at me, taking it all in. I coughed to clear my throat, then lowered my voice slightly. ‘Miss, are you alright?’ She nodded, and took my hand. She pulled herself up, but avoided looking at me directly. When she got to her feet, she turned and ran away. She was gone round the corner so fast, a bystander would have sworn it was me who tried to rape her. I stepped back, slightly put out, but elation was beginning to creep in. Like I said, I’ve never been in a real fight before, save sparring matches at my local ju-jitsu club, so this (although I had surprise and blind luck on my side) was one hell of a first victory. I turned round and looked down at the two guys, savouring my feat. It was almost a minute before I realised that I recognised the one who was half naked. His name was Gerard, and he was my best friend. I turned and ran.

I sprinted full out for a good five minutes, not really caring where I was going, just…running. Shortness of breath eventually got the better of me and I stopped at a bench just outside a chemists. I sunk to the ground and lowered my head between my knees, clasping my hands behind me head. This wasn’t happening. Gerard was my friend! I thought of last week, we’d been downtown clubbing and a girl standing beside us had been rejecting some other fella all night. Eventually he got quite nasty about it and Gerard stepped in and said ‘I think you’re finished with her.’ The fella tried to square up to Gerard, but Gerard just calmly looked at him, and the guy backed off. Gerard grinned at me and turned to the girl. ‘I think you’ll be alright now. Ok?’ She smiled in relief at him, that was that. I thought of that night, then of what I had just seen. That wasn’t Gerard back there. It couldn’t be, he wasn’t like that. Hell, he’s the ladies man out of out little group of friends! It didn’t make sense for him to rape someone. But a voice inside me said, ‘It was Gerard, and you know it.’ I shook my head, it wasn’t, it couldn’t be! But it was, and I did know it. I’d seen it with my own eyes.
After an age of sitting there on the ground, I stumbled to my feet and went to a pay phone and dialled 999. When the operator came on, I remember exactly what I said, not so much of the words, but because of how hollow…defeated they sounded. ‘Police. There’s been an attempted rape. Corner of Park Street and Sandy Avenue.’ Then I hung up and ran home.

The days after that were a blur. The girl came forward and told the police what had happened. It actually made the papers, you might remember reading about it. Something about rape cases in university area escalating. The police had picked up Gerard and his friend but had let them go that night. But when the girl came forward, they were rearrested and the girl picked them out of line-ups.
All I could think about was how I could have been so wrong. I thought I’d known Gerard. We’d been friends since primary school and knew virtually all there was to know about each other. It was that that got me to thinking some more. How can any of us truly know everything about someone else? In fact, how can any of us truly know everything about ourselves? For the next few weeks, I became very introspective, pondering things like this, brooding and withdrawn. Any time someone asked what was wrong, I just grinned and said I had a tough university course. Even that made me think. The fact that it was so easy for someone else to believe whatever lie you spin them, as long as it sounds plausible. I’m sorry, I’m rambling here, trying to describe what my thoughts were back then, because maybe you’ll understand what I did next. Suffice to say, I felt betrayed. But also, I blamed myself, for not knowing that Gerard was like that. Had I been a better judge of character, I might have been able to prevent Gerard from doing what he was going to do.

After a while of this introspection, brooding and general depression, I came to a decision – something had to be done.

[Greengoblin]

mmffmgmfgmf YOU ARE THE LAW mmffmgmfgmf

[Rambo, John J]

11-12-2002

Well, its been a while since I wrote in this. Last time I wrote I was still pretty….unsure…I guess would be the correct word to use. Unsure of me, unsure of what I was doing, unsure of pretty much everything. As things stand now, I’m slightly les unsure. Let me bring you up to speed so far. Things seem to be coming together vis-à-vis my ‘awakening’ almost a year ago. Christ – has it actually been that long? In that time I’ve been training pretty much non-stop. I’m now stronger, faster (no, I’m not the bionic man) and like I said, slightly more sure of myself than I was this time last year.

My training regime consists of going to the gym most days and doing a split training routine with heavy weights. Evenings, I attend various martial arts classes. I am now fairly proficient in Ju-Jitsu, Karate, and Kung Fu. I also go to rock-climbing classes, more for strength and endurance training that anything.

I’ve been reading ****loads too. I was always an avid reader, but before it was usually science fiction, horror, fantasy or thereabouts. Now I’ve been reading everything I can about psychology, chemistry, etc. Anything that will increase my overall knowledge. I read the newspapers a hell of a lot more now as well. Not the ****ty tabloids like the Mirror or the Sun, but actual real newspapers. I attended a seminar by Derren Brown a while back. He’s the guy on channel 4 who can practically read other people’s minds and tell what they are thinking just by looking at them. I took a hell of a lot of notes during that seminar, trying to get as much info as possible. I even tried to speak to him afterwards, but no dice. As it is, I practiced the techniques he suggested and I think I’m getting pretty good at reading body language, facial expressions and the rest. He also gave techniques for increasing ones memory capacity, and I’ve gotta say, they work big time. I could read a newspaper cover to cover and come away knowing the finer details of each article. Not just knowing them, but retaining them in my mind.

Ok, this all sounds a bit weird so far, but basically what I’m saying is that I am now smarter, stronger and more capable than this time a year ago. Its funny, this time last year, I wouldn’t have been able to name two politicians. Now I can name them all, (in every major country) as well as their spouses, children, and what they’ve been up to in recent months. I can recite the periodic table and give properties of each element, as well as what happens when elements are combined. I can now bench-press 250 lbs quite easily, and I can tell what a person is thinking about just by watching them for a few minutes.

So what else has happened? Well, I’m now single again. I got dumped rather harshly about a month ago due to the fact that I was becoming taciturn, morose and uncommunicative. And here I thought women went wild for the strong silent type. To be honest, it didn’t really bother me anyway, the relationship was going nowhere, and I couldn’t really talk to her anyway.

All this training (both physical and mental) has had an unforeseen maturing effect on me as well. Whereas before I would have been the life of the party, I now prefer to sit and listen, and observe. The result being that I’m not invited to as much parties anymore. I get the impression that people who knew me before now think that I’m depressed or something. Again though, I find myself not really caring, I’ve already been betrayed once by a friend, better that it doesn’t happen again. Having said all that though, I’m still a mess inside. I just……I just don’t know if I’m doing the right thing. There are times when it seems as though a pause button is pressed and I’m able to step back and ask myself just what the hell am I doing? Fortunately, those times are becoming less and less frequent.

I think I’m almost ready to go out and……I dunno, do my thing I suppose. There was a girl raped in my part of the town over the weekend there. The area she was in is about a five minute walk from my house. I could have stopped it if I’d been there. If I’d known. It’s almost time.

[Rambo, John J]

12-02-2002

Hmmm, just less than a month since my last entry. One day i'll maybe write in this every day.

Things aren't going to well. I've been training harder, longer and more intensely than ever, but i still have this impression that i'm not ready. I've avoided writing in this. I guess because i knew that once i wrote, i would have to come clean about why i haven't been going out. ....I'm afraid.

No, not just afrid, scared ****less. I don't even know if i know what i'm doing anymore. Sometimes i think i should just pack it in and go join the police or something. Be a doctor, a fireman, i dunno.

And yet.... theres also a part of me saying that this is the only way, and then ... there is no fear. I don't even know what it is exactly that i'm afraid of. Is it of failing? If so, then i should never have started training. Maybe i'm afraid to get hurt. Could that be it? I don't know. I don't think so. I don't know if i can do this.

I don't know.

[Rambo, John J]

12-03-2002

(early morning)

Disregard everything i said in the last entry.

I was out tonight. I didn't mean to go out, but a friend (one of the few i had left) phoned to see if i wanted to go out for a drink. I said yeah more out of self pity than anything, i just wanted to stop being so down, so i figured maybe a night out (sans booze of course) might help me perk up a bit. Funny, my friends still think i drink like a fish when in fact i've been stone cold sober for about a year now. Theres been a few moments when i've had to pretend that i'm drunk, or that i'm drinking - and let me tell you, its a lot harder to convince people than Bruce Wayne makes it look.

Anyway, like i said, we went out and went to a bar near his house called the eg. A real student bar, so i was jusr aiming to have a bit of a laugh (even though i don't find many things funny these days) and enjoy myself.

Anyuway, i'm digressing. The night in the eg was pretty much as i expected. i.e. the crowd i was with all getting plastered and staggering home for a house party while i slipped off. I hadn't intended to go walkabout, but i found myself wandering the streets aimlessly. The weather was (and still is outside)pretty miserable, and I remember thinking that it seemed familiar. Amazing that i didn't make the connection til just now that it was almost the exact same as last year. Anyway, i ended up circling back to the eg, mainly to find myself a taxi and go home and call it a night. I was approaching the eg from behind, in a street called Chlorine Gardens, when i heard a bit of a scuffle ahead of me. You know what i mean. A muffled grunt, not too loud, but just the right side of plaintitive for me to vault over the garden wall i'd been passing. Straight away, i heard the padding of footsteps running past me, back the way i had come. The guy's breathing was raggedy. Terrified. I wasn't doing much better myself. A shout came from the direction he'd come from from,
'Get back here you f--k!!' Another set of feet ran past me, quickly followed by two more. Three guys after one. There was no thought involved, i jumped back into the street and ran after them.

I didn't catch up with them although it would've been easy to do so. Instead, i kept pace, gaining on them ever so slightly. They chased their would-be victim up chlorine gardens, to where it elbow bends to the left. On the right hand side of the road there, there are steps leading to the university library and the chasee veered for them. I almost shouted at him not to, i knew he wouldn't make it. The two slower guys didn't appear to be all that fit (although they did look like big muscle-bound freaks) but the first one was almost on top of the littler guy. The head honcho caught up with the little guy at the top of the steps and grabbed him by the collar, pulling him over to the library entrance. I saw him punching the little guy a few times in the face, then the stomach while the other two caught up.

There are bushes either side of the steps to the library, and i decided to sneak through them rather than attack these guys head on. As i got closer, I heard the head guy say to the little fella something about money and mobile phone as the other two held on either side of the little guy so he couldn't get away. I've seen muggings before. Hell, i've even ben a victim before when i was in Barcelona during my tour-de-spain with a couple of friends a few years back. but there are muggings and there are muggings. This was looking to be particularly nasty. The little fella (and he was indeed quite diminutive) was bleeding all down his face and over his jacket. I could see why the trio had singled him out, not only was he very slight, but he just....i dunno, looked the part of the victim. Thick glasses, nerdish demeanour - real Peter Parker lookalike. He was crying too. Probably a fresher out for a few beers with his mates, not looking for trouble.

That really pissed me off. The fact that there are always ****wits who want to start trouble. As i emerged from the bushes, the head pulled a switchblade out of his pocket. I blanched. Not from fear you understand - that had been replaced by sheer rage moments before - but from the pure inhumanness of it. There was no point in stabbing the little guy! (pun not intended by the way).

I walked out silently and, still unnoticed by the quartet, walked over to the head honcho with the knife. Just after one of his cronies spotted me, but before he said anything, i high-kicked at the guys hand, and sent the knife flying. He turned and lunged for me without pause. He was fast. But not as fast as me. I pivoted on my right foot, letting him sail right past me and down the steps with a little nudge from me to help him on his way. The crony on the left i downed with a snap kick with my left leg to his kidney, and the crony on the right i sent flying with a roundhouse kick straight to the solar plexus. The time it takes you to read that sentance is probably about how long it took for me to take out all three of them. About three seconds. In fact, it was over so fast i was almost disappointed. Almost. More than anything i was releived that it had gone so smoothly. I had reacted and relied purely on technique and it had been almost as if i'd done nothing at all. I wasn't even sweating. The little guy looked dumbly at the two lying beside him, them walked over and peered down the steps at the ringleader. Then he turned to me with this huge ****-eating grin on his face like it was christmas, easter and his birthday all rolled into one and i swear, it was the most amazing feeling ever. 'YEE--AAAhhhAAAAA!!!!!!' he howled down at the ringleader who was also out for the count. 'You like that you dumb ****ing animal!!?' he crowed, turning back to scream down the steps in disgust. Then he, i dunno, sorta sagged and bent over, sobbing. I thought for a second that i'd been too late, and that maybe the head honcho had been able to stab him somehow without me seeing it, but the little fella straightened up again and looked at me, this time in amazement. 'How did you...?' he broke off, indicating the three guys. 'I've never seen anything like that in all my life!' He pulled out his mobile phone and dialled (the cops i assume). As soon as i saw the phone, i pulled a fast fade, i don't even think the little fella saw me leave until he looked round again, but by then, i was just part of the shadows.


To summarise, my first official victory as a teenage superhero happened tonight. I feel great. I feel born again. I feel ....sure.

[Ryoko]

:eek: cool!!

[Rambo, John J]

Cheers Ryoko. :) Glad you like it.

[Ryoko]

Originally posted by Rambo, John J
Cheers Ryoko. :) Glad you like it.
Sure did....






....(you know, not many people would be brave enough to put thir diary on the internet ;) )

[Rambo, John J]

Originally posted by Ryoko
Sure did....






....(you know, not many people would be brave enough to put thir diary on the internet ;) )

Well you know, not everyone is a teenage superhero. ;)

Glad you like it. Anyone else have any constructive criticism?

[B-bot]

That was cool. Iv'e never read anything like that. A superhero diary man thats freaking brilliant. BUt i hate you, cause you thought of it first!:mad:
j/k. Thats was dam goood but one thing. He's a teenage superhero but yet no parents? no siblings? were's the family?

[Rambo, John J]

Originally posted by B-bot
That was cool. Iv'e never read anything like that. A superhero diary man thats freaking brilliant. BUt i hate you, cause you thought of it first!:mad:
j/k. Thats was dam goood but one thing. He's a teenage superhero but yet no parents? no siblings? were's the family?

Wait til the next instalment...;)

[Rambo, John J]

16th December 2002

I've been thinking lately a lot about what i'm doing. I've been going out nightly since the second of December. In that time i've helped exactly 17 people. Some of them have been thankful, most are in shock, or scared. Again, the exhilaration i feel having saved someone (is that cliche or what?) is indescribable, and its at those moment when i feel completely sure and certain that what i'm doing is the right thing. But its times like now, when i think, and reflect, that i feel most unsure.


Lately (like right now) I've been thinking because i don't know what good i'm doing exactly. I've helped 17 people, but thats been due to nothing more than me being in the right place at the right time. Or the right place at the wrong time. Whatever. Fact is, i've just been lucky. How many more have there been who i could've helped had i been better informed? At the minute i just go out and go to the busiest bars around the city centre or university area, depending what day of the week it is. I hang around nearby til they empty and most people go home. Most but not all. There's generally the few that stick around just itching to find someone, anyone to victimise.


Christ. I'm typing this, and i know that this isn't the thing thats bothering me. I'm trying to help people. I'm trying to stop other people get hurt, get stabbed, raped, or god knows what. But where do i draw the line? Who do i choose to help and who not to help? Do i choose? Can I? I don't think so. At least, i don't think that i have the right to choose one person over anyone else. If one person is in trouble, or in pain, or whatever, for whatever reason, then its my duty to help that person. At least, thats what i told myself when i started, and its what i tell myself now. But what about people who aren't being attacked at night? What about people who just suffer because life has dealt them a real ****ty hand? The homeless? The jobless? Depressed people?

Maybe its just cause of the time of year it is that i feel....like this. I just feel like i could be doing more. That i should be doing more. Or perhaps doing things differently. Which brings me slowly (but surely and ever so relentlessly) to the heart of whats bothering me.


Like i said, i go out just about every night now. My family (i.e. my parents - to whom i have to answer as to my whereabouts at any given moment) i tell that i am going out with friends from Uni. Or from work, or with someone i haven't seen in a while. I tell them that i'm going out to a bar, club, whatever. I've been doing that every night for the past month. Maybe you can begin to appreciate my problem. For me to be able to go out every night of the week (almost) means that my parents now think that i'm becoming this raging alcoholic student, with no direction and no purpose. A layabout, content to do as little as possible, and - as my dad so eloquently put it when he gave me a stern lecture on the nature of responsibility (like i don't read enough Spider-man) 'You drift through life like a spoiled child'(He was going to to say 'spoiled ****', but my dad's never been one for profanity - don't know what happened to me).

Now, myself and my dad have never seen eye to eye, we've never been close, but to think that he has this unspeakably low opinion of me is killing me inside. The worst part is, i can't tell him, i can't tell anyone what i do. So for all intents and purposes, i am just another student bum, out for a good time, plenty of beers and nothing else. My mum was part of the 'discussion' and even now, i can still see vividly the expression of pure disappointment on her face. It was bad enough when they thought i was depressed, but now its just.....horrible.

And from that, i began to think about how much I was hurting them. And that wasn't a happy thought. Like i said, i want to help people who need help, i want to ease suffering. But what about the suffering i inflict on others? My parents? Family? Is that not the same? Or worse? I don't know what to do. I know that by going out at nights i help people, strangers,and when i do, i feel incredible; but i also increase suffering in others, my family, loved ones, people who deserve better, and that feeling is equally just as bad. I can't tell them what i do at night, nor can i continue the charade of being a 24-7 party animal. And stopping what i'm doing isn't an option. If i hadn't been doing what i've been doing, 17 people would have died.

Maybe i should move out.

[Scruffie]

I love this story.

I mean, that it would be for a Real Life Super-hero.

[B-bot]

this story is so cool.

[Rambo, John J]

test

[Rambo, John J]

31st December, 2002

I wondered how long it would take the media to twig on to my 'nocturnal activities' and give me a name. Now i know - exactly 27 days. I was pretty busy over the Christmas period, surprisingly, actually, i thought that it would a rather quite time of year - season of goodwill and all that. Last night, i was (god i hate to use this word) patrolling downtown ( to be more accurate, the University area, i don't go into the city centre much, there are more than enough CCTV cameras there to watch over people) and i'd just stopped a gang of thugs mugging a couple of would-be victims, a boyfriend and girlfriend, probably walking home after a night out. Now when i say stopped, all i did was scale over 12 ft high railings and vault down so that i landed between the gang and the victims ( i like to make an entrance) whereupon the gang (there were four of them) took one look at me, turned, and ran.


If only all my nights were like that. However, i was about to pull my usual fast fade routine when the girl said
'Its you? isn't it?'

I backed away, keeping my head low and face hidden, trying to find some shadows in the stark glare of the orange street lamps. I said nothing. The girl persisted, 'Its you! I know about you, you saved my friend when she was out on friday two weeks ago.'

I took another step back, sunk my head even lower. I should have ran. The longer i stayed, the more the couple would remember about me, but something held me there. I needed to know what was being said about me. If nothing more than for confirmation from an external source that i actually am doing some good.

The girl continued, 'It was outside Vico's, you stopped her ex-boyfriend beating her up?'

I still said nothing, although i remembered the incident quite well. One of my few forays into the city centre, a guy was hitting his girlfriend outside a club (beating her up quite badly now that i think about it - in fact, she was brought to hospital with extensive internal injuries - as was her boyfriend after my intervention) but like i said, there really are too many cameras there for me to operate efficiently.

'You were dressed all in black, like you are now?' She prompted. She stepped closer, trying to get a better look at me. Incidentally, i have no real costume or uniform. I wear loose black pants and a black long sleeve t-shirt. No mask. If its cold enough, sometimes i wear a monkey hat. I'm cursing myself for not wearing one last night. My hair is quite long, not long hippy, ponytail long, but longish. And spiky. Truth be told, it looks like adult Gohan from Dragonball Z. How sad is that?

But i'm getting off the point. The girl was no more than a few feet away from me, fortunately, i'd found enough of a shadow underneath a tall hedge and some of my hair had flopped over my face so that she couldn't see much of my features. I didn't mean to say anything, but she was getting way to close for comfort. The guy was just standing there, gawking, trying to get a good look as well.

I whispered hoarsely 'Behind you'. She looked, and turned back to me, but by then, i was brushing past her, on her right hand side, keeping her between me and her boyfriend so that he couldn't see me properly. As i passed, i whispered into her ear (and i swear, i have no idea what i was thinking) 'I hope your friend gets better.' Then i turned the corner, hopped over a wall, and was away. Last thing i heard was her calling for me to stop, and then, (unexpectedly) a thank you.

The whole way home, i was again ecstatic at how the night had gone, but also annoyed with myself for remaining so long. Still, it is nice to know that what i do is appreciated. Overall, it had been a good night.

Until i woke up this morning.

Irish News, front page: Mysterious Man in Black rescues couple from assault.

Local radio stations have been having call in sessions all day about the 'mystery saviour' who dresses in black and who has been seen no less than 12 times in the last month. Funnily enough, i'm actually wondering what took them so long. Guess i shouldn't have lingered for so long last night after all. So there we have it, my new superhero name.

The Man in Black.

[Scruffie]

Man in Black? Cool... but what is a monkey hat?

[Ryoko]

*go Rambo, go Rambo, go Rambo*:D

[Rambo, John J]

Originally posted by Scruffie
Man in Black? Cool... but what is a monkey hat?

they're just plain woollen hats that can be rolled up or rolled down over your face depending on how you like to look. As to why they're called monkey hats, i have no idea...

[Scruffie]

I just call them Wooly Hats.

Um, who exactly calls them Monkey hats anyway?

[Rambo, John J]

11th January 2003


You know what i hate most about this? (By this, i mean my double life) The fact that it really is, in every sense of the word a double life. Its like i've totally compartmentalised every and any aspect of my life. There is one group of people who see one aspect or part of me (my family and friends) and out there, at night, there are people who see a completely different person.

I hate this.

Well no, i don't, not really. I just wish that the double life didn't make things so complicated. I have practically no social life now at all. I've had to blow off family and friends at the last minute numerable times, and on top of that, i have to lie constantly to them. I've never had a problem with telling a few white lies now and again, but this....this is unreal. I have to fabricate an entire portion of my life, just to get by in the other portion. I feel like a kid who tells his parents that he's sleeping in his friends house, while telling his friend that hes not allowed to come over so that he can go out with someone else unknown to either the parents or the friend. Does that make sense?

Whats particularly worrying is how easily the lies and deceit come to me. The lecture i went to (that one by Derren Brown) included a session about lying. Basically, the bottom line was that in order to lie convincingly, you have to beleive the lie yourself. And thats pretty much what i have to do. I have to be so convincing in my lies so as to actually beleive myself that the bull**** i'm spoting actually happened. Like i said, its not the worst thing in the world, it just.....i dunno, saddens me really to see how easily duplicitous i can be.

I have no-one to talk to, no-one to share my problems with cause, lets face it, i don't really have 'normal' problems. This bothers me slightly more than i thought it would. I always considered myself to be a bit of a loner anyway, even when i was out with a crowd of mates, but actually not having anyone to talk to at all about anything is just.....unnatural.


Anyway, on a slightly more upbeat level, the 'Man in Black' struck again last night. The Man in Black. Fantastic. I love that name. It reminds me of the opening sentence of Stephen Kings Dark Tower series. Heh, i actually have an honest to god, bona-fide superhero name! How cool is that?

I've been pretty much doing the same thing over and over, going out 'patrolling' (ggrrr!) staying mainly around the University area and saving people from getting beaten up, or worse. Its been pretty awkward recently, what with newspapers and radio stations staging muggings so that they can catch me in action. Idiots. Like i haven't memorised the face of every single journalist in the country. So far, i've been trying to keep pretty low key, putting wannabe hoods down quickly then getting the hell outta dodge before anyone (either the victim or the hoods) know whats going on. There's still been a few newspaper stories though. In fact, i think i instigated a (rather heated) radio debate on the rights and wrongs of vigilantisim.


I've been thinking about maybe getting a weapon of some sort. Not just a weapon. An arsenal. (of sorts). Time maybe to step things up a notch. Really put the fear of god into those who are thinking of hurting someone else.

[Scruffie]

I'll go grab the Baterangs then... :batman:

;)

[Rambo, John J]

23 January 2003

Agh.... forget about that last entry, i was just givin' off a wee bit. Maybe i'm depressed. Gotta admit though, it would be pretty handy if i could lug about a whole arsenal with me at night. I could probably take perps out a whole lot quicker with a weapon than just my bare hands. (I'd probably end up causing them a lot more damage too, so i'll most likely forego that option)


It just feels like at the minute, i just can't get enough done, no matter how hard i try. I mean, take for instance the other night (18th) i was out, it was a wet, windy night (are there any other kinds here in NI i wonder) and all told, pretty productive. I prevented a few people from being attacked and i did it quite quickly and efficiently - quick in and out. (I've been trying to keep a low profile after the whole media thing. Its not been as active the past week, but i don't particularly relish the fact that there are people actively trying to find out who i am.)
Anyway, nothing of much consequence happened and i went home feeling pretty satisfied with how the night had gone. Woke up the next day to headlines about 'youth stabbed outside club', 'Couple injured in bar fight' ...etc. Worst thing was the one about the guy (16 years old too! No more than a kid!) stabbed outside the club. The club was 'the parlour', and i'd been around that area all night and i didn't even know it had happened til the next day! Whats more, is that the kid was dressed all in black. I feel really guilty. Was this my fault? I just.....i think that maybe i'm not being as smart about this whole thing as i could be. I thought it was great that i was doing the whole 'superhero' vigilante thing, but it just feels like no matter what i do it'll never be enough.


At the minute i go after street thugs, the garden-variety type ****ers who think that beating the crap out of someone is a real fun way to spend the night, but lately i've been considering taking things up a notch. Its no secret that organised crime is rife in the city, we've all sorts of groups here just dying (literally in some cases) for a piece of the action. Corruption, extortion, bribery, people turning a blind eye, i hear about this sort of ****e every single day, and it just sickens me that theres never anything done about it. I wouldn't even be doing anything myself, but its just, at least this way i might be doing more good (potentially) than i would otherwise.

I've also been (slowly) rebuilding some semblance of a social life again. Go me. Frankly, doing nothing else but going out and, well,basically busting a few heads for lack of a better phrase, night after night was really beginning to get me down. I've been out a couple of times in the last week, and to be honest, both times i had a really great time. I wasn't drinking (still teetotal) but i didn't realise just how much i'd missed just going out and having a laugh with a few mates. Both nights were good craic, but it's Funny, i actually felt guilty about not being out on the streets, so both times i went patrolling afterwards. As well as that, i just couldn't help but check out and analyse every. single. person. in. the. club. Essentially, what i mean is similar to scouting for chicks, but in this case, i was scouting for potential, well... threats. I just couldn't help it!

In any case, i did have a good time both nights, despite distractions, and it was good to act like my old self again. Thing is,....it was just an act. I can act like my old self, hell, i can even have fun doing it, but its not me anymore. And i know that. For example, i got chattin' to some bird and was busy being my old cocky, ball-busting self (my usual routine when i used to chat up girls) but all the while, i just wasn't really into it. I was too busy observing the rest of the bar, scanning for arseholes..... and spotting the lies she was telling me. I've gotten pretty good at that, just...observing people and their expressions and body language. This girl was telling me about her travels around Australia and New Zealand and all through it, i knew she was talking pure crap. I guess ignorance really is bliss sometimes. However, its good to know that i can still revert to my old self as an act when i need to. In fact, i'm thinking i might do that more often, to stop myself from going insane if for nothing else. Anyway, off out now to see if i can get something done tonight.

[Rambo, John J]

17th Feb 2003

Again its been a while since i wrote in this. Not that i've avoided it or anything, i've just been pretty busy with uni and things, but more on that later.
I've kinda got something planned for later on tonight. I've been working on this for a couple of weeks now and tonight is when its all going to either work out and help a lot of people....or get me killed. I don't want to say too much about it at the minute save for the fact that i'm absolutely ****ting myself. This is way more ambitious than just targeting low level street hoods. This...... this is big.

Confused? I'll bet you are. Don't worry, all will be explained when (if?) i come back.

[Rambo, John J]

21 feb 2003

Ok, well.... Monday night went pretty much according to plan, and by that i mean i didn't end up getting myself killed. Unfortunately i did end up with a number of injuries.

Injury number 1: Two cracked ribs.

Injury number 2: Dislocated knuckle on my right hand

Injury number 3: Knife gash on my left shoulder.

Injury number 4: Concussion

I am in a ****load of pain.

The build up to Monday night began almost three weeks ago, i'd been out at a local shop buying a few odds and ends for my mum (milk, cigarettes etc) on (surprise) a monday (the third of feb), and it was pretty late. I'd actually been planning to go on out afterwards and do a bit of patrolling. However, it was just after 11pm, and i was lucky enough to convince the owner to let me in just before she closed up for the night - amazing what a bit of sweet talking will do to a woman in her late 60's. As i walked to the back of the shop - (incidentally, the shop in question is the spar on the main andersonstown road) - i heard the jangle of the bell over the door. I assumed another customer had also managed to persuade the owner to let them in for a last minute purchase, but after i got the carton of milk from the fridge at the back and was about to make my way up to the front i stopped. Not too sure why exactly, it just felt...wierd - like the atmosphere in the shop had changed. There are three ceiling height aisles that extend from the front to the back of the shop, first aisle has cereals, breads, hardware etc, second aisle has tinned food, bottles, frozen food etc, and the third aisle has all cosmetic products - shampoo, etc. At the back, the aisle which runs perpendicular to these three aisles is the butcher counter and dairy cabinets, which was where i was, and which is how i wasn't noticed.

Anyway, i stopped and hid at the back end of the aisle on the right (as you come in the front door) which is also the aisle where the cash register is. I peeked round to see two guys in balaclavas towering (and i do mean towering, these guys were huge!) over the old lady. She was cowering down behind the counter, this look of pure fear on her face. One of the guys held a hurley stick in his hand, the other didn't appear to have anything in his hands, one of which was held out towards the old woman. Just as i was gearing myself to make a move, the old lady handed over a huge wad of cash and the two fellas took off. I was still going to go for them, but as they left, the old lady just, kinda keeled over and collapsed on the counter. I walked over to her to see if she was ok. Even typing that i know how stupid it sounds, obviously she wasn't ok, but i can't really think of another phrase for it. Anyway, She'd fainted but came around after a few minutes. She initially thought i was one of the same guys and it tok a few more minutes for me to convince her otherwise. In between her tears and sobs, she was able to tell me the story of what was happening. Turned out that that these two guys were part of a larger gang that targeted small family-run shops and businesses in this part of the town for 'protection' money. And it also turned out that this had been going on for a number of years.
'Why don't any of you go to the police?' i asked.

Strange, i don't normally think much about how others feel, (in fact i don't think that i'm very good at emoting with other people)but she looked so lost and afraid that i almost began crying myself. She didn't answer, just sat there sobbing and twisting an old hankerchief around in her hands. I asked a few more questions to see if there was anything else she could tell me about the hoods, but she couldn't, or wouldn't, tell me anything more. As i left, the last thing she said was
'don't call the police'.

She needn't have worried, i wasn't going to. I went straight home and started working on a plan.

I spent the following week learning all i could about the shops in the area. History, owners, that sort of thing. I didn't realise til then that all the signs were there that this sort of thing had been occuring regularly. Almost every small shop in the area had changed hands at least twice in the past five years. I called in to the spar a couple of times during the week to see how the old lady was getting on, but other than a polite smile, she didn't acknowledge me at all or let on that she knew me.

The following monday at around half ten, i took my dads car out and parked across the road from the spar, at the gates to the football pitch behind the leisure centre. Although there had been a few people around at about quarter to, at 11, the entire road seemed deserted. I waited there, keeping myself down behind the wheel. As the lights began to get turned out in the spar, two shadows, one carrying a hurley stick emerged from a small alleyway beside the shop. They went in to the shop and came out a few minutes later. They didn't run, but walked quite quickly back up the alley. I got out of the car and was about to jog after them when i heard a car starting, and two beams of light appeared from the alley. I jumped back into my car and started the engine. The car (a blue ford focus - pretty common) pulled out and drove down the Andersonstown Road towards the Falls Road. I tailed behind, and was led to a house up in the Whiterock area. The house was the proverbial 'diamond in the rough.' A large detached house, isolated, the owners obviously very well off in a residential neighbourhood of small, cramped terraced houses. The two guys got out of the car, one of them laughing at something the other had said and went in. I went home, pissed as hell, i'd seen enough.

The next week consisted mainly of me training my ass off harder than i ever have this past year. I hadn't really come up with an effective plan yet to deal with what was happening, matter of fact, i was still having trouble beleiving that racketeering actually happened in this part of the world. Thats the sort of thing you see in The A-Team or something. I mean, i'm not that naive, i was faintly aware that this sort of thing probably happened in belfast, but for it to be happening right under my own nose was something of a wake up call. All week i kept thinking about how strange it was that no-one noticed what went on, week after week. Or perhaps people had noticed but decided to remain uninvolved. Thoughts like that strengthened my resolve that I would do something.

The next Monday (4 days ago) i got my 'uniform' on and took the car out at about 10, saying that i was going to the cinema. I drove to the estate behind the spar and parked. Then walked out to the back garden of one of the houses backing on to the spar and climbed on to the garden wall, then the roof of the spar itself. I looked down at the small patch of wasteland behind the spar and saw the ford focus sitting there. The interior light was on, and i could hear music coming from the radio. At almost 11 exactly, the doors opened and two guys got out and walked round the front. Bingo.

I traversed the roof and looked down as they entered. I swallowed nervously, my heart beating high in my chest - crunch time.

As soon as the door closed behind them, i dropped myself over the edge, swinging as i did so, kicking through the door. The second i was through the door, the two guys spun round, the one directly in front of me holding the hurley stick. He wasted no time and swung in an arc that, had it connected any higher would probably have broken my collar bones. As it was, i jumped back slightly and the hurl hit me broadside across the chest. Intensely painful, i don't recommend it. I recovered and threw a punch to his kidneys which i then followed with a haymaker of a punch to his temple. Fortunately, it hurt him more than me, and he fell. Meantime, the other guy had pulled out a knife and swung it towards me. I dodged to the right, but raised my left shoulder and the knife cut through. He advanced, pressing the advantage, swiping at me with the knife. From the way he swung i could tell that he had experience using it, and for the first time it occured to me that i might actually lose. I stumbled back, holding my bloody shoulder and ducking and dodging to avoid another stab wound. He struck again and again, forcing me back towards the door. Seizing the opportunity, he picked up the hurley stick and began swinging at me with both weapons. It was just my bad luck that the hurley connected first. I was keeping an eye on the knife when he struck me across the head with the hurl. I've never felt anything so painful in all my life. I dropped to one knee, everything a blur. I was seeing double, triple and i had this almost overwhelming urge to puke. It was over. It was then that i looked up and saw the old lady standing pressed against the wall, her expression one of abject terror. Amazingly, that image did wonders to bring things back into focus. I staggered to my feet and gave the guy a small snap kick to the inside of his left thigh, just to delay him for a moment, then i launched myself at him with a flying kick. I was lucky. The kick sent him sailing into the wall behind him, right beside the old doll, and i leapt towards him, swinging both fists with eveything i could muster. I hit him again and again until my hands began to throb with pain. I stopped, and he dropped to the ground alongside his buddy. I staggered to the counter, blood dripping on the floor, and dropped a slip of paper with the address of the house in Whiterock on to it. I said to the old woman 'Do yourself a favour and call the police.' I really wanted to say something grandiose, inspirational. Something that would make a great quote for a Tuesday newspaper headline, but i was just in too much pain to care much about anything apart from getting home. Then i lurched to the door and left. I made it to a phone box and called the police anyway myself before stumbling to the car where i collapsed in agony. I actually think i blacked out for a few minutes outside the car. I got in and somehow drove myself home. Fortunately everyone was in bed so no-one witnessed my pathetic attempt at dressing my stab wound. I crawled to bed and was unconscious within seconds.

I somehow made it to uni the next day, but left early and went to hospital complaining of a sore chest. Subsequent X-ray showed that i had two fractured ribs. I lied and said i'd probably been in a fight at a bar the previous night. I was bandaged, given advice on how to look after myself and also given a stern lecture on drunken brawling by one of the nurses. I've spent the rest of the week trying to avoid physical contact with anyone so that i don't wince in agony any time someone touches me. I've also been getting dizzy spells, although they're not as frequent now as at the start of the week. Two knuckles in my right hand feel as though they've been dislocated, and i'm having trouble taking notes in class. Its agonising to even type this. To top it all off, there appears to be a girl in my class who has decided that i for some reason represent everything that is wrong with men in general and has made no concessions in letting others know it as well. I can only hope that next week will get better.

On the plus side, the Man in Black has been attributed with the exposing of a 'protection racket' in west Belfast. Go me.

[Rambo, John J]

22 Feb 2003

I feel like ****. Every move i make is accompanied by pain. Mainly my chest and hand. My shoulder seems to be healing nicely though, guess i did a better job of dressing it than i thought.

I probably didn't convey this very well in my last entry ( i was tired and in immense pain), but the media and newspapers (especially local ones) are going ballistic for the man in black. Everywhere i've looked recently there have been posters and slogans about me. You know the billboards hung outside shops with newspaper headlines? Pretty much all of them have been about me. Every. Single. day. This. Week.

Needless to say, my injuries have prevented me from going out this week at all, so i'm hoping this will die down eventually -although i won't deny that there is a part of me that gets a kick out of seeing stuff like this. My only real regret is that i don't have anyone to talk to about this. Things would be so much easier if i could confide in someone. But i can't. For one thing, i seriously doubt that anyone would understand why i do it. **** it, i don't even really know why i do it myself. They'd probably just think i was a nutball psycho or something, who gets his kicks from beating the crap out of people. Arse.

So what else has been going on with me? Hmmm, not a lot really. I've been hard at work developing my old ****y personality. To be honest, it helps me fit in a bit better wherever i am. Uni, work or whatever. Just basically me being a ****y, arrogant sod, taking the piss outta people and cracking jokes left, right and centre. One of the reasons i can do it so well is probably because i'm just putting it on. If it was for real, i don't think i'd be half as good at it. I think maybe thats why this girl outta my class hates me so much.

Interesting, i never really realised til now how much that bugs me. Shes obviously got this preconceived notion of what i'm like. Well, i suppose thats not really fair to her. It isn't preconceived. Shes got this notion that i'm a jerk because thats pretty much how i act. Although to be to equally fair to me, its not as though i single her out or anything. During the week there, myself and a few guys from the class came across her alone in the studio reading a paper article about - surprise surprise, - myself. As i approached (just to walk past her) she looked up, smirked and said something along the lines of 'At least there's a real man out helping people. Not an arrogant arsehole like you.' I responded in kind by grabbing my crotch and saying 'I've got you're real man right here!' Then took the piss out of her by calling her (among other things) a hopeless romantic, mills and boon reading, naive, pathetic little girl. Christ, even thinking about it now, i did overdo it slightly as she left in tears.

In my more reflective moments, i feel horrible for acting like that, but i console myself with the thought that that persona isn't really me - and i was in crippling pain at the time as well, so i was in a bit of a snit anyway. I still felt pretty bad about it, but she seemed to have recovered by thursday when she set about trying to publically humiliate me. Unfortunately for her, it didn't work. I was more concerned with how my shoulder and chest were than to be bothered about people laughing at me.
But she still irks me.

And i'm still in a lot of pain.

[Scruffie]

I love thist story! Keep it up! :D

[Nightdevil]

Originally posted by Scruffie
I love thist story! Keep it up! :D

Ditto :D

[Rambo, John J]

Cheers guys. Glad you're sticking with it.

[Scruffie]

A tale of a budding Hero in Britain? Hold me back! :D

I'm Scottish. ;)

[Rambo, John J]

28th February 2003

I've ****ed up. I don't know how bad yet, but i've ****ed up.

I was still pretty banged up during the week there, my ribs in particular were (are) extremely sore, but i basically just had to soldier on with being alive. It's kinda hard though when every move you make makes you want to wince in agony, but all told, i was doing a pretty good job of keeping it hidden and not letting people touch me. My shoulder actually isn't too bad now, (i'm gonna have a heck of a scar though) so apart from my ribs, i'm pretty much ok.

However, during the week there i was up in our studio in university trying to get a bit of work done by myself (at least when i'm on my own, i don't have to pretend i'm not in pain). So i'd gotten a bit of work done and was going down to the lounge for a cup of coffee when i noticed her in front of me, about to go into the lift. I paused and was about to say something suitably arrogant and well.....male, (in keeping with my 'lad' persona) but just as i was about to open my mouth, the stack of books she was cradling in her arms began to slip. Added to this, the door she had just come through swung back and smacked her in the rear. I had instinctively reached forward to stop her books from falling (despite how i act, i'm really not that bad a guy) but the door pushed her from behind and she staggered forward and would have fallen, but for the fact that she clutched at me and grabbed onto me to right herself. Physical contact with another human being is something i've been trying to avoid for the past week, so when she put her hands right. on. my. chest. i couldn't help but make a sound which sounded as though i was in immense pain. Which i was. Let me tell you by the way, this really was quite sore. Moving in itself is painful, but a seven and a half stone girl leaning all her weight on my cracked ribs.....

Anyway, i groaned and recoiled, grabbing at my chest and making (i imagine) suitably painful facial expressions. To add insult to injury, when she held onto me, she had pulled my t-shirt in such a way as to expose the bandage around my shoulder. I sagged against the wall (yes, it was that painful) feeling like i'd just run a marathon. My chest was on fire - and the pain was, quite frankly, overwhelming. I leaned there for no more than a second, if that, but it was one of those rare moments when everything seems to slow down, and you become aware of everything going on around you. Hell song was playing on the radio, the department secretary was typing on her keyboard in her office, a couple of the lecturers were having a meeting in one of the other offices, and she smelled of strawberries. Like i said, it took less than a second for the pain to subside, and, as if i was waking up, i became aware of her just looking at me. She didn't look horrified, or concerned, she just had this weird expression.... almost a calculating look. Her gaze travelled from my shoulder ( i pulled my t-shirt up onto my shoulder) and across my chest ( i took my hand away from my chest) before looking at me directly. My breath was coming back and i was about to say something when she spoke 'Been through the wars have we?' Then she gave another strange look. A shared secret look. The kind of look you would give someone when they've told you something very personal to them and the two of you know that whats been said can never been taken back. It threw me. Then she walked past me and into the lift.

That look..... That look worries me. It feels like a sort of 'i know something about you now' look.

You're probably asking yourself why would i get so worried over something like this. So she saw my bandages and discomfort at being touched in the chest. So what? Well, the thing is, that isn't the only thing thats happened this week.

That happened on the Tuesday. Wednesday, we have class til two. Urban Planning and Management. It can be interesting at times, but i just couldn't focus at all. My ribs were really killing me, and i was acutely aware that she was sneaking glances at me, trying to catch my eye. It was one of those times when you don't feel quite with it. The lecturer had long since been reduced to background fizzle by the waves of pain swamping my body and my own thoughts. The longer i sat there, the more aware i was of the pain, and of her, sneaking looks every now and again. It reminded me of the last class of the last day of term back in school. Everyone would be fidgiting, looking at the clock, not really paying attention to anything the teacher says. As the seconds tick away, the tension becomes palpable until someone breaks the silence by....doing whatever.

Class finishes at two, but at around quarter past one i decided i'd had enough, packed my stuff away, and left. I began to walk into town, lost in my own little world of myriad thoughts (and pain). I walked into town, without even really noticing where i was going or what was around me. I was, in effect, on autopilot. I snapped to attention when i heard a yell ahead of me. As I looked up, i realised that i'd walked right through the city centre to a part of town known as th cathedral quarter. This part of town is slated for a major urban regeneration program, and at the minute is quite dingy and dismal. Its the part of town where junkies, alchoholics and glue-sniffers go to hang. Crime is a major problem in this part of the city. Offices burgaled, shops ransacked, assualt etc. The art college is based there, but normally students stick to the main streets when getting from there to the rest of the city centre. Unfortunately, someone had decided to take a shortcut through the back streets. I looked up to see two guys grabbing at a younger guy (heck barely more than a kid). The kid was carrying one of those huge leather art portfolios and looked like a typical art student. Slightly punk/skater, he had the whole 'alternative' thing going on. I hoped someone would hear the yell and come for help. I really didn't think i was capable of helping. My ribs were grinding away at each other and i just felt abysmal. Besides, it was daytime, someone was bound to be around who could help. I waited, but still no-one came. One of the two guys was holding the kid, while the other went through his pockets, and was about to open the portfolio. Again, the kid yelled, then he spotted me and called out again. I shook my head, resigning myself to my duty, and charged in. The two guys were junkies, and i felled them in a matter of seconds. Nothing too fancy, just a roundhouse kick and a jab to the solar plexus respectively. Immediately after, i collapsed against the wall, grabbing at my chest. My ribs felt like they were going to pop through my chest, and any adrenaline rush i'd gotten to lessen the pain was fading rapidly. I stood there, my breath coming in raggedy bursts, and it was a full minute (at least) before i was able to tell the kid to go. He left, and i sank to the ground, sitting in a puddle of rainwater than had collected at the bottom of the wall of the alley. I closed my eyes and tried willing the pain to go away. No dice. I opened my eyes when i became aware of movement near me. I thought it was the two guys coming round. I looked up and found myself staring into the eyes of her. I stumbled to my feet, faintly aware that she was talking, but i honestly have no idea what she was saying, the pain was just too much. Amid her protests i walked away, hurridly. After considering for a second, i started to run.

I didn't go into class at all on Thursday.

So there we have it. I've ****ed up. It just remains to be seen what, (if any) conclusions she makes from all this.

****.

[Rambo, John J]

11 March 2003

Crap.

I'm sitting here in university, trying to think of something to write, and i can't really think of anything at all. Funny that. How when you're away from the computer you have all these things that you want to say or talk about or get off your chest, but when you're actually sitting down in front of it, your mind goes a complete blank.

Last week was, all told, not too bad. I still haven't gone out patrolling since that monday. Ironically, its my hand thats giving me the most bother now. My chest and shoulder are doing ok, and by ok, i mean i'm not going to die anytime soon. They're still mighty sore though. I'm getting tired of refereing to 'her' as her, so from now, i'm just gonna call her 'K'.

I still don't know what sort (if any) conclusion she may have reached about seeing me in action, but whatever, she's kept pretty quiet about the whole thing. Which may, or may not be a bad thing. Time will tell. Over the past week, we've gotten to talking, not best pals or anything, just.... talking. I feel very self concious though when she's around. She knows. Not about me going out or being the man in black, but she knows something is going on with me. She knows that i'm not the ****y, arrogant sod that i pretend to be in class. That in itself is enough to give me cause for concern. I can't behave properly (as in, my ****y persona) when shes around.

[Rambo, John J]

12 March 2003

I didn't really get to say much yesterday, in part due to the fact that i actually couldn't really think of what it was i wanted to talk about, and also in part due to the fact that i don't really like writing in this when there are other people around. It makes me a bit paranoid.

I'm in uni again, but i'm at one of the OAC's that is generally quite empty and i've got the contrast and brightness settings on my monitor adjusted so that only i can see what i'm typing.

But i still don't really know what to write. I have this...this feeling that theres something i want to get off my chest, or write down, or talk about or whatever, but i don't know what. I suppose the best thing to do would be to just talk about the past coupla weeks in general.

Like i said yesterday, my wounds seem to be healing nicely, but i have this unshakable, nagging thought that that night i came extremely close to buying the farm. Generally, thoughts like that don't worry me, i'm generally a 'if it happens, it happens' kinda guy. If a problem comes along, i deal with it. But i don't know how to deal with this. I could have died. Hell, i should've died, i just got lucky. And theres no-one....nobody i can talk to about this. Funny, i never thought i'd regret not having any close friends.

I wonder what people who think they know me would say if they knew what i did. Would they be amazed? Would they refuse to beleive it? Would they say 'Wow! All this time he's been going out, doing this and we never knew!' Would they admire and respect me?

Or would they be angry? Essentially, what i've done is compartmentalise my life to such an extent that no-one knows the truth about me. Different groups of people see different facets of my personality. Would they be pissed that i tricked them? That i lied to them? That i manipulated them? Because, lets face it, thats exactly what i am doing.

The only person who's gotten a glimpse of what i really do, who i really am, and it turns out to be a girl who has despised me for the better part of a year. Speaking of whom, theres something there now. Something between us, almost tangible. I can feel it each time i look at her, and each time she looks at me. Nothing romantic ( i think) just something....shared. We seem to have an unspoken agreement not to talk about what she has seen of me. Regardless, we act differently around each other now. Polite, to a fault.
Crap.

[Scruffie]

Yay! More!

[Rambo, John J]

23rd March 2003

There's an old saying here in Ireland, 'It never rains, it pours.' Now, until recently, i've never had cause to actually consider exactly what that means. I always used to think that it meant - as the man says - 'exactly what it says on the tin'. As in, it doesn't just rain here in Ireland, it pisses out of the skies. I never considered til now that its a more than apt metaphor for the slushball of ****e my life has become.


I was actually feeling better there during the week and had decided to go out this weekend - (i did, but more on that later) - when all of a sudden, my body has to go and contract the flu on me. I don't mean one of those stupid 'sniffly nose and a slight cough' type colds, - i mean the 'debilitating, kick-the-****-out-of-you, head thumping, eyeball popping, limbs so heavy and sore you can barely lift your head, shivering and sweating all over' kind of flu. This is the kind of flu you catch maybe once every few years if you're unlucky enough. Funnily enough, over the past year, i haven't caught so much as a sore throat. I assumed it was perhaps down to the fact that i'm fitter and my body has become more tough and resilient. But the past month (since the 17th of Feb) i guess i've been at my lowest ebb (mentally) to care much about anything. As a result, it would appear that my body has followed suit and decided to allow any infection in.

Regardless, i was out last night. And what a night! It was perfect (debilitating flu aside). It was dark, dismal and foggy. I mean fog so thick you can see about three feet in front of you, and even then, only vague shadows. Perfect Man In Black weather. It was actually my first night out since last month, and it was fantastic. You know how when you have a hobby that you've neglected for a few weeks, and when you decide to go back to it, you wonder if you'll get as much enjoyment out of it? You begin to wonder if maybe it was just a short term fad. Just a phase that you were going through. Something that captured your interest for a short while but something that would ultimately be discarded as soon as you found something even better and more stimulating. You ask yourself 'Will i enjoy this as much as i used to?' And you have an internal battle with yourself, trying to motivate yourself to just go and do it - telling yourself that if you try it again and you don't enjoy it as much, at least you'll know. (I realise by the way that i'm comparing what i do to that of a hobby, and i realise just how....how wrong an analogy that is, but at least now you have an idea of what i'm trying to get across). Anyway, you've psyched yourself up to get back into [your hobby]. One half willing you to enjoy it, the other half waiting, watching, just at the back of your mind. Poised, and ready to say maliciously and victoriously 'See? just a fad'.

And then you go and do it.

And its amazing.

Its so much better than you remembered. You ask yourself 'Why did i ever stop doing this?' And you resolve never to let yourself lose interest in it again.

Thats kinda what last night was like for me. It was like my first time all over again. Unreal.

Despite the flu, (which almost became my excuse not to go out) last night just felt right somehow. I remember as i sat, looking out my window, trying to make up my mind whether or not i should go out, the fog began to roll in, giving the cityscape an incredibly eerie look. Like a ghost town. It was as though the city itself was enticing me to come out and play. And i'm glad i did.

Three attacks prevented around the university area , and that was only in the first hour of my patrol. I think people were beginning to think that the Man in Black had disappeared.

But i'm back now.

The past month its seemed as though every day i've opened the paper to see some new horrifying story about an attack on someone, outside some bar or club. An attack that i could probably have prevented had i not been wallowing in apathy and self-pity.

I don't know if i'm being hard on myself when i say that, but looking over the past month, its as though it (the month) hasn't really happened. I can't really remember one single thing about the past month, bar the important things which have impacted on my double life, and which i've transcribed here.

I think maybe i might have been trying to bite off more than i could chew with the racketeering bust up. Funny, i've never actually thought seriously about that night. And i'm not going to now either. Like i said before, what happens, happens. I deal with it (usually in my own stoic manner) and get on with things.

I'm just thinking of that last sentence. Stoicism and shutting myself away is the way i've always dealt with things. And i'm beginning to think if thats such a good thing. Its taken me over a month to deal with what happened last month. A month wasted. A month where, even though i may not have been able to go out patrolling, i could have been training, or learning more. But i shut myself off (the part that needs to deal with this i mean - 'Party Boy' persona lives on) The part of me that isn't an act, and i totally close him up for a month.

I guess the Man in Black really had disappeared. Not just disappeared as in, 'not around for a bit', but as in 'doesn't actually exist anymore'.

Its scary too, because that in itself has forced me to realise just how close i actually came to throwing in the towel.

And i now realise just how low i've been the past month. And why i've felt so ****. And why every day has been a struggle - mentally more than anything. I hadn't dealt with the events of last month, i just thought i had. I've been deluding myself. I shut myself off from...well, just about everything, each day sinking lower and lower.
Until i realised that for the better part of a month i've been in denial.

Until i went out again on patrol last night.

Until i remembered what it is i do this for.

And all of a sudden, i'm beginning to feel better.

[Scruffie]

Is this over? Hasn't been an update in a while... I hope not. :(

[Rambo, John J]

22 April 2003

Its been a while. Again.
I’ve avoided writing in this for a while, I can’t deny that. Its not because I’ve been busy, or because I’ve been too engrossed in my nighttime activities (although I have been out regularly) or because I’ve found a new love of my life (which I haven’t). Its actually quite simple really. I’ve avoided writing because I know what I want to write about, what I need to write about, but once I say what it is I want to say, it becomes real. It becomes so I can’t ignore it and pretend it isn’t actually happening.
……
My mum and dad went out for an evening one day a few weeks back. I was up in my room reading Moby Dick and didn’t realise they’d gone til I came downstairs and was told by my brother. I was about to ask where they’d gone, when I suddenly realised – I didn’t particularly care where they’d gone.

Ugh…. Just reading that line makes me feel empty. You know how when you go into work, or school, or uni and you ask someone ‘Hey, hows it going? You out at the weekend?’ You ask, and you wait for their answer. Maybe they went to the cinema, maybe they went to a bar, maybe they got lucky and pulled that girl they’ve been telling you about since…whenever. Maybe you’re just asking out of politeness, or you want to fill the silence, or because you’re genuinely interested in the person and what they do at weekends. The point is, you ask, and you listen. A conversation happens, there’s a back and forth exchange.

I don’t think I can do that anymore.

In my family, I’ve always been regarded as the quiet, shy, younger brother. The one who always has his head stuck in a book, or on the internet. The younger brother who, at family gatherings, hovers in the background. Not shut away in my room certainly, but not exactly part of the gathering either. That’s never really bothered me before, but now…..

Its when I didn’t bother to ask after my parents that evening. I realised that I’ve been doing this quite a bit recently. If my brother or sister or indeed, parents, tell me something, or are talking to me, I listen and answer. I catalogue any information they give me about where they are going or what they are doing, not out of any feelings of interest, but because cataloguing and storing information in my cranium is something I do automatically. I give all the outward signs that I’m listening, that I’m attentive, and to some extent I am, I just don’t feel like I’m connected anymore. Consequentially, most of my conversations with my immediate family are terse and monosyllabic. Its as though there’s something missing, something that prevents me from emoting with them, and as a result, I feel alienated.


The more I think about this, the more it becomes apparent that this trait is beginning to pervade my other social circles. No….that’s not strictly true. I have a few close friends (well, as close as I can be to someone without telling them the complete truth) both in uni and work, but I’m becoming afraid that this will start to happen to them as well. Will I get to a stage where I begin to block them out as well? Will I get to a stage where, rather than ask about their weekend or life in general, I just practically ignore them?

I just feel like its wrong for me to be this way. Like there’s something I missed along the way when I grew up, some social skill or quality that I passed by, and I begin to wonder – is this an effect of my training? Has my (pretty much) single-minded focus on ridding my city of crime deadened my relationship with other people? Or, as another possibility, is this all simply a part of growing up? Is this some phase of adolescence that I’ll work through within a few months?

Ironically, I find myself able to emote and empathise quite easily with people I encounter on my patrols. Patrolling is pretty much the only time I do feel connected, and consequentially, I’ve been going out more regularly, and staying out a lot longer.

So what else? Well, life goes on, as they say. I’ve been going out patrolling, kicking bad guys butts’ and being a superhero/vigilante type character in general. I’ve actually been designing a uniform of sorts. I’ve sewn black leather onto areas of my tops and bottoms. Elbows, knees, wrists, ankles etc… - areas that are most likely to get torn or battered during my patrols. I’m still working on it though. Fashion design was never my forte in art class. I’ve also begun to discover the possibilities of climbing various buildings during my patrols. This new dimension to my patrols came about quite by accident during rock climbing class a month ago or so. I was joking with one of the guys about being able to climb buildings like Spider-man when he turned and said in all seriousness, ‘Actually, it can be done pretty easily. Some buildings here in Belfast are so easy to climb,’ He looked around furtively, ‘In fact, some of us usually go after class and scale a few buildings – just for the hell of it’ He winked, ‘You should come with us tonight, I reckon you’d get a kick out of it.’ So I did.

He was right, it is pretty easy, once you get the hang of it, and its opened up parts of the entire city to me. Patrol routes which may have once taken me a while to cover can now be done in a matter of ten or fifteen minutes.
Speaking of which, its getting late, I’d better go. Til the next time….

[Rambo, John J]

8th June 2003

Strange, i don't seem to have as much time to write in this as i once used to. I think that the more time you have to do something, the more you put it off. I'm finished university now, for good, so i've got to start looking for a real job - as opposed to my part time shop job downtown.

Funny, up until now, any job application forms i've filled in have been pretty basic. Name, Address, Education, Hobbies etc. Nothing too strenuous. But jobs i'm applying for now seem to require me to write an entire thesis about myself. I've got one in front of me right now. It goes through all the standard questions, then, just when you think you're done, you turn the page to find :

Question 1 (a) Demonstrate how you possess practical experience in public relations

Maybe i should write about the other night.

I was out patrolling around the Lower Ormeau Road part of town. There have been a few attacks on people in this part of town recently, so i thought i'd extend my range of patrols to include this area.

Long story short, i came across a couple of yobs assaulting an old homeless guy who had done nothing wrong other than pick the wrong doorway to sleep in. The old guy was being pushed from one guy to the other, almost s though they were tossing a ball. He was spinning round, mumbling incoherently yet plainly afraid. The two guys were laughing at his state of distress, and any time he went to move off in a different direction, one moved to intercept him and push him back to the other.

I was on top of the flats at the lower end of Rugby Road, just where the street meets Ormeau Avenue itself and looking down on this as it happened. Abruptly, the old guy stumbled and fell, collpasing onto his knees in between the two fellas. One of the hoodlums moved in towards the old guy and was rewarded with a torrent of vomit from the old guy all over his shoes. As the jerk with spew shoes became enraged at this, i unwound a rope from around my waist, made a loop and fastened it around one of the chimneys on the corner. I then wrapped the end round my right hand a few times, ran to the end, and jumped.

Before i go any farther, i have to make clear that i was, in fact, using bungee cord - carefully measured by yours truely to stretch (with a suitable weight i.e. me) to almost the height of said flats.

I jumped from the corner, and in such a direction, that the bungee cord snapping back pulled me in an arc almost parallel to the building front, and directly in between the two guys. Talk about making an entrance. From their point of view, i had quite literally come out of noweher, and they bolted before i could even say anything. I knelt down and hoisted the old guy up, letting him lean against me. I then walked him the short distance up Ormeau Avenue to one of the homeless shelters in the area. I propped him against the wall, rang the doorbell and did a runner back to collect my rope and skedaddle. Talk about a public relations coup.

Question 1 (b) Demonstrate how you possess at least one years experience in a post involving information and communication work.

Perhaps i should write about my experience a few months ago with the racketeers in my part of the town. I could write about how i collected any and all information that i could about their activities. I then 'communicated' my displeasure at their presence in my city through information exchenge with the local boys in blue.


Question 2: As the post requires extensive periods of outdoor work, demonstrate how you possess the nescessary physical attributes for the position i.e fitness, strength, endurance etc. These will be assessed by a physical examination.

......




So there we have it. How my life as a teenage superhero can help me get a job. Maybe i should just write in my CV: Last job held - Superhero.

[TheReaper]

I just discovered this today and ts great. The idea alone is worth reading it but your very talented so it keeps me intrested.

A little constructive crictisim if thats ok, I would love for your story to get a little more.....epic. maybe an actual storyline or sumthing instead of descriptions of your nightly patrols, which are great to read but i think it would be cool if went a different route. Maybe your character could meet another superhero from neighboring town or introduce an villin, the possibilites are endless.

Also it would be cool if the man in black wore a mask, i'm just thinking reality here but since you say that newspapers are looking for him he will eventually got photgraphed or his face spotted by an onlooker. A simple ski mask would do fine but this is just my opinion, do what u want its your universes.

Whats gonna happen with the K story line? Can't wait for the next instalment!

[Scruffie]

I'm just waiting for:

"And tonight I got hit by lightning on patrol, thus giving me SUPER POWERS!"

Lol, no really, I love this. I thought you had ended it. Glad to see it's still going!

[Rambo, John J]

25th June 2003
I'm in a hurry, so i'll keep this brief. Somethings wrong. I don't know what exactly, i just have this.... this sense that something has happened. Something that i haven't picked up on but should have, something that has happened and is irreversable, and is very, very bad. I'm racking my brains right now, and it seems as though the answer is right there, just waiting for me to come across it.

It's like when you leave the house for the day. You leave, you lock the door, and you go to work/school/ wherever. During the day, you get the feeling you've forgotten to do something. You sit there, and you think to yourself, 'what have i [not] done?' You think about it all day, but not really thinking about it, you just let it worry at you, you let the soft, nagging doubt of whatever it is you've forgotten to gnaw away at your mind, forbidding any real thinking, and as a consequence, any work being done. Then you go home to find the house burned to the ground. Or something.

Something like that. Only more so. This is something thats staring me in the face. Something thats so obvious i'll laugh once i get the answer. At least, i would laugh if the feeling wasn't so foreboding. The feeling gradually increased during the day, but it started this morning as i was doing...... something. I can't remember what. I need to really go think about this....

[Rambo, John J]

20th July 2003

I've re-read this entire...diary, if you could call it that. And i wish....I wish that I could go back a few months and have the problems i was having then. My injuries, K, my insecurities about myself. All seem small potatos compared to whats been happening recently. And yet, it isn't even a recent occurence. Rather, its a recurring chain of events that i've only recently cottened on to. Despite all the clues being there, despite the fact that what has happened, has happened practically right in front of me, it's taken me til now to see it. I feel so ashamed. I feel so guilty. Christ, even as i'm typing this, i'm crying. It's my fault.

Three people are dead, and its my fault.

I should have seen this coming. Hell, i've entertained the thought, i've even written about it in this, but i never actually thought it would happen. The clues have been there. I just didn't see them for what they were - hindsight being 20/20 and all that....

Towards the end of last month, i'd been increasingly aware of something being wrong. Something that, if i'd been a bit less preoccupied with my own petty problems i would have recognised the first time it happened. As a matter of fact, i did write about it in this, i just glossed over it as though it was a mere triviality, nothing important.

23rd January 2003 - a guy, no more than a kid, was stabbed outside a club in Belfast. He survived, but only because there happened to be a qualified doctor in the club that night. Witnesses say the young man was attacked without provocation, and the attacker fled immediatley.

18th Feb 2003 - A man, walking his dog late at night through Ormeau Park was brutally assaulted and strangled to death. An elderly couple who found the body were able to recall seeing a person running towards the Ravenhill Road entrance from the crime scene.

25th March 2003 - A young man, believed to be in his early 20's was found lying in a pool of his own blood and vomit beneath the statue of Lord Kelvin in Belfasts' Botanic park. He had been bludgeoned to death by a blunt intrument. A girl who witnessed it was unable to stop the attacker from escaping.

24th June 2003 - A man was brutally kicked to death in a shocking attack outside the Fly. Onlookers say the assailant was laughing and shouting 'Maybe this time he'll get the message'. The assailant escaped.


All the murders had four things in common:

All the victims were out late at night

All the victims were young men.

All the victims were wearing black.

Jesus, i don't know what to do about this. Should i turn myself in? Three people, guys about my age - hell, probably could have been friends of mine under the right circumstances - are dead, and its my fault. I don't know what to do. I knew that what i do would have consequences for others. In my naivety, i assumed that those consequences would be for the better. I was wrong.

Someone out there has been trying to contact me for the best part of half a year, and i've been too self obsessed to get the message. Heh, christ, i think i'm gonna waterlog my keyboard. But i can't help it. I can't stop the tears running down my face as i think about these people. And about who killed them.

You read about this sort of thing in comics. Spider-man has his Green Goblin, Batman has his Joker, Superman has his Lex Luthor....

Witnesses at all of the above crimes were able to give a brief description of the assailant.

The fourth thing in common.

The assailant was dressed completely in white.

[Scruffie]

Cool, a villain eh? I say he sets himself up, to look like an innocent guy, walking around at night wearing black, y'know, as bait.

Then, the villain appears and they fight. A lot.

[Rambo, John J]

23rd August 2003

I.... I'm a mess. I don't know what to do. I go out every night now, looking for this guy... this murderer. Leave it to the media to trivialise whats been happening - what he's been doing. They call him the milkybar man!!

Jesus Christ! A man is going around dressed in white, brutally killing young men and the media give him a nickname!

I haven't been sleeping. I think the most i've gotten the past month has been about an hour or two a night. I've been out all night every night and any time i do go to bed, i can't sleep because of the guilt. I never beleived that i could feel as miserable... or as helpless, as i do now. Every day since my last entry has been a nightmare. Its like every day is the exact same. There has been nothing to distinguish one day from another - as though i'm in a permanent state of fugue. I've been going to work, going to the gym, training, everything i normally do, but i can't recollect a single, solitary thing from any of these. My life is a blur. And on top of that is the permanent sick, hollow feeling in my gut. The feeling that isn't letting me sleep. The feeling that isn't letting me do my job.

I'm quitting. As soon as i catch this guy....this.... excuse for a human being, i'm giving up. I can't do this, i won't do this. I thought i was prepared for anything. I never imagined i would be faced with something like this. I will catch this person, i will not rest until he is caught, but after that, i stop.

[Rambo, John J]

20th September 2003

For the past few months, the shambles that my life has become has been a nightmare. A person - a sick, twisted excuse for a human being - has been actively trying to set him or herself up as my antithesis. Where i try to help people, he/she has tried to cause harm. Where i save peoples lives, this person tries to end them. Where i see myself as a normal person, trying to do a bit of good in this ****hole of a world, this person sees themself as an evil genius, malicious, cruel, and above reproach.

I've been patrolling the same part of town for almost a month now. Each night, i've taken care that i'm seen.

A fleeting glimpse, or out of the corner of ones eye, perhaps as a shadow scaling an alleyway wall, but i've made sure that people on the streets are aware of my presence in this part of the city. I've made sure that they know. And i've made sure of the whispers that follow.

Perhaps a girl telling her friends in a bar of how her neighbours' best friends' cousin was rescued by the Man in Black in Gresham Street. Or maybe a bunch of yobs boasting of how they were able to beat the crap out of the Man in Black (as if) down in Lower Yarin Street. Whatever, the important fact is that it is now uncommon knowledge that the Man in Black has been particularly active in this part of town over the past month.

I have no clues as to who this mystery person is, or why he has decided to set himself (herself?) up as my opposite. I have nothing to go on at all. So i've decided that my best course of action is to lure him out. A crude plan, but hopefully effective.

I can....almost feel that something is going to happen tonight. There's almost a feeling of butterflies in my stomach. My senses feel heightened, like i'm aware of things going on around me that i wouldn't normally notice. Kinda like when you've been going out with a girl for a short while and things are getting to the stage where you know that tonight is the night. No-one needs to explain it to you. You just know that tonight is the night.

For the past couple of months, my life has become a waking nightmare.

The nightmare ends tonight.

[Colossus24]

And he got his a** kicked hence no more posts....j/k I just saw this and i love it keep going.

[Rambo, John J]

29th Sept 2003

Heh. Its funny the things that go through your mind at times. Last Sunday, i had been so certain that i was going to confront the Milkybar Man. My enemy. My antithesis. I was convinced that i was going to run into him during my standard patrol. I was so convinced, that i felt our meeting was a foregone conclusion. A non-event wasn't even a consideration, indeed, the very thought that i wouldn't meet him that night was laughable. Funny, i'm thinking of those few panels in 'Preacher' that deal with the history of Tulip.

Her mum is in hospital giving birth to her, and her dad is in the bar, getting ready to celebrate, thinking of suitable names for the baby boy his wife is about to give birth to. One of his mates pipes up 'What if its a girl?' There's a stunned silence, then they all burst out laughing. The concept is so ridiculously preposterous! The phone rings, the father to be answers, there is an expectant hush while dad listens on the phone. He hangs up, turns to his friends and says, 'Damn wife died. Damn baby's a girl'.

Thats pretty much what happened to me last Sunday. I scoured the neighbourhood from dusk til dawn, calmly, expectantly, waiting to run into my enemy. He didn't show.

Dejected (yet at the same time strangely elated) i returned home to try again the next night. The next night was a repeat of Sunday. As was Tuesday and Wednesday. By this stage, i was almost frantic in my search. I kept thinking that maybe i'd missed him, or failed to intercept him. It never occurred to me that i was being followed. And avoided.

This entry so far is pretty long winded so far. I guess i'm trying to avoid talking about what happened. I encountered the MM on Thursday night, at exactly 3:17 am. Or should i say, he encountered me. And by encountered i pretty much mean ambushed. And i got my arse kicked. Big time.

I didn't even see the attack coming. I was perched on top of a building overlooking Elmwood Avenue. I was just... sitting there. Watching people leave the nearby Parlour and student union. I remember actually recognising a few acquaintences and resisting the urge to call their names out.

By three, the entire area was devoid of human activity. Any stragglers had long since gone home, the local kebab and chippys had closed soon after. I was alone, and was about to resume my patrol when i heard a fluttering sound behind me. I had turned about halfway, just enough to catch a glimpse of white before i felt rough hands push me over the edge of the building i was on.

I fell three storeys before crashing onto the ground. I had instinctively protected my head, but it still managed to crack off the pavement. As i slowly, cumbersomely, rolled over and looked up, i saw, as if in slow motion, a white figure turn away from the building edge. When i say slow motion, i mean super slow motion, with the obligatory blurring and fuzzy edges. It occurred to me that i had sustained a serious head injury, but that didn't seem to be of any importance.

My eyes decided to close, and as they did so, i became aware of nearby running footsteps. Echoey and ponderous they seemed to my dull and confused mind, and as i blacked out, i could feel someone shaking me and saying my name. Even at that stage, i was aware that there was something wrong with that. The fact that someone knew my name, but again, it didn't seem important enough to worry about. Certainly not important enough to stop me from going to sleep....


Next thing i remember with any clarity was waking up in a strange bed. I tried opening my eyes, but things were still a blur. As i sat up, i was able to make out a figure sitting in the corner. A figure that gradually came into focus. As i recognised the face, i was surprised to see tears in her eyes. It was K.

[Colossus24]

wow

[Scruffie]

Kick arse stuff there mate. Keep the posts a-coming.

[RAMORE]

More i need more!!!! This series is great i have so many questions i want answered keep writing. A few points, maybe he should have a more formal costume and when he beats the man in white a better codename.
Love this so far keep it up post soon, post often.

Ramore

[i'm Spider-Man]

i've loved this story from the start, i prey it continues!

[Rambo, John J]

9th October 2003

I'm....confused.

And its not just the concussion from my fall two weeks ago(although i have been getting frequent headaches since then) its....well.... its K to be honest. She knows. Everything.

She knows everything about me, about what i do, and what i have been doing, and that was before she was decent enough to rescue my sorry arse two weeks ago.

I woke up in her bed two weeks ago to find her crying. Not just crying, but sobbing and sniffling as if i'd died. When i woke up, i was, frankly, stunned to see her. I remember when i used to go out and get drunk. Not just drunk, but absolutely ****-faced, rat-arsed, i'm talking two bottles of buckfast, five pints of stella, and three or four irish mists to top things off nicely,paralytically drunk here. The state of drunkenness that most people don't even come close to being aware of (unless you live in Ireland where it seems to be a national sport). The kind of drunk where, having been able to pull an absolute stunner (somehow) you wake up the next morning to find that the mystery taxi has replaced her with a swamp donkey. I remember being that drunk, and looking upon said donkey the next morning with a bemused expression upon your face. Bemusement which turns to horror as you realise that, in all liklihood, one or more of your mates will have seen you go home with the donkey.

I'm rambling, i told you i was confused. The point i'm failing to arrive at is that when i woke up in K's bed, i felt something akin to this type of horror. The kind of horror you feel when when you know deep down that you've ****ed up good and proper. However, it took one look at her for my horror to fade. She was crying. When i sat up, and she looked at me, she rushed over to me, hugged me and cried even harder. Ignoring the throbbing of my head, i hugged her back and started to cry as well. I couldn't help it. Then, all of a sudden, i just... started to tell her. Everything. Who i really was, what i did, how long i'd been doing it, everything. Heh, i'm thinking of that scene in the Goonies, where Chunk is told to spill his guts, tell the guys everything. So he does. Thats pretty much what i did. Everything. The Milkybar Man, what he had done. And my guilt. As i continued, both of us absolutely dripping with tears, i became aware that she was shaking her head and shushing me. I wound to a halt, and looked at her expectantly. Through more tears, she haltingly (and i do mean haltingly - it took her about five minutes to get out two words) told me 'I know'.

She told me that she had, perhaps not known, but had suspected ever since she fell against me outside the lift and i had recoiled. She told me that later that same week when she had watched me save a kid downtown that she knew i wasn't everything i made myself out to be. I wasn't the person i pretended to be in front of others. Or in front of her.

Although we had become friends of a sort since then, she had more than a suspicion about me, and had begun to follow me at night. I wasn't even aware of this, but K told me that, no matter where i go during the night, no matter where i patrol, i always start off from almost the same point. She told me how she began following me, each night, keeping well behind and out of sight; of how she stumbled across me during one of my patrols by accident and had followed me all that night, keeping tabs on where i went, what times etc. until she had a practically complete dossier on me.

As she explained all this to me, i felt...incredulous would be an understatement, but its the only adjective that comes even remotely close to approaching the right ball park. I began to ask 'How...?'

'Did i follow you?' She finished my question. 'How could i have kept up with the Man in Black each night?...' I nodded dumbly, still in a state of utter shellshock.

Suddenly she jumped back from the bed, back-flipping in mid-air and landed with precison on the chair she had been sitting on. She bent down, gripped the sides of the chair and with incredible grace, elevated herself into a perfectly balanced vertical handstand. Then she flipped forward and landed right in front of me. I say me, but what i really mean is my tongue, because my slack jaw had allowed it to unfurl along the floor. I gaped, speechless.

'...fifteen years of gymnastics and athletics training is how.' She finished, panting slightly.

If it was possible, my jaw dropped a little lower. She gave a shy smile and looked away. After a short silence (not awkward or uncomfortable, just... a silence) she came over and sat beside me.

'So....what now?'

I sat up, my headache returning with a vengeance and turned to get my clothes.
'Now, i go home, and explain to my parents where i was last night.'

'And where were you?' she asked quietly.

'I.....' I trailed off. I didn't know what i was going to say to my folks. Imagine, teenage superhero, and i still get hassle for coming in late.

'I lie to them' I replied softly. 'I lie to them constantly. I lie to everyone. My whole life is one big fake.'

K took my hand. 'You don't have to lie to me. Not anymore.' She started to cry again. I leaned over and hugged her trying not to cry myself, then got my clothes and began to get dressed. While doing so it dawned on me.....'You took my clothes off!?'

She gave a small, sad smile and looked away again, 'I thought you were going to die. I....brought you here...and I thought... I thought you were going to die.....' She buried her head in her hands and began crying in earnest. I went over to her and sat beside her on the bed and put my arm around her, hugging her close. As sobs wracked her body, she began to shake, and i tried to make light of things 'You know, if you wanted to get me into bed, you just had to ask.'

She laughed at that. A small laugh granted, but a laugh nonetheless, and gradually the tears stopped.

I finished getting dressed and got ready to go. Before i left, she put a hand on my arm. 'Are you going out tonight?' I looked around her room, noticing the small things. A winnie-the-pooh bear occupied the other side of the bed i'd been lying on. CD's were scattered on the floor, some dance, some classical, pop, rock, an eclectic mix; clothes were strewn all over the room, as though taken off and discarded randomly. I looked at the her dressing caninet and in the mirror. I looked like ****. Even more so than usual.

I shook my head, 'I don't think so. I need time to heal.'

She nodded. 'Good.' And again quieter (yet more defiantly) 'Good'


That was two weeks ago, and like i said, i'm confused. I thought i was doing a real good job keeping the secret part of my life a ...well...secret, but i've begun to think, if K was able to put two and two together, if she was able to tail me at nights undetected, how difficult would it be for someone else to do the same?

Now i'm not just confused, i'm.....worried.

[Rambo, John J]

19th October 2003


My head hurts.

Its been hurting constantly on and off for the past three weeks. Sometimes, at work, i'd be working at my computer - (i got a new job, i'd forgotten to mention that the last time, then again, i have been.... preoccupied) - and all of a sudden i'd just.... my head would burst with pain. And not a localised sort of pain either, i mean a real, paralysing migraine. And i've never gotten migraines before. Even now, i can feel the dull, constant ache at the base of my skull. An ache which swells every now and again, consuming my entire cranium until i almost feel like crying out. I've never felt this sort of pain before. And thats saying something.

Regardless, i've been going out as usual, still looking for the MM. Or to be more precise, making sure i'm not ambushed again. To be honest, i'm afraid.

I don't want to meet this person. Ever. He/she got one over on me so easily, i feel as though they're simply playing a game with me, biding their time. I remembered something else too, from when i was pushed. I remembered hearing talking just before i blacked out. It was K, but before she arrived, i also heard a vioce whispering down from the rooftop, 'I see you got my message. I'll be seeing you...'

Funny, i didn't remember that at all, wasn't even aware that i'd forgotten it til i woke up the other night, drenched in sweat. I'd been having a nightmare. I don't recall what about, but it was.... intense, and scary as hell, and when i woke up, i remembered the whisper.

If there is one bright aspect of all this, its that the MM, having gotten his/her message across, has stopped attacking innocent people. There's an almost...personal aspect to this now. When we meet again (and, Christ, i know it's only a matter of time, regardless of how afraid i am, or how much i don't want it to happen) i imagine it to be something akin to a final showdown of sorts. A deserted, windswept street, thunderstorm, rain etc. It'll start off like that scene in Heat, where they talk to each other in the cafe, polite, civil, but when the fighting starts, its gonna be an almighty ****storm.

And i don't know if i can win. Psychologically, i'm half beaten. I'm scared, panicky, and at my wits end. Most of my patrolling these nights consists of me looking over my shoulder every three steps. I was beaten the other night. Beaten by three low-life street thugs. Scum that i can take out with one punch between them, and they beat me. Because i couldn't concentrate. Because i was afraid. The couple i was trying to rescue escaped anyway, then i beat a hasty retreat to jeers and catcalls.

I have to find the MM. And beat him.

[Rambo, John J]

27th October 2003

It ends tonight.

I was patrolling last night. Again, not really focussed on what i was doing, i've been so wrapped up in what passes for my life. If you could call what i do a 'life'. I call it a nightmare.

K told me that whenever i start patrolling, i start off from the same point, and on reflection i have to concede that for the majority of times, she is correct. I might not start in the exact same spot each night, but its near enough as to make no odds. I start at the corner of Park Street and Sandy Avenue.

Where i began. Where i was created.

Sounds weird as hell saying that, but its true. I was nothing before that first night. My life was going to waste, i was just another one of thousands of generation X'ers (or am i generation 'Y'?') who do little or nothing to contribute to society.

I suppose on some level of conciousness i'd always known that I started off at the same point ( i have to consider that perhaps this habit was bourne out of a concious decision on my part at one stage) however, since K told me what would have been immediately obvious to any external observer, i'd been avoiding the place like the plague. I'd gone out of my way to start at differing and varying points each night, (although i always wound up patrolling the same part of town anyway).

I went there last night.... i don't know why exactly, it just felt like the thing to do. I walked to the corner of the two streets and stood there, lost in memory. This was where it all started. I stood there, just......staring at the hedge, the lamp-post, the wall..... I closed my eyes, envisioning the events of the previous year. Then i heard him.

'The prodigal son returns at last, eh?'

I turned round, slowly. I should have been surprised, shocked, even. But all i felt was cold. As I turned to face the voice, my eyes still closed, he spoke again, and as he did, i noticed everything about the voice. It was deep. Deep and throaty, like a person whos been smoking cigarettes for x amount of years. It was not unlike the voice of the architect from the Matrix. Deep, precise; almost pleasant in it's quiet, studied, authoritative pronunciation of each word, 'You haven't been here in a while. I thought i was going to have to start sending you messages again.' There was a hint of a veiled threat in his tone. I bunched my fists, and, my eyes still closed, stepped forward.

'Stop' he said. 'This isn't the right time.' If it was possible, his voice lowered. 'This isn't your time. 'Same time. Here. Tomorrow night.' Cautiously, I opened my eyes, but there was no-one there.

So, tonight this comes to an end. Some part of me is aware that i could very well end up being killed, while another part refuses point blank to accept that any of this is happening. Heh, even thinking about this, i'm amazingly calm. I should be terrified (and a part of me is) but for all intents and purposes, i'm totally, utterly calm. Almost zen-like. Perhaps because i know that, one way or another, this will end tonight. And, either way, i'm glad.

[Rambo, John J]

28oct 200321

he.. its done. ow..

[Scruffie]

Well that gives the ending away. :p

[Rambo, John J]

2nd November 2003

Heh..... I'm having a rare moment of lucidity at the moment, so i'll keep this brief. Currently, i'm in hospital using one of the internet phone booths in the foyer. My injuries are thus:

Broken wrist: Check.

Dislocated ankle: Check

Broken Clavical: Check

Three cracked ribs: Check

Fractured metacarpels (both hands): Check

Surprisingly, my head got of quite lightly with only a mild concussion. The reason i'm having so much difficulty string two words together at the minute is a result of the drugs they have me on. Painkillers, antibiotics, etc.(and i'm pretty sure they have me on laughing gas or morphine, cause at the minute, everything is hilarious to me. Christ, i'm giggling my head off here, and i can't help it.)

I'll be caught any minute now and sent back to bed. A far as the doctors are concerned, i shouldn't even be sitting up in bed, much less walking around (albeit with crutches) but i have to write this down while its still (relatively) fresh in my head.

I won. I think.

Heh, i'm really having difficulty getting things straight here. I have these.... images in my head. Images, flashbacks, of what happened last Monday, and to be honest, i'm not sure if they're correct or if i'm just imagining them. I remember going to the meeting place and confronting the MM. He was just standing there, leaning (if you can beleive it) on a white walking cane, not a care in the world. He turned as i approached and raised his hand, almost by way of greeting. I looked at his face for the first time. It could have been anybody. It was an older man, about mid-thirties with tall, yet slight build, making him appear quite thin. I stared at the face, memorising every wrinkle, every freckle. There was nothing to mark this man out as a killer. Nothing to distinguish him from every other thirty five year old man in Belfast. It struck me then just how... how ordinary he appeared. This was someone's father; someones brother. Was he married? More than likely i suspected.

We stood there, sizing each other up. I glowering at him. Him with a look of almost apologetic politeness on his face. He feigned a look of hurt, then grinned evilly. Tom Cruise has nothing on this guy when it comes to ear to ear grins. 'Surprised?' he cocked an eyebrow. 'You must have thought i'd be a real evil looking sonofa*****.' If possible, his grin widened as his calculating eyes searched my face. His face bore an expression of deep satisfaction. 'You did. I'm so glad. Don't know why i am really, but then, there you have it.'

I glared at him, 'Lets just finish this.'

He looked momentarily surprised, then, again faked a look of hurt. 'Don't you want to know why?'

Truth be told, although the question had crossed my mind; at that very moment, i didn't care how or why he had done the things he did. I just wanted this over with. So I said nothing.

He continued ' Of course you do. Don't they all?' He rocked to and fro, balancing himself with the cane, the way kids do, 'There's no big mystery really, i just.... felt like it, you know?' I looked at him carefully, and something in my expression must have struck him as funny. He giggled madly 'You were expecting some grandiose reason? My father abused me as a child? I hate young people? I'm so sick of this world and its wicked ways, perhaps?' He shook his head. 'Absolutely not! I killed those young men because, honestly, i got pleasure - a lot of pleasure out of doing so. It gave me even more pleasure to be able to set myself up as an opposite to you...' He nodded in thanks, ' so for that i thank you.' He giggled again, 'That really must have frustrated you.'

I said nothing, but all the while, a growing sense of panic was beginning to grow upon me. In truth, i had expected some sort of bizzare reason for his deeds. I had thought perhaps something had driven him off the edge, a la the killing joke, but his words, and the calm, rational manner in which he stated them scared seven shades of ****e out of me.

'All in all, its been a good year, but now, i feel its time for me to try something else, hence...this. Our meeting.' He stopped rocking and bent over slightly. 'I'm offering you a deal. You can fight me now, and if you win, you can cart me off to the police where i'll confess to everything. Or....' He raised an eyebrow, 'You can turn around, walk away, and let me go. In any event, i'm finished with the killing, so, either way, you win.' He cocked his head, considered, 'If you win against me of course.'

He looked at me expectantly, 'Well?' His voice became overly friendly 'Whatd'ya say?'

Heh, funny how people always talk about those moments that seem to stretch on forever, well, thats the way those few seconds seemed to me as i considered his offer. Either way, he was finished killing, so i could let him walk away. It was his slight chuckle that sold the deal for me. There was something so...so inherently evil about it that i decided no way was i going to let him walk away from what he'd done. I launched myself furiously at him, trying to take him out quickly, but, in one fluid motion, he stepped out of the way and gave me a gentle nudge, sending me tripping over the cane. 'You've decided to fight?' He inclined his head slightly, 'I'm so glad.'

Its right about now that things are a bit of a muddle. All i remember properly is getting my wrist broken, and that was a result of his can being made of solid steel and being wielded like a sword. That's actually one of the things i do remember with any degree of clarity. The sudden, sharp pain, and the crack as the bone snapped. In fact, now that i think about it, i suspect that most of my injuries are a result of his expertise with the cane. I remember how quick he was with it, as though he'd been training as a swordsman. After a few sharp knocks, i realised that i might well, in all probability, lose the fight. I didn't care, i just wanted it finished.

The end, when it happened, was incredibly quick (not to mention incredibly lucky, and technically very simple). He lunged for me with his cane, trying to ( I think) impale me on it, and i was able (despite my injuries) lock my right foot behind his, then stepping into his stance and bringing him down hard. His head cracked off the ground, and he stopped moving altogether.

I sank to the ground beside him, panting heavily. When i recollected my wits, i searched his pockets for i.d. , but there was nothing. After an eternity, i climbed to my feet and slowly began to hobble away. As i did, the full extent of my injuries became apparent, and, with some reluctance, i decided to go to K's as her house was pretty much round the corner. Just before i got there, i called the police from a phone booth, 'Police' I told the operator, 'Corner of Park Street and Sandy Avenue.' Then i hung up and crawled (literally) the last few hundred metres to K's house. I collapsed at the front door, and it was only then that i began to shake with relief. It was over. Tears came out of my eyes, thank God it was over! I allowed myself a few minutes of respite, letting myself get used to the idea that my nightmare was over. I closed my eyes and lowered my head in relief, hardly daring to beleive it. I rapped the door, then, sank on the ground, completely and utterly exhausted. Next thing i knew, i was in hospital.

Speaking of which, i see the doctor coming to get me, so i'll have to go. But my nightmare is over. The MM has been arrested and has confessed to the murders. His defeat has been hailed as the Man in Blacks' greatest victory so far, and at the moment, i haven't a care in the world, except of course the fact that my folks have decided to - once i'm better - kick me out of the house. My increasingly volatile behaviour has them convinced that i'm a ticking time bomb, just waiting to go off. I can handle it though, a small, domestic problem like this i can handle with no worries at all and a smile on my face.

After all, i'm a superhero.

[BigMike06]

I know I may be retarded but is this for real? It's awesome either way...good job. But did you really do that? :confused:
wow :eek:

[BigMike06]

???????????????????

[XWFalcon]

I dont really think he did. Its just the way he went about writing it that gave it such a personal feel to it. Putting addittions and marking them the same day that he added them, made it feel like it was actually happening.

[Rambo, John J]

12 August 2004

About three quarters of a year ago, I fought a battle against a madman. A person whom (for reasons known only to himself) decided to set himself up as an antithesis to me. An opposite.

I fought him, and beat him, but at a substantial cost to myself. I had broken bones, and a shattered will. My search to find and beat this person wore me down both physically and mentally.

During my stay in the hospital, I began to have recurring nightmares, panic attacks and fits of unstoppable trembling on occasion. In addition to this, I spent a lot of my time in hospital alone - i'd successfully alienated most of my friends and family (apart from K) - and I sank deeper into lethargy, irritability, and anger.

For a time I hated everything and everyone. The slightest noise or disturbance enraged me and I became even more reclusive, snappish and troublesome. I was also afraid. And it was a deathly, irrational, unfounded fear. I was afraid of the neighbours dog, of the kids playing on the street, I was afraid to talk to people, so I masked the fear with an outward attitude of contempt and yet more anger. Everything scared me. And everything angered me. I spent most of my time training and patrolling, then this gradually shifted until I just trained constantly, seeking an outlet for my hatred. But it just got worse.

It wasn't until the end of January that I decided needed help. I went to my local GP who then referred me to a specialist who diagnosed me with clinical depression. If anything, the diagnosis only increased my downward spiral and, for a time, my life was a living hell. I had no inclination to do anything apart from train. I worked out with a constantness and an insane singlemindedness that surprised even me, and I interacted with others as little as possible and, although my parents and family tried to help me through the depression, I resented them for it. At the time, I didn't know where all this anger and hatred had been coming from, but in retrospect, its clear that it had been building for a long time.

The worst thing about depression is a persistent feeling of emptiness. As though you're just an empty shell with no real feelings or emotions. The only real feelings I had were those of anger and fear. I would lie awake at night, staring at the ceiling and become afraid for no rational reason. I felt worthless, guilty and terrified. I also experienced night-terrors with an alarming frequency, which only exacerbated my delicate state.

Then one night (quite recently) something happened. I'd just had a panic attack and was crouched on the bed, wishing that everything would just end, that I could die so that the misery, the constant anger and fear would just cease. I was at my lowest ebb mentally, when a voice inside me said

''This is it. This is as low as you can go, there isn't anything left. You can't sink any lower, you can't feel any worse than you do now.''

I listened to the voice, and realised it was right. I couldn't go any lower. I'd plumbed the depths of my own being, my own ego, and at the bottom, I found myself asking ''Whats the worst that can happen? You've come down this far, at least now the only way to go is up.''

With that revelation, I fell into a deep slumber and awoke the next morning feeling refreshed and, amazingly, not as bad. That was the turning point.

I began to accept others' help and I began to fight against the depression. It's been an uphill struggle, but it turned out to be easier once i'd started and gotten some momentum of recovery going.

I still have bouts of melancholy, but I suspect that i am, by nature, quite a melancholic person anyway, so it doesn't bother me too much. I've looked into my soul and seen my inner demons. I haven't beaten them, but rather, i've accepted them for what they are - a part of me.

I'm going patrolling tonight. It's been so long, I hardly know what to do, but i'm eager to teach myself, and to learn.

[Nightdevil]

:eek: It begins again!

[superman_blaze]

dude i just read all the pages there now, and i dont want it to end, keep it up , cant wait to see what happens next :up:

[Démon]

Awesome. And very realistic. I could actually see myself or another real person doing that kind of thing. I like that it's set in Ireland too, because it's small-town, and I'm predominantly Irish (Though I've never been to Ireland).

[Scruffie]

Yeah! It returns!

This was seriously some of the best fiction I remember reading around here. It's the only reason I'm coming back now...

[TheTexican]

I just finished reading this thread and I have to say that this is possibly the best original superhero story I have ever read!

Keep it up!

[NZ-Spider]

Magnificent story!!!! :D Well done and please keep writing and adding to the story!!!!!:D

[TheTexican]

More! or if it's done, at least make a sequel/prequel.

[Rambo, John J]

27th August 2004

I've said it before, and I know i'll say it again, but i'd forgotten how much I love doing this.

I'm a little busy right now, so i'll not get into specifics, but i've been averaging about 6 or 7 'assists' per night. They've generally involved very little more than me bringing down those who would attempt to harm others, quickly, efficiently and anonymously.

Unfortunately, my return has sparked a bit of interest in the media again with news stories of my 'return from retirement' and my 'war on crime' (I **** you not - that's the headline they used).

Its strange how i've become something of a celebrity without no-one knowing who i am. I've seen it before, but i've never appreciated just how much the media will take advantage of any situation to sell papers or airtime or whatever.

The Irish News now run a daily column on my exploits. This in itself doesn't bother me. What does is the whole myth they (and the media at large) have created around me. This icon, this idol - this 'Man in Black'. I don't know who they're talking about.

Man in Black - Type 1:

According to the media, I must be in my mid thirties with no responsibilities and no ties. I'm rich as well. Apparently. I drive around in my car at night and stop at the scene of a crime and save whoever's in trouble before carrying on my merry way. I sleep during the day in my large studio apartment, (only partly true - if i'm lucky, I may catch a few z's in the morning before work) and at night I wine and dine a string of models attracted to my charismatic charm and dashing good looks before changing into my uniform and battling the 'forces of evil that run rampant and wallow in the social malaise that pervades our society' (again, their words, not mine).


Man in Black - Type 2: (Some smaller papers also try to drag me through the mill. Think Daily Bugle, only without the influence and coverage)

I'm actually a sad, lonely loser with no life - (Again only partly true) - who only rescues damsels in distress for the sole purpose of having them fall for my brave heroic deeds so that i might have my wicked way with them. In fact, a source close to the paper reliably informs them that many, if not all of the incidents are set ups, and that, after the Man in Black saves the day, the would be victims are invited back to his house whereupon the would be assailants arrive soon after.

All in all, I think I prefer scenario 1, but the truth is, neither of these types are me. I'm just a normal guy. With an abnormal life. But I like it. And I think i'm finally starting to accept it. i still have... certain issues....with what i do - and how it affects my life - but for the moment, i'm content.

[NZ-Spider]

Yes!!! Keep adding to this my friend its a fantastic story so keep it up!!!!!!!!:D

[Rambo, John J]

31st August 2004


'So what else is different with me' ? I hear you cry. Well, true to their word, my folks gave me the old heave ho shortly after I got out of hospital. Of course - once they heard I'd been diagnosed with depression, they asked me to come back, all is forgiven, that sort of thing. But I didn't. As I said, I was too full of resentment at the time to go back. Even though i'm getting better now, I've decided to stay where I am at the moment, which is in a small two bedroom flat with my brother on the Lisburn Road. This is handy for me for two reasons. Firstly, i'm closer to my main patrol routes, and secondly, I no longer have to cover my ass with excuses about where i've been and with whom. Its common for us not to see each other at all for a few days, if not a week, at a stretch. No questions, and no hassle.

As for K. Well, thats a bit more complicated. I don't know what happened exactly, nor when exactly it happened, but somehow we just ended up....drifting apart, I guess. We were never an item - although that looked to be on the cards at one point.

During my illness, she was pretty much the only person I could stand to be around for any length of time. But then.... I dunno....we just began talking less and for some reason I refused to confide in her as much. After a while, we stopped calling each other and now, we speak about once a month, if that. She's actually from Norway, and at the minute, she's over there visiting relatives. Last time I spoke to her, she said she wasn't sure if she was coming back or not and I didn't feel....anything. Do I love her? I suspect on some level, yes, but not romantic love, not real love. But her announcement that she might not be returning didn't really affect me at all. I did receive a text message from her the other day though. It said 'I'm drunk! I really miss everything back home. I miss...' And then it just cut off.

I should call her.

[superman_blaze]

yeaaaaaaaaa more WOOOO!!! call her :)

[Rambo, John J]

5th November 2004

What is a good person?

That is, what is it about a person that makes another person think to themselves ‘That is good person.’ Or a bad person for that matter. Lately, I’ve had cause to wonder - while I do good things and help other people, I have a belief that, despite these things, I am not an inherently good person.

Consider – A good person doesn’t stop to think or act before helping others, they just do what they do. It’s their nature.

I’ve found myself sometimes; say for example, while walking through town, or going to work, or on the bus, observing a person in some sort of difficulty. Maybe they’re having trouble wrestling the pram onto the bus, or through the door of Boots. Perhaps they’ve tripped and fallen over, mayhap the bottom of their grocery bag has fallen out and their shopping now adorns the pavement. These things happen all the time, and while I help, it takes me a moment to actually recognise that:

A: A person is in difficulty
B: They need help
C: I can help them with no cost to myself

Essentially, what I’m saying is that while I do help, it’s become more and more apparent to me that it’s not part of my inherent nature. There’s an actual thought process involved, a conscious decision. In saying all this, bear in mind; I’m not talking about my nocturnal activities. In that, there must always be thought and planning involved in any situation I involve myself in. No, here, I’m talking about the little day-to-day niceties that so many of us just ignore or deign to remember. I ask myself, if I really was a fundamentally good person, then shouldn’t there be no thought at all? Shouldn’t I just do what I do without needing to decide?

Maybe I’m overanalyzing, but, given the above, does that mean that my other life; my secret life; is a sham? A masquerade? Am I just kidding myself by becoming the Man in Black? Pretending to be a good person while in reality being selfish, self-absorbed, self-involved and otherwise too preoccupied with myself to give much of a **** about anyone else.

In thinking about it, I think this is an even more accurate description of myself than I’d thought. I help others at night, granted, but at the same time, I take pleasure in it. I don’t help purely for the sake of helping, at least, I don’t think I do. I always have something to gain by my involvement. Either an increase in positive public profile, taking out my (ever increasing) anger on a perp, or even just a simple ego boost, I always have some other motivation than a pure desire to help.

This doesn’t mean I’m going to stop doing what I do. I suspect I’m being over-maudlin; it just depresses me slightly that my own nature leans toward indifference rather than an unrelenting desire to do good. Does this make me a hypocrite? Christ, I hope not.

I suppose, (and this is purely to make myself feel slightly better) does it merely come down to choice? Is my choosing to help more indicative of my nature, rather than whatever thought processes are involved?

Not much else has been going on in my life, secret or otherwise. I’ve a new job with the City Council which, although not great, affords me an opportunity to actually influence those in a position to create a better city. During the course of my extra-curricular activities, I’ve grown fond of my city, and plan on doing right by it. Either by influencing those in postions of power or by my other guise. I've continued my patrols and - heh - actually pretty recently came across the same perp about three nights in a row. Poor bastard. Its little coincidences like that which give me hope that there is justice in the world.

My phone was stolen a while ago – from the PEC no less, and, although I memorised her Northern Ireland number, I failed to do so for her Norwegian number, so I’ve no way of getting in touch with K. We’d drifted apart, but were still friends to some degree, and in a way, I miss her.

In my new job, I work mainly with students out on placement year, so they’re constantly partying and drinking. I sit with them at tea time and lunch, but I think they’ve taken to giving me a bit of a cold shoulder as I never go out with them – despite numerous requests – I just have too much on my plate at the minute to even think about going out.

Jesus Christ – I’m like Peter Parker in his first year of college.

[Rambo, John J]

8th November 2004

Jaysis. Was that last entry depressing or what? Ugh, I just...I just wish I was as confident in my life and with myself as I appear to be externally to others. I wish I could be confident that i'm doing the right thing. I wish that I didn't have this constant, nervous feeling that it would only take one minor slip; one very bad day; for me to end up like those I fight. And thats all it is really. I could quite easily become like those I despise the most, all that keeps me on the side of good - or of the white, if you will - is a set of self taught morals and rules. Morals and rules which, given my own nature, aren't that great; aren't that noble; anyway. Morals, rules and values that; the more I consider them; the more they seem to be increasingly laughable in their fragility. Can a person actually change their own inner nature? Is it actually possible?

Its funny, but it was round about this time last year I fought the MM. And in retrospect, i have to concede that I have difficulty beleiving it actually happened. If not for the scars and this diary, I honestly would suspect that it ever happened at all.

Strange. So much of this past year is a blur. An enigma. As though it hasn't really happened at all.

I don't question what I do - at least, not as much as I used to, but more and more i'm beginning to question myself.

[i'm Spider-Man]

Rambo, i love this story and everything about it.

in fact, you've inspired me...

look out for a thread called 'Motive' appearing in a day or two which should interest you...

- ISM

[Alexia Dark]

You should do a blog at Blogspot.com.

[Maxwinner]

Good story Rambo!

[Matthew E]

This is good stuff.

And I echo Webmistress_O4's advice; I posted here (http://www.superherohype.com/forums/showthread.php?t=149411) about doing the same thing.

[Super_Child]

This is the best fan fiction Iv'e ever read, In some aspects your better than Frank Miller, I'm not joking.

[lokifan]

I've noticed you have a habit of leaving for ages. Usually you come back with a whole new thing to talk about and it's really cool. So can you skip right to the cool part? I just read the whole thread in an hour, and I'm getting desperate for something new and cool. It will be on your conscience if I get into 'new, cool' drugs!

[Rambo, John J]

6th January 2005

There are any amount of reasons as to why someone wants to learn to fight. Maybe they want to be able to defend themselves. Maybe they want to be able to get their own back on the school bully. Some want to build a bit of confidence. Others want to lose (or gain) weight. Some want to be able to use their skills to help others.


No matter the discipline, and no matter your reasons for wanting to learn, the process of learning, of increasing your skill, has many long term and short term benefits. As Gichen Funikoshi once said,

"Karate exists for the perfection of the character of its participants."

As experience, skill and proficiency grows, so does the ability to realise that you actually don't need to fight. This is a common school of thought amoung most practitioners and as a self contained 'checks and balance' system, it applies to most people.

Say, for example, you wanted to learn Karate (or any martial art) for the simple purpose of being able to kick the crap out of people. Say you only wanted to learn to enhance your already numerous ways of inflicting misery on others.

This check and balance system suggests that (in an over-simplified way) this won't happen. The maturing effect will kick in and the person wishing to learn for these purposes will change (to put it blithely) their wicked ways and become well-rounded individuals with much to offer society.

Of course there are the people of whom it could be said are the exception which proves the rule.

I encountered such a person last night during patrol. He was good. Fast, agile, smart.

And he was better than me. Thats actually never happened before. Still, I was able to hold my own long enough for the people he was attacking to get away.

But Christ, he was a mean sonofa*****.

[TheReaper]

a new villain? or a rivial hero? Hopefully a new entry will enlighten us!

[lokifan]

ooh, new villian!!!!!!!! tell us more!

[lokifan]

*coughs pointedly* excuse me? HELLOO?

[TheReaper]

This writer is very method Loki. He'll drop in and out just like a "real" superhero would. He treats this as it is actually happening which is a cool concept but is difficult for us fans of the series.

He'll pop in once inawhile and fill us in on what happening, gaps being as large as 4 months or more. Hopefully he pops up with something new sometime soon.

[lokifan]

Thanks. I do get that, but I would just like to say: grrrrrrrrr!

[Rambo, John J]

31st Jan 2005

When i allow myself to think about it, my evening job has become just that - a job. Its routine, it's steady, - i'll not go so far as to say that its boring, but it's a lot less exciting or eventful than the tabloids would have the general populace beleive.

They still have this misconception that i'm a superpowered omnipotent superhero. Heh, christ, The Irish News - one of the 'less tabloidy' papers - even has a running column about my exploits. It used to be mainly fact based. Sort of a 'running tab' on where i'd been, what i'd done, who i'd helped. For a while it was decent, but now the new columnist has decided to take a new angle on it by speculating on my private life, what i do when i'm not saving people from certain death , the whole 'man behind the mask' motif. Incidentally, they're the one of the ones who are staunch supporters of MIB theory one - that i'm a rich, do gooding philanthropist. I wish.

I don't write as much in this diary anymore, the main reason being that i honestly don't really have the time to. The only computer i have access to now is my work computer, and i've been on enough warnings so far for constant 'tardiness';(My bosses word, he's big into his American slang - thinks he's Principal Strickland or something); absenteeism, or looking as though i've gotten my crap kicked in the night before. Which usually I have. Despite my training, when five guys gang up on me, i'm gonna take a few knocks before i take them all out. Heh, I was at the photocopier the other week, sporting a black eye and looking dishevelled in general (more on that later). one of the courier guys comes over to me and asks conspiratorially, 'Hey, Marty, are you, like, in a fight club or something?'

I was feeling like absolute ****e, so i just gave him a look, to which his eyes widened and he responded, 'Jesus! Can i join? I know i'm fat and all, but i'd be really good at it, i promise!'

I just shook my head and walked out. So now i've got the guys thinking that i'm in an underground fight club which I find ironic and slightly amusing, but its more of a hassle than anything.

I also use the computer in work to access various newsites from around the world - keep up with things, you know? So i've been reprimanded about 'improper usage of internet' and 'abuse of the employer/employee trust relationship.' Jesus.

Like i said, what i do has now become something akin to a job, and like most jobs, there are days when i just don't really feel like going to work.

Ideally, I get up about half six or thereabouts. I generally wake up round about this time, I get up, have a shower, shave, dress; (you have no idea of how much i'm tempted to launch into a Patrick Bateman 'morning routine' speech); have some breakfast then get the bus or train to work for about half 8.

Thats ideally. For me however, most days are anything but ideal. If i'm lucky, i'll get a few hours sleep between 3 and 7. Usually this turns into a 4-8/9 depending on the day and how tired i am. If i get up later at 9, I rush to have a quick shower and get my clothes on and my stuff together before running for the bus. Shave? Forget it. Breakfast? Yeah, right. I might make it in for about half 9, by which time i'm in trouble anyway. Ironically, Monday night/ Tuesday Morning is my favorite time of the week. Monday night for most clubs in Belfast is gay night, and as such, there's not usually much happening.

I'll make it in for about half nine, and as i slope towards my desk, my boss will look up from his cubicle and glower at me silently. Usually i look like crap. Unironed shirt, scuffed shoes, hair an absolute mess. If i've not had time to shave well... lets just say i have more than my fair share of beard growth. Five o clock shadow? I don't even make it til midday.

After work, I go to training. Gym, Ju-jitsu, rock-climbing, circuits, it doesn't really matter, none of them finish til about half 7 at the earliest anyway. I'll grab a quick snack before heading home to change into my uniform (I still abhor the fact that some papers refer to it as a costume). This time of year its dark at this time, but nothing much happens til the clubs close. I usually head out anyway, there's always something somewhere. Later in the year, when the evenings are lighter, i'll be able to grab a quick power nap between 8 and 11. If i'm lucky. I head out on my patrols, live my life as a derring-do hero and try to get back to bed for about 3/4.

So there we have it. My daily routine in a nutshell. Social life? What social life? I often wonder what it is my friends think i get up to as i'm constantly having to blow them out.

For all that though, and despite how I sound, I do love my job. Every day i actually do what others only think about. I can, and do, make a difference, and i think in the end you can't really ask for much more.

[TheReaper]

What about K? What about that new villain?

[Rambo, John J]

11th Feb 2005

I'm seeing a pattern in how I write. When something happens, depending on how it makes me feel, i'll either write about it straight away, or i'll avoid the issue. Psyche 101 - something happens you don't like, you generally prefer to not think about it. Even when you know it can't be avoided, even when you know you have to confront the subject sooner or later, most people just don't want to know. Myself included. Despite my training, despite the fact that i should - that i do - know better, i just want to bury me head in the sand and forget about it.

Over a month ago I encountered a guy beating on a couple out for the night. He had the girl by the arm with one hand and the guy by the throat with the other. He didn't harm them too much, but the girl was screaming bloody murder. The guy, choking, was trying to punch the attacker, but the attacker just shrugged them off like they were nothing.

I knew i was in trouble when, even as i approached him from behind, he let go of the two simultaneously and shot a devastating lick to my left thigh. It was so fast, i didn't even see it coming. I've had (in my opinion) fairly extensive training. I'm pretty good at fighting, at self defense; without blowing my own horn, i'm well above average.

But that kick! Christ! It downed me good and proper. I sank down on one knee (marriage police, anyone) and was able to parry a few of his kicks and blows, but most got through and so it was that i got seven shades of **** kicked out of me. The couple ran away, while i continued to put up my futile attempt at resistance, then, without any warning, the guy just stopped. He just...stopped. He looked at me, considered, then said in a curiously amenable voice, 'Not bad.' Then he walked away. No, not walked, ambled.

In retrospect, the entire experience wasn't that traumatic, nor the guy that much of a jerk, he was just better than me. At the time, i was more pissed that i'd lost than anything.

I've seen this guy a few times since then, each time the same sort of scenario, and i've attacked him and gotten my ass kicked. Each time, the people he's attacking have gotten away with no lasting damage and each time, having resoundingly kicked my ass he's uttered something like, 'Pretty good', or, 'You're getting better'.

You'd think i would feel patronised, but i actually feel like i'm learning, like i am getting better. There's something....noble about the guy. Despite attacking people to get to me.

In consideration, I think it's his voice that makes me feel like that. It's the kind of voice you'd attribute to a mentor, a close friend. It's the kind of voice you can't help but liking in its hearty richness.

And i'm beginning to look forward to encountering him again.

I'm being prepped for something, that much is obvious, but for whom, and for what cause is something the guy has yet to explain.

[Super_Child]

Find him and Kick his ASS!!!

[Nightdevil]

Maybe the MiB has found a new mentor?

[lokifan]

huh. somebody needs to explain to mentor-man that you don't attack people and wait for the superheroes to come out of the woodwork; if he wants to help MiB train he's not going about it that nicely. Next time he turns up, try asking him what the hell's going on BEFORE he gets round to kicking the **** out of you.

[Scruffie]

Wow, this is so wasy to get caught up in... You almost believe it's real... but is it? (OooOOooo)

I love every word, keep it up.

[lokifan]

It's been nearly 2 months. I'm getting impatient again!

[Rambo, John J]

27 April 2005

Ugh, been a while again. Big time superhero (with groupies to boot - seriously) and I can't even afford a personal computer and/or an internet connection. So I update this when i get a moment in work, which recently, hasn't been that often. At the minute, i'm just utterly exhausted. On average I patrol 6 nights a week til about 3 or 4 in the morning. Then i have to come in here to stare at a computer all day. That's when i'm not answering phones, or taking notes in meetings, or generally being the office *****.

Of course, last night was just the icing on the cake. I'd finished climbing in the P.E.C and having stashed my gear, i'd gone on patrol straight away. Tuesday night is s.h.a.g. in the Limelight and is generally full of punk/arty/grunge students and generally isn't much of a hassle. Last night though, some disgruntled skateboarder took a dislike to the guy his ex was going to bring home and, in what i would call a bit of an over-reaction, tried to stab the poor sod. It's thinking like that i just can't (or perhaps won't - maybe i am just a cold fish) understand. I mean,

A) Its only a girl- in a veritable sea of many others and;

B) She wasn't that great looking.

I shouldn't judge things like that, but i just get...ugh, just annoyed at the fact that people let these little things drive them to do stupid things. So your ex (whom you dumped by the way) is gonna shag another guy, so what? There are, as the man said, more important things in life.

So I 'intervened' while the growing crowd just decided to take a back seat and watch the show. Nice one folks, hopefully when you're about to get run through by a vertically challenged skateboarder packing - what can only be described as a miniature machete - the gathering crowd that day won't play the role of passive observer as convincingly as yourselves. I intervened, but the guy with the knife had by this point worked himself into a bit of a tizzy and was swiping at everything and anyone who came near him. Unfortunately for me, I was closest, and despite reasonably good reflexes (i'm being modest) he cut me pretty deep across the chest. From the left shoulder across and down slightly. Right across the - and i apologise for the crudity - across the nipple.

You'd think by now i've gotten used to the whole pain aspect of what i do, and i suppose to some extent i have, but let me assure in no uncertain terms, having your nipple sliced in half is not; despite what many bondage/S&M afficionado's maintain; in any way, shape or form pleasurable. It's hell. It was hell yesterday when it happened, it's hell now every time my shirt brushes against the plaster. Add to this the little bit of salt in the wound of sword-boy, having been disarmed by me, landing a lucky punch right in my right eye socket.

I stumbled into work this morning about ten past ten, wincing with each step, sporting a real shiner, and seemingly grasping my right breast with every step. My boss looked up, glowered slightly amidst the just barely audible snickers' of my other collegues, one of whom hissed, 'Morning Marty! Fight club last night again, aye?'

Crap, i have to go again, would you beleive i have training? I've more (lots more) to talk about, hopefully i'll get it down tomorrow or the next day.

[Herr Logan]

I didn't see this thread until I clicked on your signature link today, Rambo. I really, really like it. There are a few elements that are similar to a character for whom I've been trying to write a coherent and complete story for years, in terms of the depression and the feelings he gets when confronted with rapists. Keep it up, man. :up:

:wolverine

[Rambo, John J]

5th May 2005

So much for the next day. What i wanted to talk about last week was my last encounter with the gentleman who appeared to have a vested interest in my training.

We'd been (or certainly, i'd been) carrying on the charade of 'running into him' while out on patrol, we'd fight, i'd get a few licks in, but mostly he handed me my ass on a platter. That was until round about mid March. One night while sparring, I suddenly found myself in the unlikely position of defeating the guy. And it wasn't simply a case of holding my own. For whatever reason, I, for a change, was kicking his ass.

Thats generally typical for me when it comes to learning. For a while, i'll make no improvement, or certainly, appear to have made no improvements, then almost literally overnight, i'll have assimilated everything in one go.


I was kicking his ass, and more tellingly, I wasn't having too hard of a time doing it. For a moment, it was almost like the final scene in the Matrix, where Keanu comes back to life. Heh, then, when the gentleman realised that I had progressed significantly, the scene segued into that of the one in The Princess Bride where Inigo Montoya and the Man in Black fight atop the Cliffs of Insanity.

'I'm not left handed.'

'I'm not left handed either.'

Basically, he upped his game. He'd been holding back all along, and I can only imagine how that had been frustrating him for the past month and a half. He beat me decisively and called a halt, 'until our next encounter, Man in Black.'


With my plateau of non-advancement having been breached, i finally began to make daily improvements in my fighting technique. I studied, I fought, I improved with an uncanny speed and willingness, hell, I was on fire. I actively began to search him out each night, and he didn't disappoint. Our encounters became more frequent until I sparred with him every night, sometimes more than once. And I was improving. Always improving, looking for weaknesses in his style, reading his movements, thinking ahead, planning for the win.

Many people make the mistake of thinking that fighting is purely physical, that it's simply a case of punch, kick, punch, kick, block; and i suppose to some extent it is. But when you know how to fight, when you know techniques, when you know your opponent, it becomes a more mental game. Oriental masters ascribe it to a dance, a form of art, language in it's most perfect form. I see it as that, but something more, I see the fighting stage as almost a game of chess. You set up your pieces, you manoeuvre your opponent into doing what you want; into a position that you decide, so that they have no option but to surrender or be beaten.

Two weeks ago, I found myself in the same position I had mid-March. I had advanced to a sufficient point where, in order to win, he was going to have to up his game once more. And he couldn't. I had surpassed him. I blocked whatever punches and kicks he delivered, and I battled him down so that he had no choice but to go on the defensive. My fists and legs were a blur, I found myself having to hold back somewhat, I felt nothing when he landed a few lucky blows. Eventually, he fell to his knees, defeated.
I towered over him, he had lost, and I had won. I tried to think of something to say. Something noble, something grandiose, something appropriate to the gravity of the situation; something that would give the victory - my victory - some sort of larger purpose. The vocal equivalent of a 4x4 engraved marble plaque proclaiming for one and all 'On this day, the Man In Black did meet his esteemed opponent on the battlefield, and on said said day, the Man in Black defeated his opponent in a most convincing manner.' I stooped over, grasped the gentleman by his top and pulled back my fist. Think David and Goliath I told myself, Think Roland and Cort. I cleared my throat:

'Do you yield, sir?'

Crap.

He burst out in peals of laughter. Tears streamed down his face, 'Thats it?! Do I yield? Sir?'

'Dammit!' I muttered, more to myself than anything, and let him go. He stood up, dusted himself off and forcibly made himself stop laughing. He opened his mouth, paused. He closed it. He opened it again. Closed it. He opened for a third time and something, something in my expression, my countenance brought forth yet another burst of bellyaching laughter. My left eye involuntarily twitched. Eventually he stopped and said with some mirth,

'Congratulations, Man in Black, you have defeated me.' He paused; added, 'Sir'.

I looked at him, 'So what happens now?'

'What happens now?' He repeated, 'Now, I go to my superiors and inform them that we have yet another potential hostile in the Belfast area.'

I blanched, raised my eyebrows questioningly.

He frowned and continued 'What did you think? That I was training you? That you were going to be indoctrinated into some sort of Justice League?'

I glared at him accusingly, in belated comprehension,

'You did train me', I protested.

'No, I assessed the nature and capability of a potential hostile for my superiors. The thorough way to do that was to bring you to your peak. I did so, job done, mission accomplished.'

He put his hand on my shoulder, 'Look,' he said, and he sounded genuinely regretful, 'I know you think you're doing a good thing, and you are, but human nature being what it is, I - that is my superiors - like to keep tabs on people like you, make sure you don't get too much out of control, make sure you don't become more like those you fight against, you understand? Martin,' I snapped my head up at the mention of my name, he looked directly into my eyes,
'Yes, we know who you are, (we do have our resources) no, we won't divulge it to anyone; at least, not until such times as you become a threat. 'Look, Martin, you of all people should know of the inherent instability of the human psyche, I understand from what i've read of your profile you've walked the razors edge yourself.'

I nodded dumbly, downcast, trying to take in what he was telling me. The fact that he (and presumably others) knew my identity should have come as a shocker, but I just felt numb.
'Incidentally', He added, 'not a bright idea leaving your diary on the internet.' He smiled gently, trying to ease the blow, the letdown.

He squeezed my shoulder and began to walk away,
'Don't take it personally,' he said, 'Keep up the good fight, and after a while, who knows... maybe I'll be back, and maybe you'll be able to do some real good.'


So that's that. My final encounter with my mysterious trainer. I had a bunch of stuff I was going to talk about now. My immediate reaction, my anger, my disappointment. But currently, it's 5:40pm. I've been in from 8 this morning. I got 4 hours sleep last night and i'm knackered. I'll fill you in another time, but right now, what happened doesn't seem so bad. Rather, more a blessing in disguise, did I really see myself as a member of some sort of superhero group? I think not. On the plus side, my mental, physical, and dare i say it spiritual rollercoaster of a journey over the past few months is over and I am, as they say, in the best shape of my life. And that can only be a good thing.

[Conundrum]

Excellent

[lokifan]

Don't stop putting your diary on the Internet, please. That guy was a bit of a sod if you ask me - v. condescending. But great story!!!!!!!!!

P.S. Do you yield, sir?!!! Seriously?

[Rambo, John J]

14th June 2005

I like to think of myself as a rational person. I have an open mind regarding most things, but generally I'm more a pragmatic person than anything. Despite my introspective nature, if something bad happens, it happens. I ascertain the best way to deal with it and I follow through until things are better again. I try not to dwell on the how and why.

Its one of the reasons as to why i also consider myself to be a somewhat cold person, a person who doesn't waste time reflecting on feelings and matters of the heart. I've broken up with previous girlfriends (more accurately they've broken up with me) for this very reason. I'm unromantic, thoughtless, rational, logical. And yet at the same time I can emote with others to a great extent. Such is the dichotomonious nature of my being I suppose.

I've never really went out of my way to make friends with others. I've never really opened up to anyone. I've just never felt any real need to, and as an attitude its suited me fine. I'm introverted by nature, I enjoy my own company, and social interaction - while always a pleasure - has never really seemed like a requirement.

What i'm trying to say is that i'm a loner. I have friends, yes, but for the most part, a total loner. I'm uncomfortable with close relationships with other people because of my inherent nature and as such, for the most part I keep myself closed off, apart, and untouchable. For most of my adult life i've beleived that the only one person anyone can depend on is themselves.

And now i'm well and truly screwed.

Because I think i'm in love.

[Conundrum]

ooooh

[deathfromabove]

more please...:)

[Rambo, John J]

21st June 2005

So what does this mean regarding my other job? Realistically, very little. I hope. I have a constant compulsion to tell this girl everything about me, secrets and all.

We've gone out together a few times, at first just as casual workmates blowing off some steam after work hours. Our first time we went out (and I can actually remember pretty much everything about the night) we went to Aunt Annies - a grungy yet popular - type bar on Dublin Road. We had a few drinks - I stuck to Coke obviously. Heh, she actually pulled me about it.
'How come you don't drink?'
I protested, 'I do drink! Sure you've seen me out with the boys after work totally loaded!'
She looked at me with her incredibly cute little pouty expression (and i never thought I would be the type of guy to describe endearments of others to people) and said, 'Well, you act drunk, i'll give you that.'
I grinned knowingly. 'Ok, you caught me. Can I tell you a secret?'
She nodded.
'The reason I don't drink that much...'
'Ever.'
'Whatever, ...is because I...'
'Yes?'
'...Am training for the Olympics.'

I finished with a resounding broad smile and chuckled. She looked at me curiously, trying to see if I was joking or not. Then she punched me on the arm and smiled herself, 'Liar. I'll find out you know.' She grabbed her drink then we went over to a free table.
'It's true!' I protested, jokingly of course.
She shook her head in mock disappointment, 'I'll just never know when to believe you will I?'

The conversation carried on in that vein for a bit, me with my faux shamefaced attitude and her trying to get me to tell her. Quite good fun if truth be told. I haven't enjoyed a game of mental/ verbal sparring with a woman for quite some time.

We finished up about half 8, (by which time she'd had a few and was slightly tipsy) and walked, no - strolled - up through Queens and Botanic to her house. Then - and i'm truly sorry constant reader, i'm not normally this gushy - we had, as they say in all those romance novels, a 'moment.' I'll not get into specifics, but the word KABLAMMO springs to mind.

By now it was about half 9 (I told you we strolled) and when the point came where it was either a case of 'Do you want to come in?' or 'I'll see you tomorrow.' I was half hoping/ half dreading either one. It turned out to be the latter - and with it a clash of relief and disappointment. I went home, got changed and went out on patrol. Had a great night too, got a round of applause and a proposition from a crowd of girls who were having trouble with a few guys.

So now, here I am in work, trying to actually do work and not think about her and i'm glad when I don't succeed. For the record, I should mention that this is a girl who I met on my first day her almost a year ago and who i thought was cute, and frankly, out of my league, so it's not as though its a case of love at first sight. In fact, in all my time here, I've probably maybe seen her - and that usually just in passing - about once a week, maybe less.

So I should reiterate when I have this compulsion to tell her everything, I actually mean it. One part of me is saying 'No, don't do it! Eejit!' Another part says, 'Go for it me laddo.'

So I don't know. I know I shouldn't, and hopefully this need to tell her will fade somewhat.

I'll keep you posted.

[Rambo, John J]

22 June 2005

To make matters worse, she beleives (as do others) that I may be involved in some sort of fight club. It's not as though she hasn't seen me without bruises before, but - heh - the one i'm sporting today is rather impressive. Even by my standards. I had a meeting scheduled for 12 with some top brass people, but one look at me this morning when I sloped in was all it took for my boss to give me some 'extremely important' filing to do instead.

When J (which is her first initial - I can't very well keep calling her 'she' or 'her' can I?) saw it she didn't say anything, although I could tell she was rattled. Firstly, its not like she hasn't seen me before with a shiner, and secondly because she she's not the type to go to pieces and get all overly protective of her boyfriend. Which suits me just fine.

Of course, we'll see how what I think of that attitude when I get a cold or flu and 'need' looked after.

[Rambo, John J]

29th June 2005

I have the unfortunate ability to re-grow my facial hair within a matter of hours. As I said before, for me, five o'clock shadow equates to about half eleven.

This genetic trait, unfortunately, isn't confined to just my face. Hairy chest, arms etc (although, surprisingly I have a smooth back) are what have garnered me the nickname 'Wolverine' through school, university and now, work. As a result, when a guy out of work decided to organise a chest, shoulder and back wax for the good of charity, my name was an obvious addition to the roster of would-be victims.

I protested. At first, it was funny/ bit of banter/ no-way-am-i-doing-that! good natured craic. Gradually though, as I began to realise that they were actually serious, and that I would quite conceivably have to go ahead with it, I became a bit more vehement in my refusal to do it - almost to the point of being downright nasty to co-workers who were trying to persuade me to 'go for it!'

Not all the cajoling, all the pleas and promises, not any threats or asinine guilt trips were going to get me on stage - for that was part and parcel of the deal: get on a stage in front of the entire dept, strip to my waist and let the waxer have at it. Not even J, or the catcalls of 'chicken' or 'wuss' from other guys in the department were going to have any effect on my resolve. I was adamant. In no way, shape, or form was I getting on stage, stripping off in front of everyone.

It wasn't a question of being afraid, nor of being shy or embarrassed. There was one reason as to why I wasn't going up on stage, and if you've been following this diary from the outset, you'll have a fairly good idea of what it is.

In the end though, as it turns out, I didn't have much of a choice. The big day came around (yesterday) and, like the rest of the dept, I was shepherded down to the main foyer of the building where security had constructed a small stage and seating area - with requisite PA system in case no one in the audience could hear the screams of the victims.

There were 5 guys in all who had reluctantly 'volunteered' for the ordeal, and as they went up on stage one by one, I could see the nervousness in their expressions and body language. All in all, the event took about half an hour.

Half an hour of yelps and yells accompanied by constant ripping and tearing noises as overly enthusiastic beauticians went about their work applying and peeling off the wax strips. Finally, as the last one came off, the guys stood up, took a shaky (and very green faced) bow to the audience, who thundered their approval (as did I) through applause, whistles and catcalls.

Just before we were dismissed to go back to work, Neill (the organiser and one of the victims) took the stage. He tapped the mike:
'Hello...? Ah...'
(applause)
'I'd just like to say thanks to everyone for donating money, and to the boys here especially for having the stones to get on stage, and get their upper bodies torn to pieces - I know i'll never laugh at a woman when she mentions waxing her legs again! - ...'
(applause and laughter)
...'But of course, there was one guy who should be up here, if only for the fact that he has the hairiest body in the council...'
(everyone looks at me. 'Boos', and calls of 'Chicken'. 'Wuss!')
'....thats right, he wimped out. Right Marty?'

I gave a thin lipped smile and nodded.

Neill continued, '...Of course, that just wouldn't be fair to the ladies, so we decided, he doesn't have a choice. Right lads, GET HIM!'

Before I knew what was happening, half the guys in the department had grabbed ahold of me and frogmarched me to the stage amid cheers and whoops. The mob, baying for fresh blood.

Sure, I could have struggled, and I probably could have gotten away, and I would have done it too - better to be seen as a coward than for what happened next - but for the fact that someone would have likely gotten badly hurt.

I wrestled half-heartedly, but allowed myself to be led to the chair in the middle of the stage. I felt sick. I knew what was coming. Neill, ever the prankster, gave me shark grin and clapped me on the back.

'Well Marty, you hairy bastard. Ready for this? Don't worry, its not so bad.... after its over!' (applause and laughter)

He frowned mockingly, 'Don't look so green! Even a silver back like you should come out the other side alive!'

I shook my head. I actually felt physically ill. He gestured to the waiting chair and exited stage left. As I walked to the chair, everything seemed to be in slow motion; heightened. I was aware of the crowd murmuring their approval at my sudden 180. I could hear a few whispers of commiseration. My stomach was doing somersaults. I approached the chair somewhat nervously. The beautician standing behind smiled kindly.

'Hi, Marty, is it?' I nodded weakly.
'I'm Laura, pleased to meet you.'
I shook her proffered hand and stood there, my face turning (I imagine) an even more virulent shade of green.

She smiled warmly again, 'Honestly, don't worry about it, it's not that bad, really.'
I shook my head and just stood there.
She gestured toward the chair, 'Go on, sit down, and this'll be over shortly.'

Again, I just stood there, like an empty headed idiot. I could hear titters from the audience. Laura looked at me and raised an eyebrow, an apologetic expression on her face.

Jaw clenched, I sat down, and leaned back. Laura leaned over and said quietly, 'Ok, I’m going to need you to raise your arms til I take your t-shirt off.'

I raised my arms, resigned. I was acutely aware of everyone looking at me. Watching, waiting to see how I would react. Would I yell, would I scream?

The person I was most aware of was J. I caught her eye and grinned weakly. She gave me a thumbs up and winked. 'Nice one.' She mouthed. I shook my head and looked at her sorrowfully. I mouthed back, 'Sorry.' I caught her grin morph into a confused frown, but just then, Laura snatched my t-shirt and pulled it up over my head and for a few seconds, I was cut off from the world…


[I've been the MiB for about 3 years now. In that time, (i.e. during my active periods) I’ve gone out about 6 if not 7 nights a week. I’ve learned martial arts, street-brawling, self defence and any other amount of assorted fighting techniques. These of course, haven’t made me invulnerable, and over the course of the years, I’ve sustained a few injuries, some more serious than others. And some of which leave a more visible mark.

To date, I’ve suffered concussion numerous times, been stabbed, sliced, and battered by knives and/or clubs. I’ve been kicked, punched, and pushed off rooftops. I’ve dislocated my shoulder, I’ve sustained broken bones, and I have borne the brunt of numerous other vicious attacks. I have, in short, become a walking war veteran. Or a reasonable facsimile thereof. In addition to that, three heavy-set guys gave me the kicking of a lifetime last night, and although I emerged victorious, I didn’t exactly get off scot-free…

Currently, my upper torso is riddled with bruising - some fading, some brand new -, scar tissue and other assorted war wounds – back and front. In addition I am, as they say, in peak physical condition. I'm 5'9 and I weigh about 13 and a half stone of solid, lean muscle mass. ]

…The t-shirt came up over my head and I heard the crowd stunned into silence even before they’d begun to cheer. Someone whistled softly. Someone else gasped in a shocked, hushed tone, ‘Jesus Christ!’. Then, the shocked buzzing began. The whispering. The gossip in hushed, almost reverent tones. I could sense Laura behind me pause, as if wondering whether or not to continue. Hesitantly, she began to apply the wax strips and to peel them off. I felt nothing. I heard nothing. I stared straight ahead and ignored what was happening to me and in front of me. I was a Zen master.

The ordeal lasted forever. In front of me was a sea of vague, indistinct faces. I caught the odd gawping expression and the constant droning muttering washed over me in waves. '...the scarring!' '...what does he do...?' '...fight club..' '...poor bastard...' '..must be crazy..'
But for the most part, as time extended into infinity, the world ceased to exist.

After she finished, Laura stepped back without saying anything. The crowd went deathly silent. No-one said anything. I stood up, lifted my t-shirt and walked away, ignoring everyone. No, not everyone. Just before I escaped the podium, I locked eyes with J and saw that she had been crying. And there was something else. On her face was the worst expression of bewilderment, confusion and deep hurt. Her friends and other onlookers pushing for a final glimpse were looking up at me with an expression that was a fascinated sub-species of horror.
I pushed open the fire exit and left the building.

That was yesterday afternoon about half 4. I phoned in sick today. Currently, I have 87 missed calls on my phone, and rising. I don’t know what to do.

[Conundrum]

oh my

[lokifan]

S***!

[Rambo, John J]

14th July 2005

'I don't know what to do.'

That wasn't strictly true at the time I said it. I knew exactly what to do, I just hadn't figured on having to lie on such a grand scale. Nor to someone I actually cared for.

Despite popular perception, i'm not an idiot, and I knew that at some point, it was conceivable - if not outright likely - that people would get a glimpse of my naked or semi-naked body. In my naivety I assumed that this discovery would take place in a girl's bedroom, or possibly on the beach if I ever went on holiday. I had a story worked out - plausible and believable, if not exactly portraying me as being a model of sanity...

'Extreme rockclimbing?'
My boss cocked an eyebrow, incredulous.
I nodded once, refusing to meet his eye. Not because I was worried that he would be able to tell I was lying, but because the situation called for a certain shamefaced penitance. A look of, 'Ok, you know its dumb, I know its dumb, but what can you do?' sorrow. If i'd been hamming, I would have clasped my hands together behind my back and drew circles in the ground with my right foot.
He sighed and shook his head, resigned. 'What exactly is extreme rockclimbing?'

Now extreme rockclimbing is something that may or may not exist. Rockclimbing generally consists of two people, a leader and a belayer with accompanying ropes, harnesses and other equipment designed to offer maximum safety within the acceptable inherent risk margin. Extreme rockclimbing (as i've dubbed it) consists of two people going head to head trying to get to the top of a route. No ropes, no safety. You fall, you'll probably die. In addition, the two of you are going head to head. Punches, kicks, grabbing another climber, anything goes.
As I said, it may or may not exist. It exists in a form of climbing called freeclimbing in which the climber is not harnessed to a rope, but rather, the climber just climbs to the top of a route unaided. Most if not all freeclimbers are extremely experienced and know exactly what they are doing, what their body is cabable of. Their approach is methodical and well practiced. And they never go head to head with another climber. To do so is suicide.
That said, my idea for extreme rockclimbing came from a time I was at Ormeau Leisure centre - where there is a pretty decent climbing wall - with a couple of friends. John and I were attempting a few problems on the bouldering wall when all of a sudden, I turned to him and said, race you to the top. The bouldering wall isn't that high, and is surrounded by crash mats, so danger is minimal. We climbed like maniacs, shoving and punching each other and thus, extreme rockclimbing was born. Like I said, i've only ever done this indoors when surrounded by crash mats. Anyone who does this outdoors is a lunatic.

Says the guy who dresses up each night and jumps off rooftops.

At that moment, in my bosses office, I looked suitably chagrined as I began a carefully prepared and rehearsed, long winded speech about the finer points of extreme rockclimbing. He interrupted after about 5 minutes, 'Ok, so you take your life in your hands every weekend, now I know why you come in looking like the dogs dinner on occasion. And where all those scars come from. Why'd you skip out last week?'
I replied (in perfect honesty), 'I was embarassed. And a bit annoyed. I didn't want to take part in the event, I was explicitly clear about that, and being forced to...humiliate myself like that in front of everyone just freaked me out a bit. I think anyone else would have done the same.'

'Fair enough.' my boss acquiesced. 'But, I can't have you coming in all the time looking a mess. Sort it out, or i'll have to let you go.' My boss, a real people person.

'Ok.' I muttered, then slunk back to my desk.

By teatime, the entire department knew about extreme rockclimbing. A few of the guys even wanted to start taking up the sport. 'So thats where all those scars from!'
'Man, we all thought were in, like, a fight club or something!'
'When are you going again, I want to go too!'
'Talk about Frank the tank! If I can get muscles like that i'll do it too!'
I shook my head in (more than a little) annoyance. 'Christ.' I muttered, 'What the hell have I started?' I looked around the canteen, trying to spot J, but she was no-where to be seen. I learned later through one of her friends that she was off sick, and as I walked away her friend positively crowed after me, 'And boy, is she mad at you!'

Later over lunch, conversation veered from Gaelic, to drink, to how nuts is Marty? 'Seriously though', Niall continued, 'Why do you do it?'

I raised my head, looked him in the eye and smirked, magnificent bastard style, 'Scars. Chicks dig scars.'

[lokifan]

"chicks Dig Scars"??!!!!!!!!

[wiegeabo]

Trust me, they do. I've got a nice one on my face, and have been told that they like it.

[Rambo, John J]

19th September 2005

Worst. Weekend.

Ever.

Lets just say I'm glad for my BUPA coverage. That and the cute nurse from ward 3a.

[the_lost_soul]

Excellent, so begins the "new season"

[Batjosh]

We need more!

[Rambo, John J]

11th October 2005

My behaviour would suggest (to the layman) that I am, what is referred to in medical circles, as a manic depressive. At times I feel great, amazing, on top of the world. I feel like i'm in charge of everything; that there's nothing I can't do; that there's nothing wrong.

And there's other times (admittedly more frequent) when I just feel... lost. Not depressed in the conventional sense (been there, done that) just... incomplete. Like there's something missing. Something I should be doing (or not doing?); something that should be a part of my life and which isn't.

The Man in Black to some extent offers me some recompense in the filling of this void, but lately, more often that not, I come back from patrol feeling empty, exhausted and hollow. And as I lie there, waiting for the adrenaline rush to fade so that I can sleep I ask myself, 'what's wrong with me?'

I have a decent job, a girlfriend (sort of), money, a decent place, no real ties to anything or anyone; and I actively help other people in trouble every day. In short, some people would kill to have my life. So why can't I be happy? I see people downtown - happy couples strolling along, not a care in the world. The guy will tickle the girl's cheek, teasing, playfully, and she'll turn, slap him playfully, cheerful, in love. And I envy them. No. More. I - for the briefest of split seconds - I hate them. And their happiness.

Christ. I'm not even depressed. I just feel like... like... I don't exist. Like I don't matter. Empty.

Heh. Sometimes in work, when the party-boy persona facade slips for a bit, people ask me why I look so glum.
'Why so sad Marty? What's up? What's wrong? Why aren't you happy?'
I want to tell them that I would love to happy, that I'd give anything. If I only knew how.

This is going somewhere, I swear.

A couple of weeks ago I found myself in hospital, after a particularly nasty weekend. On the friday, i'd gotten into a bit of a ruckus with a student - big guy, from the country (Tyrone judging by the accent) - who had convinced himself that the girl squealing beside him in terror really did want some of his 'Irish beef' (his words).

Being new to Belfast, (and being roughly the size and shape of a baby orca) he was neither intimidated nor impressed by my appeal to his better nature. (Something i've been trying for a while now - with mixed results. Rather than just jump in, fists flying; I've decided to try and talk sense into people instead. Doesn't exactly work. Usually they'll listen for a few seconds, try and get the drop on me, and end up getting lectured to while lying face down in the gutter.)

The Tyrone porker was a leetle bit smarter than the average perp though. As I remonstrated with him, he appeared to become a little shamefaced at his behaviour. Eye's downcast, he actually mumbled something in the way of an apology to the girl who, seeing that she wasn't going to be his plaything de jour, tore herself from his grasp and ran off. Not before slapping him in the face though. I watched her for a couple of seconds - making sure she got away safely, and as I turned back to the Tyrone ham, I felt a hot icicle plunge into my side. I'd been stabbed.

Ironically, my first thought was, 'not again!' And rather than the measure of panic and fear i'd become accustomed to, I felt an ethereal, unearthly calm. I looked down at my side slowly. Something in my expression, or the utter tranquillity of my countenance must have clicked with the Tyrone guy. Rather than stick around (heh) he looked at my side in horror - as if aware what he'd just done - then ran away. I was on the verge of giving chase, but chasing would have interrupted my momentary equipoise. I was actually happy just standing there, looking at the knife. Happy. At peace. Inner moral or existential crises evaporated in a lake of tranquillity.

I actually walked to the hospital on that wave of happiness. No, not happiness. Not exactly. Contentment.

I made the twenty minute walk with a look on my face like the look of a guy who can't beleive his luck when he sees his blind date. A mixture of awe, surprise and pure disbelief. Not to mention happiness.

Alarm bells should have been ringing in my head, telling me to go home, to patch myself up. And there were a few twinges of inner railing. 'Secret identity!' the voice yelled. 'Secret identity!!'. And yet, the voice was faded, far away. In fact, I could barely hear it.

I walked calmly up to the girl on reception. 'Excuse me.' She looked up at me, momentarily annoyed at being interrupted from her nightly book-a-thon. Like i'd gotten stabbed on purpose just so I could screw up her book reading plans. She waved over to the seats. 'Sit over there, a doctor will be along shortly.'

Surprisingly, I didn't get annoyed. I actually tried to as well, it just didn't happen. (Anger being my primary response when confronted by an attitude like this.) Without looking to see whether or not i'd left, the girl resumed her book. I tried again. 'Excuse me?'

She looked up, not bothering to hide her annoyance now. 'Yes??', she seethed.

'I was wondering if I could see a doctor now, it's rather serious.' I stepped back and indicated my side, now dripping blood, with the knife hilt still sticking out. As she pushed back in her chair, horrified, yet unable to take her eyes of the knife, she reached for the phone and punched in an extension number. I continued, 'Or should I just sit down and wait?'

Scrambling over her notes and other papers on the desk, she pushed a button on her console. A nurse hurried down the corridor towards me and gingerly, almost as though afraid of hurting me, she led me up to an operating theatre. The girl behind the reception desk never took her eyes off me. Caught between the seriousness of the wound and my apparent utter calmness. As I walked past her, we locked eyes. 'That's a good book,' I said, 'I can understand why you wouldn't want to be interrupted.' She shot a look at the nurse who hadn't heard, or at least had pretended not to, and shook her head.

'No, really, I understand, it's really good - especially given the part you're at.' Her head continued shaking, not out of denial, but more out of an attitude of profound disbelief. 'How', she must have wondered, 'can this guy be so calm?'

'By the way,' I spoke softly; although by now I was well past her, but I knew she could hear me; 'Snape kills Dumbledore.' (Ain't I a stinker.) I smiled serenely at her still shaking head, and continued up the corridor, led by the nurse.

As I looked at the nurse, I realised that I recognised her. And just like that, my equanimity had gone.

(to be continued later)

[Rambo, John J]

(continued)

Of course as luck would have it, just when I recognised her, she got her first good look at me. Her eyes widened in recognition and shock and her mouth gaped. 'You!' she exclaimed. She stopped dead in the coridoor, staring at me.

Rapidly coming to my senses, and all too aware of how awkward the two of us looked standing there, I took her by the elbow and led her into an empty room and shut the door.

I looked carefully into her eyes, 'What do you mean, 'you''? As soon as I recognised her I knew straight away who she was and where i'd seen her from, but then, i've a carefully trained memory. She recognised me, that much was clear, but whether or not she'd remember where from and for what was something I needed to ascertain.

She sat down on the edge of the empty bed, never once looking away from me. 'You're... him.' I leaned in closer, expectant.

'Who do you mean?'

'Him!' she cried, plaintitively. 'Him!! You're him!' She grabbed my arm, as though fearful I would up and disappear. 'You're the Man in Black!!'

I glanced over at the door, then back. 'Louder, sure. They didn't hear you in Poleglass.'

She eeked out an apology, then smiled nervously. 'I always wondered if i'd see you again. After that night...' She trailed off, introspectively, then, as though realising something, 'do you remember who I am?'

I nodded. 'You're the first person who ever said 'thank you' to me. I helped you and your boyfriend out in December a few years back. Two weeks previous to that, i'd helped your friend deal with her psychotic boyfriend.'

She looked at me in awe, 'Wow... You really do remember!' she breathed. She got up slowly, looking at the knife in my side. 'That really needs a doctor but I....' She looked at me questioningly, 'I guess you'd rather not have anyone know you were here?' I nodded. 'Wait here, i'll be back shortly.' She crossed over to the door, and with a final backward glance, I was left alone.

Immediately, I began mentally reprimanding myself. This was the exact reason I avoided going to the hospital straight away. There's always someone who'll recognise either the face or the uniform. In this case both. I looked down at my left side, glaring at the knife. Presently, the nurse came back with bandages and other medical supplies.

'I can't sew this up myself, but I can get you bandaged decently enough. You can come back tomorrow and see a real doctor.' I nodded, masking my surprise at the reversal of our roles. I'd been planning to do just that and, had she not suggested it, would have accepted only a bandaging and nothing else. As she nonchalantly went about her business, she continued talking, 'So what happened to you anyway? You were gone for a while there. Didn't see any Man in black stories on the news for almost a year. Were you on holiday or something?'

I nodded, 'Yeah; something.' Nice one, stoic Joe. She carried on, and I was impressed by her efficient, capable manner. Rather than get flummoxed like most, she dealt with any surprises head on, then got down to the job in hand. She traced the outline of a few of my scars, ocassionally enquiring about them. She didn't seem too put off by my candid answers. Frankly, I just couldn't be arsed lying about them. As they say, every scar has a story begging to be told.

To keep my mind off the work being done (which is sore, no matter how many guys act hard about it) I asked her her name. She looked up from her work a smile on her face;

'Whats yours?' I raised my eyebrows, reproachfully. She tossed her head and giggled, almost sheepishly. 'You don't tell me yours, I won't tell you mine.' I mused over this. Fair enough. She giggled again, 'Alright, I won't tell you my name, but if you must know, I work mostly on ward 3A. I'm sure a smart guy like you can find me if you really want.' She looked straight into my eyes, then slowly resumed her task.

Finally, she finished with her clean-up job, and as I put my top back on and prepared to leave, she said, 'Wait.' I turned round, and she thrust a package into my arms. 'There, enough medical stuff to keep you going for a while. Bandages, disinfectant, the usual Man in Black utility-type gear...'

I looked at the package, gratefully. She had no idea how much this stuff would help. 'Judging by those scars, you must get through a fair amount of this stuff.'

'Won't these be missed?' I asked.

'Probably not. In any case, I usually do inventory, i'll overlook them.'

I nooded, 'Thanks.' As I turned to leave, she spoke again, more quietly, 'Wait.' I turned back, just as she stood up on her toes. Her lips brushed against mine, and she left the room. She looked back one last time, 'Goodbye, my man in black.'

[Nightdevil]

oh noes

[Batjosh]

Nice. Thanks for posting. That kinda kept me on my toes there for a moment.

[Valorman]

god i love this series

[Member# 4404421]

This is going to sound redundant, but is this real or is this a pastiche'?
If it is, link me to a news site or summat. Speaking of, go my Irish fellow.

EDIT: This is Superhobo. Member# 4404421 doesn't have a computer and so uses mine. I forgot I was logged into his account. Feck.

[Batjosh]

This is well-written fan-fiction.

[Member# 4404421]

Ah.

[the_lost_soul]

Im not sure if it can be considered a "Fan-Fiction" What story would it be based on?

[Valorman]

id say its just "well written fiction" instead

[Batjosh]

If you were able to so easily correct me then obviously you knew what I meant by what I said.

[Agentdemon]

good stuff, to bad it isn't real....or is it? Anyone from ireland want to fight crime and get stabbed?

[Batjosh]

That would be cool if it was real. It'd be a good example for all those guys on those "Real Life Superheroes" forums who are all talk and no action.

[Valorman]

If you were able to so easily correct me then obviously you knew what I meant by what I said.


No offence meant it wasint really a "correction".just my spin on the label.

and your right, alot of those guys are all talk and no action....or are they? ;)

[Batjosh]

Maybe I should direct those guys to this writing. Maybe they'll be more inspired.

[Nightdevil]

Who's to say some are not doing this already?

[Pioline]

Wouldn't you hear about it? In the news and stuff?

But to really be doing that kinda stuff you would need to be in peak physical condition and that would be hard along with everything else in daily life.

[Nightdevil]

You'd be surprised how much the media does not report.

[Batjosh]

I'm sure some people out there have at least started some kind of costumed Neighborhood Watch or whatever after being inspired by a story like this or recent movies like Batman Begins. Hopefully they're helping.

[lokifan]

I hate to point this out, but there are people like that -- they're vigilantes and it's illegal. There are laws to protect criminals -- just because someone's mugged someone or something, it doesn't mean it's open season on them -- and people who go out and duff them up are doing something that's against the law, and just not nice. No more violence than necessary, people -- the law is there to deal with criminals.

Wow. I'm not usually this much of a party pooper. :O

[Pioline]

The law and the government don't do that much themselves, the world needs people like vigilantes to really scare criminals and enforce true justice.

If the vigilante does just catch the guys and tie them up for the police to arrest then it is a step to a better world.

[lokifan]

That is NOT true. The world does NOT need vigilantes. Why do you think there are police officers anyway? So they can do what must be done, but if they're brutal or unfair they're accountable. Police officers have a harder job than any vigilante, and they don't just run home after and pretend it never happened. The law doesn't do much itself? Tell that to an officer -- only do it at a distance, is my advice. The government might be paralysing them with paperwork but they still do good. You change bad systems -- you don't tear them down and start again in a fit of pique. And I don't know where you live, but in most places it seems like every successive government talks about how there's a need to get tough on crime.

[Batjosh]

Wow. Just as my post sits for a little over two weeks as a secure point to take inspiration away from being a real vigilante and put it toward being the eyes and ears necessary to make the authorities that much more efficient you have to come in here and start preaching as if it wasn't already taken care of. Of course, all this did was make someone want to counterpoint you and start it all over again.

Luckily, lokifan, your post above this one set what you started straight again.

Now, can we get back to waiting for a new chapter or something? I really don't want to see this turn into a debate thread.

[Rambo, John J]

23rd November 2005

Anyone reading this diary from start to finish would probably build up the picture that my life is one pitfall and peril after another. They'd assume that i'm a tortured individual; that i'm haunted by past mistakes; that i'm depressed, unhappy, and miserable.

That, believe it or not, isn't the case. There are moments (admittedly very few, but nonetheless there) when i'm able to sit back, relax, and actually enjoy my life, such as it is. Christ, i'm a superhero for crying out loud! I actually have an alter-ego! A double life!

And most of the time I forget how intrinsically cool that is. When I started doing this, it was out of some vain, self-appointed, matter of 'duty'. Of serving a 'higher purpose.' In the story of our lives, we're always the hero. No matter what.

A person could be an absolute scumbag, a piece of complete filth; but from their point of view, they're the victim/ hero/ protagonist. A victim of external persecution and subject to ridicule and judgement from a society that doesn't understand them. They're the 'tortured hero.'

When I started doing this, I saw myself in the role of 'noble, self appointed, sacrificial hero'. The nerd who received great powers and was under an obligation to use them for good, rather than evil. Any opportunity that came along which may have bettered my life in some way i've either consciously or sub-consciously sabotaged, all so that I can continue to play my 'role'.

And the weird part is, I enjoy it. I enjoy misrepresenting myself (to the extent that numerous people can't stand me), I enjoy shedding and donning personalities and personae at will; I enjoy having a life that is fraught with danger and has me depressed and melancholy one moment, and riddled with excitement and adrenalin the next.

One of my favourite Shakespeare plays - The Merchant of Venice, has one of the lead characters claim forlornly 'The world is but a stage, with every man his part to play, and mine a sad one.' For the longest time, i identified with the character. As far as I was concerned, the line was describing me. I enjoyed my misery, hell, I wallowed in it. But with the realisation that I am melancholic by nature came the just as revealing realisation that I can tolerate my own gloom. And from that, the realisation that I choose to be this way, just as being the MiB is now a choice, rather than a vocation.

There was a point to all this at some stage, but I think it got lost in the middle of one of my self-indulgent existential musings.

What else? Oh yes, I may have mentioned this before - I lost my job a few weeks back. (Well, not lost, so much as had it stolen from me). Heh, just joking, kind of. Basically, the story is that my job was a temp job, only for a year. At the end of the year, they decided to make the position permanent (apparently my work was 'vital to the city of Belfast' - in more ways than one city councillors - if only you knew!) but in order to be able to do so legally, they had to allow other people to apply. And someone else got the job. The real rub though, is that it was a guy I went to university with and had helped out by giving him information for his interview!

At the time I was pretty annoyed (at myself mostly) but i'm now certain it's yet another example of my sub-conscious sabotage. And now, with a few weeks to mull things over, i'm actually quite happy about it. I get kicked out of here in a few weeks, and i've decided to just take the month of December off. No work, no hassle, nothing. It'll give me a chance to recharge the batteries and sort a few things out. I'll be able to focus properly on the MiB for a change and not be living life as an exhausted automaton.

I can't wait.

[Agentdemon]

wait a minute, why didn't Wiki state that MIB is a fictional character!? I'm glad you posted again even if it was short.

[lokifan]

Cool, dude. You're famous!!! (Bit freaky though. You're not real...right? LOL) And sorry for bringing this up again -- don't tell me off, I know it's dumb -- but I wasn't preaching, Batjosh. It's just, show me a vigilante who doesn't go too far and I'll show you a police officer. (And not always them.) I don't know of anyone who's stopped themselves.
Anyway, dumbass, WITNESSES are the eyes and ears of the authorities. Since when do you have to be a vigilante to help? I'm not, and I helped catch a rapist two years ago.

[Nightdevil]

Who says the MiB is a fictional charater?

Loki, I tip my hat to you.

[Agentdemon]

Who says the MiB is a fictional charater?

The fact that there isn't one single news source that mentions a MiB, you'd think if this guy was actually doing what the story says there would be some news attention, at least in ireland.

(edit - just got an email from J with the following link, the MiB vigilante is no longer listed:

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Man_in_black ) :eek: ;)

[Batjosh]

Cool, dude. You're famous!!! (Bit freaky though. You're not real...right? LOL) And sorry for bringing this up again -- don't tell me off, I know it's dumb -- but I wasn't preaching, Batjosh. It's just, show me a vigilante who doesn't go too far and I'll show you a police officer. (And not always them.) I don't know of anyone who's stopped themselves.
Anyway, dumbass, WITNESSES are the eyes and ears of the authorities. Since when do you have to be a vigilante to help? I'm not, and I helped catch a rapist two years ago.

You are right about witnesses, but witnesses aren't always around at any convenient time. Sometimes, people have to forcefully put themselves in the right places at the right times. That's what I'm talking about.

This has nothing to do with going around and beating people up while wearing a cape. Dumbass.

BTW: Great chapter.

[Rambo, John J]

28th December 2005


More than likely this will be the final entry of this year. I had one typed up last week - it was tough writing it. Every once in a while I just want to spill everything (heh, like Chunk from the Goonies) to someone, but I can't, so this diary compensates for that. I'd typed a great entry last week and was all ready to upload it when the work computer went on the fritz, and it was just like... damn.
Having spent a good few hours getting down my troubles on screen and watching it get wiped in about two seconds flat kinda left an empty taste in my mouth, and I couldn't face writing it down again straight away. Basically, it was pretty much more of the same - angst, guilt, derring-do, the usual, but to translate so much of yourself to text and to watch it destroyed in the blink of an eye is absolutely demoralising. Budding writers - you know what i'm talking about. But even for writers, well... (and i'm assuming fiction writers here) as my brother (himself an accomplished writer) used to say 'If it's up here' (taps forehead) 'in the first place, then there should be no problem getting it down in print again.'
But that's fiction. I'm writing a dairy. The truth (well... my truth). A journal of my life. Such as it is.
Feelings that I was having last week aren't the same as what I feel now. All I have is a memory of those feelings, but what I was feeling then is important to my diary and for that, i'll try and encapsulate the memory as best I can.


Basically, I play a role. To everyone. One role to one group of people, and another role to another group (and never the twain shall meet). But what happens when the role begins to pervade my own underlying personality?
Essentially it's a technique in self-help psychology which can be used in all walks of life - fake it til you make it. If you pretend to be something you're not for long enough, eventually you'll end up being that which you've been faking. An alcoholic maintains that he doesn't want alcohol until he wakes up one day and realises he doesn't want it. A smoker maintains that they don't want a cigarette until one day they wake up and bingo! They actually don't want one anymore. You get the idea.
Undercover policemen also have the same thing - called 'going native', whereby they eventually assume the guise, persona and behaviourisms of the person they're pretending to be. In some cases to the point where they become a criminal as well.
In my life as the MiB, i've had to keep up a facade of constant flakiness. A facade that presents to everyone else, 'I only care about myself.' I didn't mind being misinterpreted as a flake, as long as I knew I wasn't. Well... that I was (a flake), but only for the right reasons.
For me, I assumed that since I was ok with being a flake, others would be ok with it too. Like an unspoken; accepted ongoing joke - 'You mean Marty's not coming? Ha! What a character! I knew he wouldn't'. That was until a few weeks ago when, at my brother's (that I live with) surprise birthday party I got the absolute dressing-down of a lifetime in front of practically everyone I know.



I'd gotten together with a few other siblings to discuss the party and we decided to hold it in another brother's house. I was put in charge of organising the decor (James Bond theme), a few bits and pieces of food, and with actually getting my brother there. Even as I agreed to the tasks, I was already forgetting them. Because that's what flakes' do, right? They forget things, they screw up. They wreck other peoples' plans because they only look out for themselves. I was mentally telling myself to not forget what it was I was supposed to do re: the party, but I could feel the 'flake' part mentally stowing the job in the 'put off til tomorrow' file. The flake was already making excuses - already shirking responsibility by telling myself that everyone knew I was a flake and couldn't possibly be depended upon. Kind of like the three year old kid who wants to help out with something so the parent gives them sort sort of menial task just so that they can feel involved, feel important. Nobody actually expected me to follow through with these jobs!
So I forgot. And not just forgot as in 'pretend forget to further bolster my credence as a jackass' but as in 'actually, clean, totally just forgot all about it.'
I stumbled in from patrol at about 5 am on the morning of the tenth of December, vaguely aware that there was something I should be doing. It was a Saturday, and i'd had a really hectic Friday night. So much for the season of goodwill. It seems that all people want to do nowadays is get drunk and kick the crap out of each other. Or worse. Still, i'd saved another few people from being hospitalised and a girl being raped among other things.
I was exhausted and covered in bruises - some old some new. As soon as my head hit the pillow, I was out like a light.
I awoke around four pm to the buzzing of my mobile. As soon as I awoke, I knew exactly what i'd forgotten. I answered the phone with (more than a little) trepidation.
''Where the hell are you!?'' My brother snarled viciously. ''You were supposed to be here hours ago!''

I stalled, ''Uh....''. Magnificent.

''Look, just forget it, ok. We'll take care of your job. Just make sure you get T over here on time!'' With that, my brother slammed the phone down, and I was left feeling somewhat stupid, embarrassed, and more than a little guilty.
Still, I got T (the birthday boy) over to the party at the appointed time, but as we walked in, and eveyone yelled 'Surprise' and tried to look enthusiastic, there were unmistakable contemptuous glowerings in my direction from all angles.
So far so bad.
I survived the initial onslaught of recriminations, dirty looks and downright shunning quite admirably. Believe me, I was already beating myself up big style over this one. Then my friends arrived.

I looked up surprised, as they entered. 'I forgot I'd invited you guys!'

My brother stepped in. 'You didn't. I did.

Bollocks.

Amazingly, I also got over that debacle with relatively little earbashing.

Then my father arrived.

As he looked around the house, admiring the decor, he turned to me and said 'Well done Martin. Good job.' As I opened my mouth to speak, to set him straight, one of my sister's walking past cackled in amusement. 'Him!' she squalled, 'He couldn't organise a piss up in a brewery. We had to do it ourselves! Frankly, I'm amazed T's even here.'
As my dad heard this, his expression gradually shifted to one of good nature amiablity to that of apoplectic fury.
And that, friends and neighbours, is where the fun began.
My dad started yelling at me in front of everyone about how irresponsible i'd become. About how he thought i'd been raised better. About how he couldn't beleive that I was a child of his. Ouch.
An absolute deluge of recrimination, blame, and near-naked loathing from everyone spewed forth. Every. Single. Person. It was an earthquake of accusation and objurgation with myself at the epicentre. Constant flakiness; lying about where I was; not being dependable; leaving halfway through the night; hell, even not doing housework. Everything that I could possibly be blamed for, I was - and then some. I have never felt so bad in all my life. And the worst part was, what everyone was saying was true. Everything I was being accused of was bang on the money. And I had no defence. All I could do was stand and take it and hope it wouldn't last too long. An absolute verbal attack of epic proportions that seemed to last forever, and when it was over, my dad just shook his head dejectedly and walked away, a look of complete disappointment on his face.
I left the party shortly afterwards, I don't think anyone noticed, or even cared. As I walked home, I found myself beginning to get angry, defiant and resentful. I wasn't a flake, I told myself. If only they knew what i've done, what I do! I'm not that bad person they all think!
Dodgy territory in terms of self-justification. You do something for a specific reason that know one knows but only you. People blame you for your behaviour which leads to you resenting them for not understanding your reasons. Basically an ego-maniacal, long winded way of saying, 'How dare they?' Like I said, dodgy territory. It can lead to mutual resentment; hatred; for no reason whatsoever.
I forced myself to take each comment in turn and reflect on who had said it and whether or not I truly deserved it. And the truth is, I did deserve them. Each and every single one. There are times when I could have followed through on a promise or an arrangement to meet someone but just haven't - not only to further perpetuate my flaky personality, but also out of sheer, inexcusable laziness. Some guy, huh?
I was too dejected to even go out on patrol, and by the time I got home, tears which had been held at brink, silently washed down my face. When I woke up the next day, it took me a moment to remember why I was so miserable. Then I remembered. I had done what I had set out to do - subconciously or otherwise - alienated myself from practically everyone I cared about.
When something of this magnitute happens, you are faced with a choice. You can either start apologising and making reparations or.... or you can shut yourself off. For what useful purpose I do not know, but some people do it. rather than take the simple step of saying 'sorry' and burying the hatchet, they just close themselves off, mentally and physically from others. I picked up my phone and dialled my brother. He answered the phone groggily - i'd probably just woken him up, 'Hello?.. Hello....?'

I took a deep breath.....




....and hung up.

I haven't spoken to anyone since.

[Agentdemon]

Depressing entry but still great.

[Batjosh]

Great entry. You bring the drama of both sides of yourself out, both as a Vigilante and as a human being. It's similar to reading the journal of any young Marvel Superhero.

[Rambo, John J]

Cheers guys. I'm glad you folks are still into this.

[Batjosh]

You keep writing and I'll keep reading.

[Rambo, John J]

24th January 2006

Two wrongs don't make a right, but perhaps if applied correctly, the second one will ameliorate the damage caused by the first. Or perhaps i'm just talking crap again.

After my last entry, I spent a good deal of time alone. (Well... I'm always alone, but this... this felt different. As though I knew there was going to have to be some sort of cathartic change at the end.)

I can't spend my life living a lie. I can't carry on pretending to be a complete prick while simultaneously feeling victimised because no one 'understands me.' So the result from that change (which indeed was completely cathartic - emotionally you realise, not the other way) was to totally shrug off the 'lad' persona. As a tool in throwing people off the scent of what I do, it's done it's trick a little too well. I didn't anticipate that it would have such an effect on me to find that most people have an incredibly low opinion of me. So I abandoned it. But now i'm beginning to wonder if i've changed one course of foolishness for another...

Cue the 'nice guy' persona. I'm now servile, humble, apologetic (even to the point of apologising for even existing), kind, thoughtful, serene and pensive. I even bought fake glasses for chrissake. Talk about a living cliche. Mild mannered office ***** by day, vigilante by night. But here's the kicker - i'm actually happy. I enjoy being nice to people. I enjoy being a complete pushover and a complete unassuming pleb. And it's not a case of being happy because i'm like, ''Ha ha you stupid people, if only you knew who I really am! Though you may mock mild mannered Marty, you marvel at the nocturnal activities of the MiB!!'' It's not like that at all. I genuinely like being helpful.

And not just to people I know either. I'm a walking embodiment of the 'nice guy'. From people I meet in the street, to people on the bus and pretty much everyone in between. I'm unfailingly polite, pleasant and courteous. And I love it!

Maybe it's because helping people is now one of the things i'm actually good at, I don't know, but I do get a major kick out of it.

And the strange thing is, no one around me really batted an eyelid at this somewhat miraculous change. It was almost literally a case of leaving work on Friday evening an *******, come in Monday morning a complete diamond. All I had to say was that I was turning over a new leaf for the new year. Interestingly, one of the girls in work who would fall into the 'well above average' in the intelligence dept. remarked that 'the w**ker personality didn't really suit you anyway Marty.'

I should have done this ages ago. And I squared things up with the folks as well. I called my dad and apologised, saying that I would change. I called up my brothers and sisters saying the exact same. I even called an ex girlfriend who i'd treated like crap and taken for granted all in the name of futhering my 'lad' personality.

So, new year, new me, and new MiB. I still have the same scars and bruises though (not to mention a few new ones.) I've been patroling a bit closer to the city centre - mainly around parts that aren't covered by cctv, and... ugh... just the things some people (and by people I mostly mean guys) will do - for practically no reason at all - is beyond me. And i'm not even talking rape or muggings here, I mean sheer senseless violence just for the hell of it. It really does make me want to vomit. How can people be that... unfeeling? And i'm aware of the irony of that statement given that i'm saying it and given my track record when it comes to feelings. Ugh... the whole thing makes me want to be sick. Anyway, I'm typing this on my work computer, and I really need to get back to work, so i'll finish this later.

[Nightdevil]

How I've missed this thread.

[gliderpilotgirl]

Wow, I just discovered this thread..a fantastic read. Keep up the good work Rambo!!:up: :up:

['The One']

Hi m8, I've read most of what you've typed and I think we have an understanding. By that, I mean I think we need more heroes in this world (like you probably do too.) I think they should make a film trilogy of what you say you've done. They could call it 'A Hero's Diary'/'The Hero Diaries' or something like that. Seriously, that would be well good.

Apart from that, you could just continue with what you're doing and protect people, man.

Respect! Credit where it's due!

['The One']

Unless, of course, what you're saying isn't true, but from your description, I believe you m8. The reason I believe you is because people who actually save people, in real life, in true superhero style KNOW how it really feels, and you described it very well, I must say.

[Batjosh]

It's fiction. He's just a good writer.

[lokifan]

Well, I'm happy for you...you and happiness are not really associated with each other. But seriously, dude...:supes: much? I despise Superman, he's such a boy scout. Don't become polite and stammery, please. Enjoy being a nice guy.

[boywondernerdDC]

this is an absolutely amazing thread i am hooked i just read the entire thing entry one to last in 2hours and it is amazing. this is one of the greatest stories i've read

[Rambo, John J]

13th February 2006

I was forced to make an impromptu stop off at the Hospital again last night - luckily nurse 3A was on duty and was able to sort me out. Recently there's been attacks, rapings and muggings etc out west in Andersonstown (a district of Belfast) - where I used to live. 'So what?' You might say, 'isn't it the same everywhere?'

Well... Yes and no...

Andersonstown (or Andytown, to use the popular local vernacular) isn't a bad place to live. It's relatively trouble free, streets are clean, post is delivered on time (apart from the past month - postal strike, whole other story) and there's a good sense of community. But recently... recently things have been decaying. At the risk of getting nostalgic and maudlin, when I grew up it was a 'decent neighbourhood.' Now there're street gangs. Street gangs of what are essentially kids. Kids from about 13 years old to not-so-kids of 25. And they harrass everyone.

Not to take political sides here, but at least the IRA was good for something back in the day. Now, with disarmament and the peace process, these kids roam free and do what they want, when they want. Vandalism, intimidation, mugging, joyriding, robbery, you name it. And where there was once a peaceful neighbourhood, there now exists a climate of fear and mistrust.

It's like... heh, it's like the street gang from the comic 'The Dark Knight Returns' - the Mutants. Except these kids don't go around wearing visors and punk hairdo's, and what they do is very real.

I took a decision to focus my patrols in this area for a few weeks not too long ago. Maybe I felt I owed something to my home area, I dunno... So i've been patroling the area - which in itself is pretty big - on a nightly basis. Every night. Because that's how these scum work - there is no off night for them.

And when I saw a crowd of them at first hitting, then kicking an elderly couple out for an evening stroll... well, let's just say I lost it. Completely. I literally couldn't beleive what I was seeing. The Andersonstown Road is usually deserted round about midnight, save for these gangs and reveller's leaving local pubs to get home. It's a fair split between residential and commercial - as such there aren't exactly any rooftops I can get around on. Because of that, I usually just patrol the streets on foot. It's not as though someone dressed in Black is all that uncommon after all. Usually, I patrol the main road from Kennedy Way, down to Finaghy Road, then double back, rinse and repeat. If there's going to be trouble, it's usually on or just off the main road itself, and more likely than not near one of the bars - of which there are a few.

On my first sweep, I came up on the Casement Park side, and was able to conceal myself without being seen at the car park just outside the Leisure Centre. Keeping an eye on the crowd outside Biddy Duffy's - the bar almost directly opposite the Leisure Centre, I suddenly saw the most horrendous thing imaginable. I'd noticed an elderly couple walking towards the crowd of youths. In my naivety, I figured either that the crowd of kids wouldn't do anything as there were too many witnesses who weren't part of their clique. I was wrong. As the elderly couple shambled past, one of the kids - a kid no more than 15 punched the old lady in the midriff. As though this was some sort of signal, the rest of the gang - about eight or nine in total - laid into both of the pensioners. And the thing was, no-one else did anything to help!! I couldn't beleive what I was seeing! As I full out sprinted across the road, the old man, then the lady fell to the ground whereupon the gang started to kick them. Kicking, spitting and stamping on them. Without breaking my stride I launched myself at the biggest of the gang members - a guy of around 20, heavyset, stocky. I demolished him without even thinking about what he was doing. My fists and feet were a blur of motion as I attacked the gang head on. I'd taken down four of then in about 5 seconds, when I felt a familiar sensation in the back of my right shoulder. Stabbed. Again. I could tell it wasn't too deep, as though whoever the assailant was hadn't put much conviction into it. Still hurt though. I rounded on him and saw that it was the young 15 year old kid. I looked carefully at him, 15 my arse. He was 13. If that.

I snapped. Completely and utterly. With a snarl of pure primal rage I hoisted him up by his neck and pinned him against the shutters of an adjacent shop. My grip on his scrawny throat tightened, he began to choke. And yet he held my eye, defiantly, unafraid. I pulled my fist back and... and just before I punched, I held myself back. Somehow. I dropped him to the ground beside his other felled gang members (the rest had by this stage ran off) where he lay curled up, wheezing for breath and clutching at his throat.

I turned to the small crowd who had watched and noticed one of them actually taping the whole thing on his phone. I strode over to him, plucked it out of his hand and smashed it on the ground. He almost protested, but something in my expression obviously put him off. I shook my head at the rest of them, torn between rage, dismay and disgust and a desire to tear my way through them as well. Eventually, I settled for a verbal assault, only stopping when they looked suitably chagrined. As I left, I told them that whoever had a phone to contact the police and to phone an ambulance. I turned and marched away, still furious, but knowing that if I stayed, they'd end up needing ambulances too.

I knelt down beside the two elderly couple and checked they were still alive. Then I crouched down beside the kid, still choking and hacking. He grinned up at me. Weakly, but nonetheless evilly, he croaked 'Can't hit a kid can you, you w**ker?!'

Twelve years old, I told myself. Twelve years old. I stood up and walked away. Then, without planning at all, pivoted and strode back over and kicked him in the chest. Not hard, but hard enough. I went through his pockets and found his mobile. Quickly, I scanned through it and memorised the numbers and associated names. I decided his parents would be getting a call. As well as a few of his friends. Putting the phone back in his pocket, I leant over and whispered in his ear, 'I'll be seeing you.' And that, finally, drew some measure of fear from him.

I left, turned down a sidestreet and doubled back to behind the bar itself. I climbed onto the roof and waited - making sure the elderly couple were safe until the ambulance came. Amazingly, a few of the ineffectual onlookers stayed to help out as best they could - giving a report to the police and the rest. Perhaps my talk did some good after all.

As I went home, I winced in pain - I'd forgotten about my shoulder in the adrenaline rush. I took a detour to the City hospital where I knew nurse 3A was and was able to persuade her to patch me up. We chatted briefly as she went about her business, but truthfully, I didn't want to talk to anyone. At that moment, people in general just sickened me.

And the look in that kids eyes. No fear, no remorse. Not even an acknowledgement that what he'd done was so wrong as to be beyond comprehension. Kids like that - people - like that... they scare me. Because they're so far beyond any sort of help or understanding. All they want to do is hurt others, and if the crime rate in Andersonstown is anything to go by, these people are gradually becoming the norm rather than the exception.

And that doesn't just scare me, it f**king terrifies me.

[Batjosh]

That was a badass chapter. After that one huge battle I could understand how it might be necessary for awhile to talk about the guy behind the mask but now we're getting back to my favorite kinds of chapters.

Good job!

[boywondernerdDC]

yeah man kick "the mutants" @$$es man and call that kids rents it'd be funny as hell

[Agentdemon]

Finally some action lol, even thought it's fiction, crap like that happens all the time and that's pretty scary.

[boywondernerdDC]

more more more more. i too anxious to wait anymore

[Webhead1983]

I love this story! Keep 'em coming!

[superman1949200]

Hi all
New to this board but Im catching up. Can't be completely sure from the thread weather or not it's for real. That may well be the point and purpose of the poster. Either way it's a great read and very true to life. If by chance the author is for real I'd be happy to hook him up with a stab proof vest complete with shoulder guards at cost. From reading the stories it sounds like he needs 1
Superman

[Webhead1983]

Supes,

It's fiction. It's just good fiction.

[superman1949200]

figured as much webhead but the line gets blurred these days

[superman1949200]

in this particular line of endevor if its for real theres no such a thing as too safe or too prepared. Ive been arround for a while and have seen and done for that matter stranger things

[boywondernerdDC]

maybe the "mutant gang" killed the man in black

he ain't posted in awhile

[Batjosh]

I wish another chapter would get posted.

[Superhobo]

The Man in Black:

Killed by twelve year olds.

[Batjosh]

A shame, too. I was realy getting into this new storyarc.

[boywondernerdDC]

me2 :(

[Nightdevil]

Keep the faith, friends. Our vigilante friend will return.


Sooner or later

[Batjosh]

Hopefully with something huge.

[Enite]

Where are you Marty?

~Enite

[Batjosh]

The Man in Black:

Killed by twelve year olds.

I'm almost starting to believe it.

[Beerio]

Err guys...he makes posts all over the forums and the last one was 6-9-06. Sorry to disappoint anyone, but he is alive and well and this seems to be a well written bit of fiction to me.
O and I'm a big fan of your work so hurry up and update us!

[boywondernerdDC]

i think we all knew that it was fiction most people are just joking and really getting into it cuz it is a good story

[Batjosh]

Err guys...he makes posts all over the forums and the last one was 6-9-06. Sorry to disappoint anyone, but he is alive and well and this seems to be a well written bit of fiction to me.
O and I'm a big fan of your work so hurry up and update us!

The comments on his demise are in reference to the character in question for this Fan-Fic "diary" he is writing as oppose to his actual self. If he posts do frequently hopefully he'll have time to update this. Most optimistically, I hope he is coming up with something really good that requires some time to write and whatever turns up next will be completely awesome.

[Rambo, John J]

15 June 2006

As a child, you equate adulthood with wisdom and understanding. No matter the adult, no matter who they are, what they wear, their attitude, their personality; once a person hits their late teens or early twenties they become 'mister' or 'mrs' by default. And as such become somewhat elevated in the eyes of children as a person who can solve problems. Who has things figured out, who always knows the correct and right course of action.

Then of course, upon reaching adulthood yourself, you realise that it's not all peaches and cream. Some adults are just as scummy as the kids the used to be. There was no 'life changing' moment for them. They didn't become wiser, they just got older. And bitter. Maybe because they know deep down their life peaked in fifth year; maybe they're resentful at the fact that all the victims they used to bully as a teenager are suddenly doing quite well in life thank you very much and have outgrown the shackles of their tortured childhood.

Or maybe they were just *******s to begin with, maybe they're complete stains at the very core of their being, and all the growing up and educating in the world won't change that.

And when these people copulate and have children, what hope does the child have?

I got to thinking about things like this a while back when I tangled with that group of kids outside Hoppy Dobbins. It's just... something like this, it's much bigger than me. The issues are something that I have neither the skill or training to tackle. I had that kids number and - as promised - phoned his parents. Not to make any threats or accusations, but rather I pretended I was a 'concerned parent of (insert name)'s friend and was wondering if you could help me find out what my son does at night? He comes in late, he's surly, abusive etc, maybe you could help shed some light? Maybe you're having the same trouble yourself?'

The tirade of abuse I received down the phone you wouldn't beleive. Cut a long story short, the father washed his hands of his child, proclaiming that 'what he does on a night out is his business. If he gets in any real trouble, the police will take care of it.'

So there you have it. An adult. An adult who clearly has no understanding of how to raise a child (not that I do myself, but I'm sure if push came to shove I could do a better job that this clown) and worse, refuses to take any responsibility for his progeny's actions. What happened to promotion of social concern and family values, huh? which raises the question, was there ever such a thing as 'the good old days' - when neighbours were friendly, and front doors were unlocked all night long, and people cared about one another? Where society cared? Or is this 'good old days' schtick a crutch? A set of rose tinted glasses through which we can look back at the past and delude ourselves that if we try just a bit harder we can overcome contemporary social malaise in a return to these ill-defined 'good old days'?

Which in turn raises the question, am I doing the right thing by going out and kicking heads every night? Ever since my training with my elusive mentor, i've found most nights (but not all - lets be clear about that!) to be fairly unchallenging in terms of bringing perps down. Not that i've become invincible all of a sudden you understand, but i've definitely progressed to the level where a group of four or five thugs attacking me all at once is akin to a brisk workout.

I need challenged, and I'm beginning to think that maybe one way to meet this need is by tackling problems like this social malaise at its root.

Christ, I sound like i'm going to be become a social worker! Now that is depressing!

Meh. not really. I just... I just need some other way that I can go about things. At the end of the day, vigilantism is about dealing with the end result of a long chain of cumulative problems. I need to find a way to get at the source. Some way that I can remove the problem directly as opposed to dealing with the symptom. And for that reason, I think it's time to go back to basics.

[Enite]

wow... you might have to change it to: Diaries of a Teenage Social Worker....

lol

~Enite

[Beerio]

He sounds like a friend of mine at my forum. But what is the root cause of humanities problems? I have my own ideas but few people agree.
-O sorry if some of you guys were just role-playing or talking about the story. Heh just wanted you to know our esteemed author was ok!

[Batjosh]

Awesome! A chapter. That's not what I expected but it's an awesome twist. I hope you can delve into some really mental stuff sort of like the Forensic Files of Batman novel.

[boywondernerdDC]

Yay Update

[Rambo, John J]

26th June 2006


It's not that I've anything against social work - I just don't see it as job for me. Yet ironically, I know that most (if not all) of society's problems are caused by factors which can only be tackled through social work. Street gangs, violence, vandalism, hooliganism etc can all be traced back to having their root cause in society's core unit - the family.

And how the hell can I tackle that?? Go round each house in every neighbourhood and tell parents to raise their kids properly? I think not.

And it sickens me. My local community newspaper - The Andersonstown News - has as it's front page this week the declaration of a 'mother' that 'We won't be forced out [of our house]'.

Long story short, this woman's family (led by her) have been waging a wee bit of a hate campaign against pretty much every one of their neighbours. This has gradually escalated over the past few years and culminated a month or two ago, with one of her sons stabbing the husband of one of her more vocal (and intelligent) neighbours.

So after that, the entire community united and voted to get them expelled from the area. They live in what would be the equivalent of a council house which is provided by the NI Housing Executive, an organisation that provides housing at reduced rates for those less well off than others. And finally, the NIHE have decided to evict this woman and her family. This woman, this 'mother' who has tried to garner some sort of sympathy by telling 'her side' of the story in said local newspaper. The ironic thing of course being that she is so bigoted and bitter that she ends up coming across as being much worse than she originally appeared. (I'm rambling folks, I will get to the point, I swear) Anyway, she's been given the order to pack up and move out, but she is contesting this through use of her many solicitors (funny how these people always know - and are somehow able to afford - good solicitors) so she - and her two pregnant teenage daughters - are staying put for another while. More time with which to bully and harass the neighbours - through her son no doubt, a violent, near psychopathic 17 year old who is on the run and who she has publically disowned saying in her interview 'I washed my hands of him a long time ago'.

I read crap like this, and it enrages me. How can someone do that? Bring someone into the world, then disown them and expect the rest of society to incur the cost and shoulder the responsibility. Why is even allowed? I read crap like this, and there's just nothing I can do about it.

Agh... I guess i'm just sick of the state of things. Stuff like this happens practically every day in every part of the world, to the point now where it's acceptable to be like this woman. To be lazy, and bigoted and ill-fit for anything, much less be a parent, and yet somehow, to feel like you've been hard-done by, and that it's everyone else's fault. I read crap that like... and... and I just become so angry.

And that, constant reader, is exactly why I couldn't do social work. Because there's no way that I can every empathise with someone like that. There's no way that I can go into a case like that and keep a cool head, I just couldn't do it. Because deep down, my moral compass and world view doesn't have any place or time for people like that. And that's a dangerous slippery slope for me to be on. Because at what point do ibecome like this woman? So consumed by my own bigotry and projected hatred that I refuse to see that I might be in the wrong? A slippery slope indeed - I'm just glad that I actually do have the education and moral centre to acknowledge that it is a possibility, and that I can take steps to avoid it happening.

I did a bit of background checking on the family and discovered that the woman and her husband broke up a number of years ago, and the father lived with one other son a younger child of around twelve or thirteen - the token family member who chose to be with the father. I did a little more digging and found out that the young son was... yep, you guessed it - spawn from satan. The kid who was all set to mug two pensioners a while back. One more proof of Douglas Adams' theory of the fundamental interconnectedness of everything.

I wrote extensively about social work and how it can make a difference providing it can get at the root cause early enough and tackle the problem if given enough resources. But for this particular problem, I have my own plan. In my (admittedly unprofessional and quite clearly biased) opinion, this family have had their chance. Social work has done nothing for them but mollycoddle them and has ultimately led them to beleive that they are untouchable. That they can't be held accountable for their actions.

It's time they were taught otherwise.

[Beerio]

Very interesting indeed. Deep questions that even the most intelligent and wise have problems with.











http://p075.ezboard.com/breallifesuperheroes

[Batjosh]

I wonder if this family is anywhere near that group of thugs the MiB beat up a few entries ago.

Either way, nice backstory. I can't wait to see what the MiB does to teach them a lesson. :spidey:

[boywondernerdDC]

love the last line the most in the new entry

[Agentdemon]

[COLOR=black]He sounds like a friend of mine at my forum. But what is the root cause of humanities problems? I have my own ideas but few people agree.

Your friend sounds like a charming, well educated, level-headed, reasonable and logical fellow.

[Rambo, John J]

26th July 2006


I have a problem. I've written about it in here, but i've always skirted the issue; i've always hovered around the outskirts of the heart of it; and although i've talked - and sometimes pretty extensively - about it, i've never really confronted it. And the problem is... I am one angry dude.

And I mean really angry. 'So what?' You're probably asking yourself, 'Haven't I read this before?'

And yes, you have. But until now i've never really confronted it, never really admitted to the extent to which it's consumed me. (I never thought i'd say this but...) I have an anger management problem.

And it seems that most people who know me well already know this. I spoke to K about it (she's still on her 'sabbatical' in Norway) and she basically said that she knew that all along. I spoke to a couple of ex's and they were the same. One said that she knew that I had anger issues but just assumed that I had it under control because I never lost my cool in front of her. Even a couple of work colleagues mumbled that I may have snapped at them without provocation a few times. Hell, even the mysterious mentor dude who trained me a while back knew how close I was to becoming a loose cannon, and now it seems as though he may have been right.

It began with my resolution to 'do' something about the problem family in my home estate. I figured that the best way to do something was to humiliate them. And I figured that the best way to do that was by making them see themselves the way anyone with an ounce of civility and decent moral sensibilities sees them. That was the plan. But a few nights ago, it all just went to ****.

I'd been studying the family, interviewing their friends, neighbours etc under the guise of a newspaper reporter to get as much information as I possibly could about the family. To find their weaknesses. To find out where I could do the most damage. But as it turns out, I needn't have gone to all that hassle.

I was out patrolling in town a few nights ago when I encountered the elder son - the one who's been on the lam - round about Botanic Park. The little s**t had actually been hanging around waiting for girls so that he could mug (and do god knows what else) them as they walked past. I know because I saw him attempt to mug one as I sprinted towards him. I didn't even shout or give any sort of warning (or reassurance to the girl). I just ran up to him at full throttle and completely binned him. Then - and stop me if you've heard this before - I saw red.

I don't know if you've ever been so angry that your entire body trembles, but it's extremely exhilarating. I was so infused with moral outrage and sheer hatred for the guy that I just went completely to town. All those other times when i've held myself back; all those times when i've been able to rein in the dark side; the side that, frankly, wants to put these scumbags - all of them - in a very deep grave; those times I considered as I thrashed the guy - the abomination of a person - within an inch of his life. Even now, just typing about him just... just completely has me unbalanced, and I can actually feel my judgement becoming completely impaired. As it was that night.

I try and kid myself and tell myself that I don't remember much about it, but I remember everything. I remember feeling so apoplectic with rage, I remember curling my hands into leaden blocks to stop them from shaking, and I remember the contempt I viewed the guy with as I pummelled him utterly.

I became aware of the girl who he'd just tried to sully pleading with me and trying to pull me off him. That's not entirely true. I say I became aware of her, but the truth is throughout the beating I could hear her begging me to stop, but I couldn't - or perhaps wouldn't - stop. Eventually though, she got through and I stood up (by this point I was hunched over his prone figure, smashing his face over and over again into the ground) and turned to look at her. She stepped back and looked at me, as if unsure whether I was going to attack her. I raised my hands placatingly, 'Relax' I muttered, 'I'm the good guy here.'

She looked at me, then at the pathetic figure on the ground, then back at me. Then... her expression changed. From fear and wariness, it morphed into one of pity mixed with contempt. She pointed at the guy, 'Are you?' she asked angrily, 'Are you really?'

Still brimming with adrenalin, I retorted in kind, 'You're welcome.' Then somewhat snarkily I added 'Call the police. This guy's a wanted felon. Lucky for you I was here.' Then I pulled a fast fade.

I woke up the next morning to news that a suspected mugger had been beaten so badly that he was in critical condition in hospital. The Man in Black would be a prime suspect save for the fact that the only witness - a young woman - says that the assailant who 'probably saved her life' had blond hair, and was wearing normal clothing. Despite this, the Man in Black's involvement is still suspected.

I expected a huge outcry about this and I got one. News headlines across the city - Belfast Telegraph sqeals, 'Man in Black goes too far!', or The Irish News, 'Man in Black, don't come back', to my personal favourite (mainly because it's not bashing me) 'When the going gets tough, the Man in Black gets going.' That little gem was front page of The Andersonstown News.

All this, despite the fact that the girl swore blind that I wasn't involved. I suppose I should be grateful, after all, had she not covered for me, the police would probably be trying to hunt me down right now. I suppose I should be grateful; but at the same time, I know I deserve to be hunted down. I lost control and had I not gained it back at the last second, the police would be looking for a murderer. And that's extremely scary.

Not because I almost killed someone in a fit of rage; but because were I to find myself in the same situation again....I think I'd do the exact same thing.

[Beerio]

Very cool. I used to have anger control problems too. I hardly ever get that way anymore but you touched a nerve there. Funny enough it did happen to me a few weeks ago at work. The only thing that kept me from losing it and beating a guy have to dealth was the fact that I would have got fired. Nothing like having a family that depends on you to help you keep self control. Maybe the MIB should get married and have some kids!
Agentdemon thanks for the compliment! Sometimes I think I'm halfway smart...

[Rambo, John J]

31st August 2006

I'm on a dangerous descent. I can feel it happening, even though I tell myself I don't. I look at stories on the news nowadays, not just from Belfast, but from around the world. Violent crime, sexual offences, christ, even corporate scandals seem to be increasing. In Belfast, violent crime has increased by 5.5% from last year - and this year isn't even finished yet - while sexual offences are up by 1.5%, and I'm forced to ask myself, (yet again) just what in the hell do I think i'm doing?

I remember when the mysterious trainer warned me that he'd be keeping an eye on me in case i ever 'got out of control', and I think to myself, is this what he meant? Did he know back then that the cumulative effect of me being the MIB for so long would lead to me becoming this way? Becoming so frustrated at issues which I can't solve; becoming angry at people's mistreatment of others and dispensing my own brand of justice accordingly? Did he know that I would become more violent? That my role would continue to wear me down until one night I go to far? Is that what he meant?

And yet for all my inner anguishing and lament, I still ask myself, am I just playing a role? Is it not more likely that i'm mentally tricking myself into beleiving that I have all these issues to create the illusion that my life is exciting, dramatic, tortuous, and thusly all the more worthwhile? What kind of person does that? Does everyone wish for a different life at times?

Meh... Frankly, i'm too exhausted to give thoughts like these the attention they're due. It's just that, every time I get like this, every time I start to question what I'm doing, what's going on with me, something always happens to shake me out of my reverie.

I'm all too aware that my self control when i'm out patrolling is starting to slip, so as way of compensation, i've actually been going a lot easier on perps that I encounter than I usually would have. (Cue the slew of tabloidesque news headlines 'Man in Black going soft? etc.) This morning though, I woke to a radio news report of seven young men hospitalised in a brutal attack by the Man in Black sometime around 2am. As far as police and witnesses could ascertain, the gang were assualted during an attempted break-in of a pensioners house and are in fact, wanted in connection with a host of other similar break-ins. Three have broken limbs, while the rest are badly beaten. All are in a stable condition. Police are looking for anyone who witnessed the attack to come forward. They would especially like to hear from a certain person who was dressed all in black. (Hilarious, the police haven't wanted to admit to the presence of a vigilante in the city, and have subsequently tacked on that request after each news story involving me. Go figure.)

So there we go. Yet another indication (after my stunt last month) that i'm spiralling out of control; that the MiB is becoming too unstable, violent and unrelenting in his campaign for justice. Last night, the MiB hospitalised seven people in a decisive manner.

Except; having patrolled til 5 on Wednesday morning, and having worked til 7 yesterday evening, I decided to give myself last night off.

I spent it in bed, sleeping.

[Enite]

Three months later... Where'd you go?

~Chase

[Enite]

four months and still no answer... could this be the end of the dynamic character we have all come to know and love? MARRRTTYYYYY.... WWHHYYY!!!!!

~Chase

[Batjosh]

I was really hoping for that whole 12-year-old thugs thing to pan out into a cool story, too.

[doomreaper X]

Been reading the entire thing. This is intense. You're really talented.

[Rambo, John J]

16 February 2007

I'm not dead. At least... not yet. I don't know if people still read this, and to be honest, i'm not sure I want people to be reading this anymore.

As a way of documenting my other life, of keeping track of what I do and perhaps inspiring others, it's served its purpose well. It's helped me find out more about myself than most counselling sessions ever could, it's kept me going and (for the most part) kept me sane.

But I think that part is over now.

When I started out doing this, it was a knee-jerk reaction to an event I witnessed. An event that just seemed so... so random in what had been relative tranquillity in my life. But now that i've been doing this for a few years, I see that it wasn't a random event. I see that the world is like this. That this is a world of mob rule, racketeering, social malaise, bigotry, intolerance and general ill-will.

A person can be nice. People as a collective are a**holes.

The street level thugs I deal with are merely symptomatic of a larger problem. A problem that i'm only now learning to deal with. A problem that - if I begin to try and deal with it may well spell the end for the MIB. Despite all the things i've done, despite all i've learned and applied, it's still not enough. I haven't even made a dent.

I've dealt with thugs, gangsters, gangs - children and otherwise, rapists, murderers and copycats. I've overcome many obstacles - personal and otherwise - and contrary to what they say, what doesn't kill you won't necessarily make you stronger. What it will do is chip at your resolve, at your heart, at your very humanity piece by piece, until all that's left is anger, bitterness and cynicism. The things i've seen, the things i've prevented (and have been unable to prevent) have taken their toll.

I'm not sure if I can continue to be the MIB.

Not after I do what I plan to do next.

[Batjosh]

I figured this would be the last entry until I read "Not after I do what I plan to do next."

I hope if you're planning on putting a real end to this that you end it with a bang.

[boywondernerdDC]

sweet update. i hope it keeps going

[Batjosh]

Looks like "next" never happened.

Oh well. I'm probably one of the only people who still even reads this.

[Agentdemon]

C'mon where are you!?

[Batjosh]

He's not coming back.

[Rambo, John J]

20th June 2007

Just over five months. Has it been that long?

I remember when I left. My last entry. I remember how certain I was of what I was going to do. How angry I was. How bitter. All the training I’d put in. All the effort. All of my resolve, will, strength and determination. And I still wasn’t prepared for what would happen to me.

My friend’s father is a fireman, and I remember one time years ago while on a night out my friend explained how his father was in counselling every week to help him cope with the stresses and strains of the job. I scoffed inwardly at the time, because to my deluded, machismo, all-brawn-no-brains, neanderthal way of thinking, being in counselling was a "sign of weakness". A sign that you weren’t ‘all man’. I wonder how things might have turned out if my thought's had been more mature. If I’d relied on someone. Someone to at least open up slightly to.

K. Nurse 3A. People who got a little glimpse of the real me (if there is such a thing anymore), and who I completely shut down on in my vain, misguided attempt to play the part of ‘emotionally withdrawn yet desperate for a connection’ loner. Ever the cliché.

‘So what happened?’, you’re probably wondering.

Well, what happened is that I finally woke up. When I started as the MIB, it was a way to fight back. To inspire. To maybe do a little bit of good in (what I perceived to be) a world full of scum, hate and apathy.

My only mistake was in drastically underestimating just how twisted some people are. Just how full of hate, bitterness and unrelenting this world is. And how much it would affect me. You see the news everyday, and it doesn’t even begin to cover what goes on in the seedy underbelly of crime and on the streets. And I live in Belfast for crissake! I can only imagine how much worse it is in other, much larger cities. Night after night of intervening in some sort of shady deal, rape, burglary, mugging, assault, act of vandalism, hijacking, kidnapping and god knows what else. And the thing is, I still can’t comprehend how those others involved in perpetrating these crimes can go home and sleep soundly. My philosophy for the longest while was ‘make others feel good about themselves and about being alive.’ If you can go home knowing that you’ve helped someone feel good about themselves, then its mission accomplished. I mean, it’s not that hard. Is it? If everyone could just do that, the world would be a much hoopier place.
But instead we live in a world where others cause harm and do horrible unspeakable things to each other, often for no real reason other than ‘just because.’
That’s the world I was forced to confront every night. Those are the sort of people I’m up against. And the worst thing is, I’m probably exactly like them.

I’ve done nasty things to others before. I’ve caused harm and grief and suffering. So what right have I to judge and hand out punishment? These are the thoughts I’ve been grappling with for the past half a year. All on an inexorable journey towards a final destination. To a destination where I’d have to make a life changing decision about what I do and the way I do it.
I think that maybe if I’d taken the chance, if I’d opened up properly to someone, I’d have been able to bear this cross. But I didn’t. And I can’t. At least… not without changing the way I go about things. The violent world you see on TV, is the world I feel every night. It’s falling apart, and sooner or later it will implode, and there’ll be nothing left. There’re far too many of the bad guys, and I’m just one person.

This was the diary of a teenage superhero. But I don’t think I can claim to be a superhero anymore. There are far too many bad people in this world, and they thrive on the weak, needy and the helpless. And I haven't done enough for them. I've got to do more. And i've got to be more. I need to think bigger. More holistically. I’m not going about things half-cocked anymore. I’ve spent the past half a year watching, observing, and planning.

The MIB was merely a wake up call. A herald. The kid gloves are off. I've finally learned how to adapt, and to cope. Starting with my city, I’m taking them all down.

Permanently.

[fangrl06]

Wow, I just started reading this story and I love it. I'm on page two, but I can't wait to see what happens! Great work!

[fangrl06]

Do you write for a living, Rambo, or is this just something you do for fun? Because I think you are amazingly talented. I think, "Diary of a teenage superhero" is better then a lot of published comics I've read. You should definitely get involved in some sort of writing if you are not already.

[Swordmaster]

It's definitely really good. In fact, this inspired my own story. I really like how the character himself is reacting to everything that's happening, and I want to know how he's ending everything permanently.

[fangrl06]

Wow, you are telling such a great story that people are beginning to believe you really are the MiB:whatever:

Great job. I hope you can do some published writing.:up:

[fangrl06]

"This was the diary of a teenage superhero."
:csad:

I just finished reading the intire thing and I thought it was amazing! I would have loved for Marty to end up with someone, though. I was sad to see K go. I hope when the series ends he doesn't end up alone.

Great job, Rambo!

[Batjosh]

Hmm. As soon as I give up you come out with something awesome. It's definately not the story arc I was expecting orwanting to see but whatever you have up your sleeve it still sounds awesome.

[Rambo, John J]

Do you write for a living, Rambo, or is this just something you do for fun? Because I think you are amazingly talented. I think, "Diary of a teenage superhero" is better then a lot of published comics I've read. You should definitely get involved in some sort of writing if you are not already.

Heh, thanks for the kind words fangrl06! I don't write professionally i'm afraid (more's the pity) just for fun. Wouldn't mind writing for a living though. Have a few more stories that I think i posted up here at one point or another...

Any comic book publishers out there feel free to drop me a line...! ;)

Anyway, glad you're all still enjoying this, thanks for the praise (however undeserved) and the encouragement.

Stay tuned though, the diary of the MIB isn't finished. Yet.

[fangrl06]

Heh, thanks for the kind words fangrl06! I don't write professionally i'm afraid (more's the pity) just for fun. Wouldn't mind writing for a living though. Have a few more stories that I think i posted up here at one point or another...

Any comic book publishers out there feel free to drop me a line...! ;)

Anyway, glad you're all still enjoying this, thanks for the praise (however undeserved) and the encouragement.

Stay tuned though, the diary of the MIB isn't finished. Yet.
I can't wait.:up:

[Agentdemon]

Thank you! I thought you'd left us for good. Permanently? what the heck are you up to?

[Batjosh]

I wonder what's going to happen next.

[boywondernerdDC]

he's gonna nuke belfast after a mass evacuation of everyone in the city who is on santa's nice list.


great work man i love this story cant wait for more

[YellowCatharsis]

john ive been following this story since i was 12. im 16 now and dude your writing totally inspired me to write and to think man. if you dont try and publish an MiB story or become a writer i will sink into depression lol. seriously dude i look forward to reading this more than some comics. i think its better than heroes.

[mmx915]

you know what would be interesting if he ended up needing the MM to help him take down all the gangs if he is taking it up a notch :-O

[Rambo, John J]

24th November 2007

“I plan to take them all down. Permanently. Easier said than done unfortunately.

Belfast has always been a city of division. Catholics vs. Protestants. Loyalists vs. nationalists. Catholic/ Nationalist IRA (that’s Irish Republican Army for those who don’t know) vs. the UDF (Ulster Defence Regiment), UVF (Ulster Volunteer Force) and god knows how many differing factions in between. On both sides. The city has made itself one hell of a reputation based on this sense, this illusion, of two separate halves. Yet for all that, it remains one city. You wave Dollar (or Pound, or Euro) signs in someone’s face, and they don’t care what religion you are.

In that respect, Belfast was (and is) like any other city. On the face of it, separate factions are happy to maintain this façade of division, of mutual hatred, of combatativeness. But behind closed doors these two sides realise that complete division as a city is untenable. Is unwanted. And most importantly, is unprofitable. Why fight over religion when you can squabble over territory and land for selling drugs? Everyone wins. Everyone profits.

Despite religion, despite their allegiance, the crime lords (if you can call them that) were united by one common trait. Greed. In addition, decades of war had led to a number of moles on all sides. Not moles in the ‘spying and espionage’ sense, but more in an ‘equal counterparts on opposing sides’ sense. One person on each side who had a ‘correspondent’ on the other. A negotiator. A person to keep things from going too far, from escalating, on either side. People whose job it was to ensure stability.

These people also acted as informants for their respective side. When word got around the criminal fraternity that a big gig was to go down in the Titanic Quarter, amongst the abandoned shipyard warehouses, these moles ensured their side was represented by their top brass. As Commandant Herr Obleris put it, “all the rotten eggs in one basket.”

This kind of thing had never been attempted before in Belfast. That it happened regularly and behind closed doors was accepted. An open acknowledgement however that things had moved away from religious pettiness to true gangsterism was virtually unheard of. As such, all factions were represented. There was a certain amount of wariness on all sides, but also a certain amount of eagerness. A willingness to play ball. Twelve people, representing 5 warring factions in Belfast. Responsible for over 3000 deaths directly and God knew how many more either indirectly or by association.

The four pounds of plastic explosive I’d stolen from a contact in the IRA and rigged the warehouse with was going to finish them all.

There were 12 in total. I don’t even remember which factions there were or who represented who. The fact boiling away at me was that they had come. And that they were sitting ducks. I leaked a colourless and odourless compound into the meeting warehouse through the air vents. (Thank you internet. You want to learn how to do any constructive - or destructive for that matter? Say, for example, if you want to make an easily dispersible yet extremely effective sleeping gas? Hello Google.) I wanted them unconscious so that I could restrain them, but I also wanted them awake, so that they would know. So that hey would feel guilty. So that they would feel fear.

One of them came to as I finished the binds. There were all trussed up, tied together, chain gang style. The timers had been set. They all had less than 6 minutes to live. I heard a hoarse whisper behind me,
‘My god, it’s you.’ I carried on with my back to him, pretending to tie knots, pretending I hadn’t heard. He continued, almost as if to himself,
‘I guess we’ve had this coming for a while, haven’t we?’ I continued working, letting the silence grow.
‘We never took you as a threat you know. Never really took you seriously. But I knew.’ His voice grew slightly louder, ‘You remember? On the Andersonstown Road? The local shops protection racket you busted up a few years ago? That was my turf. I knew then, tried to explain to people who would listen that you were a threat. That you were real. But no-one listened. No-one believed that one single person could do anything against us.”

I tuned to face him for the first time. They were all going to die in… 4 minute and 37 seconds. I didn’t really care if he saw my face. I suppose something in my expression got to him.

“You’re actually going to kill us, aren’t you?” I looked at him straight, unwavering and didn’t answer. Didn’t say anything. Didn’t need to.

“I thought you didn’t kill?” My lower lip twitched slightly. There was a time when that was true. A time when I thought I could inspire others, when I thought I could galvanise others into action. I looked into his eyes, unseeing, uncaring. I was looking at a dead man. A corpse.

He began to plead. His eye’s beginning to tear up. Morbidly I wondered if this was the first time he had cried in years. Despite myself, I began to have a doubt. “I have a wife. Two children, girl and boy. Martin’s almost two.”

It was that that tore it for me. Not the mention of a wife and kids, but hearing my own name. Hearing (and knowing) that a child out there with my name would soon be without a father, thanks to me.

I fought back tears. No way was I going to let this b******d see me cry, that he’d gotten to me. Despite myself however, I began to tear up. Encouraged, the man pleaded in earnest. The only way a person can plead when they’re facing death.

“Martin’s almost two! Look, here’s a picture!” he fumbled around, trying to reach his wallet despite the bindings on his wrist. “Roisin is seven. She looks just like her mother.” He began to grasp frantically at his trouser pocket, trying to shake loose his wallet. Trying to make me see. Fighting against the bindings that tied him to the rest of his compatriots. He – they – had less than 2 minutes to live.

I considered briefly. There was no-way I could get them all out. I’d set a timer in the explosive just in case I had second thoughts halfway through. At the time of planning, I’d already committed the murders in my mind and didn’t want my future self to back out of the commitment. I didn’t want myself to feel the hesitation, the uncertainty I now felt. Irregardless, I began to pull at the rope binding them all. There was no chance of cutting it, it was twined plastic with steel core. I may as well have tried to cut it by biting. I pulled instead, the entrance to the warehouse a good twenty meters away. There were 57 seconds left.

The man who had been speaking to me got to his feet, trying to help me move he cumbersome mass of unconscious bodies. As I looked at him proper, I recognised him. He was indeed one of the racketeers I’d hospitalised a few years ago. As I recall, he was the one with the Hurley stick. He saw me looking at him, recognising him.

“We’re not evil people you know. We’re just… trying to make a living and get by.”

I glared at him, “You want to live?? To get by?? Then help me get you all out of this, and if you get out, start doing something that’ll help someone else for a change as opposed to harming them. You want your son Martin to grow up proud or ashamed??!” He nodded silently, straining at the ropes. We both tugged. Just a little further. 34 seconds.

“My son idolises you, you know. When he grows up, he wants to be the Man in Black.”

14 seconds. Pulling with all our might, the exit ever closer.

I strained at the ropes, pulling with everything I had. I felt my shoulder muscle tear slightly. I ignored it. 5 seconds left, the exit was still meters away. We weren’t going to make it.

[Rambo, John J]

Double post!

[Enite]

YESSS!!! FUDGE YOU HEROES ENDING!!! hahahah Nice stuff.. Quite a character change tho. In any sense dude, great stuff... I got ur PM awhile back and I'd still love to make this into a film. Let me know!

~Chase

[Batjosh]

He's gonna make it. Otherwise he couldn't write a journal about it. Now I just wanna know how it'll happen.

[boywondernerdDC]

holy crap this is amazing. i hate waiting so long but it is worth it

[Rambo, John J]

Well we did make it, I suppose that much should be obvious, given the fact that I’m still writing in this diary.


It’s hard to describe those final moments. I suppose like any cataclysmic event, once passed, it begins to rapidly fade from your mind, and all you’re left with a memory of the feelings, and not of the event itself. I remember my muscles trembling all over, and the firry pain in my shoulder growing wore. Climbers call it Elvis leg – when their leg muscles reach failure and they’re unable to move them at all and they spasm and shake uncontrollably. I’ve had it happen before, but not as intense as it was here. And certainly not in all four limbs at he same time. I remember thinking that we weren’t going to make it, that I was going to get myself, and all these men killed. That the Man in Black was finished. I remember thinking how stupid it would look. The Man in Black, killed by his own idiocy, died a murderer. Great epitaph.

My legs and arms shook as I strained, both arms tugging at the ropes, my legs and feet digging in at the ground, inching forward, trying to build up some sort of momentum. I kicked ineffectually at the fire exit bar, and miraculously the door swung open, as if spring loaded and waiting for the slightest pressure. Together with the one wake gangster, I dragged the 11 bodies through the door. I kept pulling and pulling, ignoring everything about me, ignoring the explosion that tore the steel door off its hinges and sent it flying past me. Ignored the shards of glass and brick that, quite frankly, should have been the end of me but which all either somehow bounced off my back or stuck in just far enough to cause discomfort, but no so far as to seriously impede my progress.

We stopped eventually, and I turned to find I’d dragged the gangsters about 6 or 7 meters from the door. I suppose when you actually think about it, you can get quite a bit done in 5 seconds. Comparatively speaking. Amazingly, as pitiful as the distance as, it seemed to have been far enough, as none of the men were hurt. Not seriously anyway. Then, to live out the cliché, my legs gave way and I actually collapsed onto the ground. I was aware of landing awkwardly, and of my knee being bent at a painful angle. I was too exhausted to care. No, I was too shell-shocked to care. My temples were throbbing with blood rushing through the veins and arteries. I was all too aware of my heart banging in my chest, a shortness of breath that I’d never had before, leastways, not to the same extent. I don’t now how long I lay there, staring at the ground, not really thinking or being aware of anything. I suppose it can’t have been much more than a few minutes for, when I began to notice things around me again, I saw that the gangsters were all still there, and the one who was awake was watching me cautiously, still bound to the others and unable to get away.

I struggled to my feet (and believe me, it was a struggle) and stood over them, collecting my thoughts and just… just beginning to realise how close I’d come.
The one who was awake was crouched in front of me, squinting up, blinded by the streetlight above us. I saw that they were all lying in a pool of water, it must have been raining while we were in the warehouse.

“Now what?” he asked. I closed my eyes, and thought. I suddenly realised how tired I felt. How old. My eyelids felt so heavy and I revelled in the few moments where they were closed and I was almost peaceful. I wondered lazily if this was some sort of post-trauma shock or whether I’d always been this tired and just too busy to notice it. I realised I hadn’t had a really good night’s sleep in....well, in 6 years. I opened my eyes, in control again, certain.

“Now?” I considered briefly, “Now you tell them what happened tonight. What almost happened. What I almost did to them. To you. You tell them that, and you get them to change. And if they, and you, don’t, I will finish what I started tonight. I’ve had enough of people like you in my city. We all have.”

With each word, I felt stronger, my old self – my other self – returning. I crouched down beside him, looking at him, and trying to gauge whether or not I was getting through to him. I looked at him eye to eye, not really seeing him, but thinking. Thinking about what to say, what to do, to make him understand. In the end I couldn’t think of anything. I stood up and stepped back slightly. I took another couple of steps backward then jogged forward and launched myself high up in he air, falling on top of the guy and slightly to the side. People’s elbow. Knocked him out completely. Sometimes it’s those little inside jokes that only I get that make the job worthwhile. There’s a place in town, I don’t know why I haven’t mentioned it before – a little coffee shop called JonnyHotRocks, a movie and comicbook themed coffee bar which stays open late and which I’ve frequented quite a number of times. I dunno, I just like the ambience, the atmosphere and the dim but comfortable lighting. I go there to load up on coffee before going out on patrol and have struck up a friendship with the owners, two guys called Jonny and (ironically enough) Marty. I’ve stayed there later than I should have more than once, talking wrestling and movies and comics with the owners and trying to forget, if even for an hour, that my life isn’t a total mess. Landing on the guy and knocking him out, I considered briefly that Jonny and Marty would appreciate the move. In fact, I figured there’s a lot of what I do that they’d get a kick out of.

I went through all the gangsters’ pockets and took all their wallets. I already knew where each of them lived, along with details of their extended families and other private matters known only to a few. I already knew all that, but I wanted them to know that I knew. That they weren't safe. Not from me. I took all their wallets and left a post-it note stuck to each of their foreheads. Each post-it note said simply, ‘For the police, courtesy, the MIB.’ Then I staggered to a pay phone, made the obligatory 999 call and trundled off home.

I got in and crawled into bed. The clock beside the bed telling me it was 1:14. I stared at it. Only 1:14 and I was already so bloody tired. I wondered again how long I’d been like this. I got up and walked into the bathroom and stared at myself in the mirror for a long time. Christ, when did I begin to look so haggard? So wrinkled? So drained? Not that I look like a pensioner or anything. I’m now mid-late 20’s ad I guess I look the part. Probably a few more scars and lump around my head than most others my age, but I guess I do look my age. Mid 20’s.

But I feel so much older. As Indy said, ‘its not the years, it’s the mileage.’ I’m aware of how exhausted I feel, and not just at night, it’s all the time now. As though I was a teenager for 13 years then suddenly overnight turned 26. Juggling a life as a (supposed) superhero, working full time (now a senior town planner somehow) and trying to make time for friends and family; and when I’m not doing that, I’m studying, researching and training. It’s my eyes the most. I’d be fine with everything else, but my eyes just feel heavy all the frigging time now! As though there are tiny little weights at either end, pulling the lids down into a permanent droop. Heh, thank god for male cosmetic treatments - L’Oreal Revita-lift for men. I look healthy, but feel like s**t. Always. I think I need a break.

I have a habit of gong away and coming back. Of not keeping you, constant reader informed of my progress (or lack thereof). For those previous times I’m sorry, but this time I give you fair warning. I’m tired. I’m drained. Physically and emotionally. I nearly crossed a line tonight. A line that (I’m not going to say ‘a line that I swore I’d never cross’ because I’ve never sworn such a thing,) but a line that I should never have contemplated crossing. A line that I never even thought I’d even deliberate over. And in rereading this entire thing from start to finish, its clear that the line was always going to be reached, one way or another. That’s what this kind of life does to you I think. It pushes you, always. Towards a point. A decision. To coin (again) a cliché, a defining moment. The only thing that mattered was what I would do when I reached that line. That point. In my confusion, inner turmoil and (dare I say tiredness) I almost made the wrong decision.

But in retrospect, irregardless of how close I came, I like to think that I passed. I like to think that my life as the Man in Black has imparted some sort of wisdom, some sort of moral code to me. You hear talk of the greater good. Of sacrificing the one for the many. Of killing a few (guilty or innocent) so that many more might live. Well if I have learned something its that there is no greater good. At least, not in the sense in which it’s usually applied. If you fail one person through inaction; if you actively choose to betray an individual and condemn them to death in the name of the ‘greater good’, then you may as well have condemned all those that you purport to save. If there is a greater good, it begins with each individual person. That’s why, when it got right down to the wire, I couldn’t kill those men. Scum that they are, I couldn’t kill them, not for the greater good, because it’s not my choice to make. I don’t think it’s anyone’s.


I have a habit of going away and leaving things in a limbo state. Not this time. Like I said constant reader, I give you fair warning. I’m going away for a bit. It might be a few weeks, it might be a few months, hell, it might be a few years (wouldn’t be the first time.) I need to figure a few things out.

But I’ve started something. I spoke a while ago about copycats, about other people in the city dressing as the MIB. I know they’re there. And I know there’s more than one of them. I’m going away now, for a bit, but I think I’m leaving my city in good hands. I realise this entire entry has the air of finality about it, a sense that there won't be any more MIB after this, but rest assured, this is not…

The End.

[Batjosh]

Awesome entry! Some closure, too! Thanks!

[Rambo, John J]

16th January 2008

My last entry didn't herald the end of the MIB - even though that's how it may have came across. Even though I go out most nights and try to help as best I can, and even though there's something different each and every night, writing about it over and over becomes stale and almost boring. Lets face it, there's only so many different ways I can describe a knee to the balls or a punch to the face.

Like I said before, what helps me through the difficult times that I've had has been the writing down of what I do. A ledger of sorts. As though by writing this down and committing it to print is somehow divesting myself of the crap and evil i've witnessed. Writing it down puts it outside of me and enables me to look at things objectively and not get bogged down in the quagmire of moral dilemmas and self-pity and doubt. Perhaps that's why i've been taking things particularly rough lately - because I haven't been writing in this as often as I should.

There's so much that happens each night that I don't talk about. From the casual breaking up of street fights, to just being visible in an area and thus preventing some sort of crime or act that requires an empty street; sometimes doing what I do is almost boring in its mundaneness.

But I think there's another reason as to why i've been so up and down recently. Why I came so close to commiting murder. Being a (no-longer) teenage superhero and going out and 'combating the forces of evil' lost its attractiveness once I saw just how downright evil some people can be. Not only that, but the impact this double life had on me was something that; while initially something to revell in; has become almost as big a problem as that which I face each night. Going out and helping other was something that I used to enjoy. I didn't do it because i'd sworn an oath to avenge my parents; I didn't do it because i'd learned that with power there must also come responsibility. I just did it because I could. And because no-one else was. And because it needed to be done.

Going out on a nightly basis and helping others was something that I was quite good at and something that I even enjoyed on occassion. But what I didn't realise was that I needed a way to reconcile my impressionable moodiness and depression with the requirements of the job and to find some sort of acheivable balance to negate the harmful effects of being the MIB. I needed some sort of counterpoint to the dark, grim and gritty in my life. Batman has Robin, Superman has Jimmy Olsen, what do I have? Who do I have? Who can I rely upon to keep me on the straight and narrow. To prevent me from doing what I almost did recently. K? Nurse 3A? I think even now there's still some part of me that takes pleasure in the almost masochistic desire to do everything by myself and without help. I realise that I need to do something about the duality of my life. It's become a hindrance rather than an asset.

Ironically, my last entry was followed by yet another upheaval in my personal life. I got fired from my job. Unusually for me, I took this to heart and began to panic about the usual sort of of prosaic things that everyone else worries about. Money, rent, bills, career prospects, how it would look on my CV. That sort of thing. And during that period of worry I realised something. I realised that this was the first time in a long time that i'd been worried about an aspect of my life that didn't involve the MIB. And I hated it.

For all its faults, my double life has me doing things that most people only dream about. My mistake was living that life as a cliche. Of purposely letting aspects of it get to me. Of consciously taking on too much and overextending myself both as the MIB and in my personal life. Physically, mentally and socially I've been burning the candle at both ends for far too long.

The primary cliche of the superhero is the dual identity. The disguise. The alter-ego. As a storytelling device, a plot-point or a macguffin, it serves its comicbook characters extremely well. But having a dual identity here in the real world is untenable. It eats at you. However, its not the two identities per se that causes the problem, rather, the problem arises when you try to give one of the identites priority over the other; or worse - as I've done - failed to adequately reconcile the duties and tenets of each identity. By trying to keep them apart and separate i've hindered the progress of both. For years i've been grappling with the effects of this self-imposed duality and the ensuing problems. Constantly switching between my humdrum daily grind and my night-time alter-ego has been a major factor in the splintering and weakening of my psyche. I've been struggling to maintain a 'real' life and a 'secret' life. I can't do that anymore. Not if I am to progress with my own goals, my own aims.

My life as the MIB has irrevocably screwed up a lot of my so-called 'real' life. That's clear to me now. My decision had been made already as to what ii was going to do to resolve this issue, and being fired from my job made my decision more concrete. I can't have two half lives. I can't keep up the charade. I need one complete life.

The decision in the end - as with all important decisions when you objectively assess each option - was exceedingly easy. A normal life as Marty, with girlfriend, steady job, money, career and friends? Or a life as the MIB. A (mostly) thankless task with danger and little to no support.

I've made my decision.

I choose the Man In Black.

[Rambo, John J]

18th January 2008

When I said about choosing a life as the Man in Black, I didn't mean foregoing a life as Marty.

Up until my choice, my MIB career and and my actual career were conflicting, competing for my time and effort. Patrolling til 4 or 5 am then grabbing a few hours sleep then going to work was exhausting. Whilst being a superhero, I was also trying to progress my career - to the detriment of both lives. I hadn't picked or prioritised either one and as such hadn't committed myself fully to eaither one. Ultimately, any effort and time I gave to either was half-hearted and doomed to failure.
My 'respectable' career as a professional and all that that entails - pension, promotions, pen-pushing, admin, clients, customers - is finished. My priority - my career choice is as the MIB. This doesn't mean that I don't need to work - I do have bills and rent to pay. It just means that whereas before i'd been focussed on balancing two careers, i now only have to work at developing one. Anything else is ancillary.

What this means for me now is that I work in an occupation that can easily slot into my life and duties as the MIB. Heh, say hello to marty the bartender.
After being fored and reassessing my priorities, spoke to a few friends (hey, i still have some left, who'da thunk it) about my situation and one of them came through for me - getting me a job in the Hatfield - a mainly student orientated bar on the Ormeau Road. The pay isn't great but the hours are pefect. Day shift is 11-7 and night-shift is 6pm - close, usually about 1:30/ 2am. After which i simply walkoutside and begin my real job.

Amazing as it sounds, bar work and me are incredibly well suited. i actually enjoy the mundaneness of pouring pints and talking to customers. Also, being in the student heartland, the bar is slap bang in the middle of one of my patrol routes. I'm able to break up fights and scuffles inside the bar and prevent situations from escalating to the point where someone might get seriously injured outside. my tact as a peacemaker and diplomat hasn't gone unnoticed, with the bar manager requesting that i do the door on more than one occassion.

My parents were surprisingly sympathetic upon hearing that i'd been fired. I expected... well... I guess I expected my dad to ask difficult and awkward questions and subject me to his usual tirade of recrimination and opinion of my overall life direction. But instead... they were nothing but supportive, offering me money and a place to stay (if it came to that). Much as I appreciate the gesture, I suspect they wouldn't look too kindly on me coming in at 5am and sleeping til noon most days. Still, the gesture was hearttfelt and genuine, and it's nice to know thatd espite what i've put them through - put everyone I know through for that matter - that they do still care.

all told, it real;ly does feel as though i've diversted myself of an unnecessary burden and already my nocturnal activities have benefited. i'm much more alert when on patrol now, and the nagging sense of worry; that i'd forgotten something; that always accompanied me has finally been erased. Up until it was gone, I didn't even know it had existed.

[Batjosh]

Awesome. I really thought it was the end! This is a great development.

[boywondernerdDC]

oh man this is soo good

[Rambo, John J]

1st Feb 2008

Whereas before I'd be quick to anger and jump into a ruckus without fully assessing the situation (the way I know it should be done), I'm now able to go in with a clear head and bring fights to a close very quickly. It's ironic that despite all the mental training i'd put myself through, I was still susceptible to bouts of egoism and paranoia. Of jumping straight into a fight without having a clear perspective of what exactly had led to it or what exactly was happening. I find now that simply by observing for a few moments, I'm able to break things up a lot more smoothly and efficiently.

I question myself and my motives a lot less as well. I'm more sure of myself and my instincts and am able to patrol with conviction and purpose. and that brings me to revisiting the scene of an old crime. In my malaise and existential funk, i'd momentarily waylaid my plans for the streetgangs comprised of kids and young adults that seem to be prolific everywhere. In every part of Belfast and indeed, any other city you care to look at. Although I can't exactly go in and whale on a kid of 12-15, I can make my presence known to them, and let them know that i'm watching. For right or wrong, in assessing the situation, I decided that the only true way of combating them is essentially trial by a jury of their peers. If I humiliate them, (and by them I mean the gang leaders - the people who seem to take charge and escalate things by incitement or cajoling) in front of their respective gangs, then their influence will wane (however slightly) and may hopefully lead to the rest of the gang not being as suggestible or easily led.

It's not exactly a great tactic, but so far it seems to be working. Cut off the head and the body will die, so to speak. I'm currently involved in subtly orchastrating fights between myself and the gang leader. I usually show up at areas where the gangs are most prevelant and essentially goad the leader into a fight. I don't even have to say anything, my mere presence there is enough of an afront that if the gang leader doesn't tackle me himself, he (or indeed she) will lose face, and therefore control of the gang. The smarter ones attack me with a few of their members, so that i'm fighting 6 or 7 kids at once, defending myself and anyone else upon whom they've set themselves.

Now I describe it as a fight, when in reality its more a case of me deftly avoiding punches, kicks, stabs and cudgels, all whilst delivering a number of more-humiliating-than-painful slaps of my own. After about 10 minutes when they're wheezing and gasping frantically, nursing minor bruises and de-inflated egos (the street-equivalent of a smacked bottom), I try and talk sense into them. Corny? Yes. Futile? ... Well, that's still up for debate. For every 10 that sneer and try attacking again, there's usually 1 or 2 that drift off on home, never to be seen again in gang company. Maybe I am making a difference.

I haven't forgotten about my copycats either. In fact it seems that they're becoming more prolific. I know of at least 3 other MIB wannabe's out there now, all of whom employ much more brutal and punishing methods than I would (normally) use. For now though, they're on the back burner. Although smearing my already stained reputation in the local press, I have to admit they're keeping crime in check in their respective areas. I intend to go to each one at some point and find out a bit more about them. But like I said, any interaction between them and myself will have to wait while I piece my life back together and attain something resembling stability.

I.... I'm still coming to terms with what I almost did. I don't see myself as judge, jury and executioner and am beginning to hope that i've shaken myself out of the negative spiral I was in. I remember how I was, and what I felt. Nothing but pure unbridled anger. Dangerous in anyone, but within a trained martial artist and street-fighter, it can be lethal. I go through the training so that I attain the responsibility necessary to wield that power. In a sense, I train so that I know that I don't have to fight. That there are other solutions. In that regard, I think I need more training, and have decided to seek out my mysterious mentor and trainer. For guidance if nothing else. I'll keep you posted.

[Batjosh]

I'm glad you didn't really end this.

[boywondernerdDC]

me 2. this is one d*** good story

[Batjosh]

So, anything interesting happen within the past month?

[Rambo, John J]

19th March 2008

No matter how mundane I make my life out to be, something interesting always happens. And no matter how careful I am, no matter how much training I do, or how much I anticipate for things or eventualities, its always the unseen that gets you. (Or in this case - me.) Its funny, you can do all the planning you want, try and forsee as many different outcomes to a situation or event as you possibly can and there'll always be something that comes out of left field and completely bins you.

In toning my double life down a bit, I assumed that i'd gotten rid of the complications, but things - as they say - are never as easy as they appear. Which coincidentally is why I haven't written as much as i'd like. Or as i'd expected to. I need time to digest.

I guess one of the more difficult aspects of being the MIB (and I put this purely down to the training) is the constant workaholism. My mind is always at full speed now. Analysing, observing, watching. Taking things in. Nintendo DS Brain Training? I always score '20 years old'. To say that I think faster and react faster than others around me is not a boast, its a mere fact. However, I always, always have the delusion that because I think as quickly as I do, that because my brain now works the way it does, that everyone else's brain works in the exact same way. In a sense, I automatically assume that people analyse and observe and rationale the same way that I do. I no longer have the simplistic outlook of a child, or of a naive teenager, I'm cynical, calculating and watchful. And I assume that others are too. Not necessarily watchful or analytical, but rather, 'less innocent.'

When people leave a bar at night, and i'm watching, I can always tell which ones are going to cause trouble. Which ones are going to start a fight. The couple walking along seemingly happy? She'll end up later with her head bashed against the ground. I know this. Simply because she disagreed with her boyfriend, either overtly or subtly. Or perhaps she said something to him inside the club and he's still stewing about it. Seemingly forgiven and oblivious, she walks alongside him, unknowing of what fate has in store for her. I can tell almost before he can what he's going to do. Oftentimes its nothing more than a slightly raised tone, or a shift in orientation away from their partner. That's all the signal I need to know that things are going to go pear-shaped later. Christ, I wish I had the words to get down exactly what it is what I see when I look at people. But I don't, and for that i'm sorry, i'll just have to describe it as best I can.

I guess what i'm trying to say is that I pay attention. When something seems wrong, or feels wrong, then it is wrong. And that's what i've become very good at noticing. The subtleties. The inconsequentials. I almost wish I hadn't gotten as good at it - ignorance being bliss and all that.

I put out the signal a while back that I was looking for my mysterious mentor man. i'm not really sure why - I guess it was just for answers, or for someone to talk to more than anything.

I'd been in the middle of one of my sparring/ training session with one of the mutant gangswhen I noticed him watching. Caught off guard, the kid I'd been sparring with was able to get the upper hand (momentarily) and floor me. We were fighting in a small patch of wasteground at the bottom of New Lodge - the abandoned playground that serves no other purpose than being a shelter for druggies and ASBO's in waiting. I recovered in time to fend off the kid's (well - 17 yrs old) knife attack (seriously - and after all i've taught them) and took him out with a simple leg lock. After excusing myself (yes - I try and teach manners too, MIB protocol and etiquette droid at your service) I walked to my mentor man with a grin.

I extended my hand, "Well, what'dya think?"

He looked at my extended hand, and back into my eyes hesitantly before grasping it in his own and shaking forcefully. His jaw was clenched, and his cheek muscles spasming, as though he was trying to hold himself back from saying something. He was looking at me… I guess sternly is the correct word, but there was something else there also – a certain wariness. Fear. He stared through me. Not because he was being rude, but more (I think) because he was trying to think of what to say. Or what to do.) I looked him, my grin fading, and all of a sudden, I was tense.

He looked back into my eyes and I saw incalculable intelligence there. And mixed with the fear, I saw pity, and regret.

"You are different Martin." His jaw clenched and unclenched furiously, the way it does in the movies, "We didn't know you'd go this far, be this extreme.

You realise you've got an army following your lead now? All these kids you train and teach to be just like you! Did you think it would be allowed??

Dimly aware that we still technically shaking hands, I let go and stepped back, confused. "What? I'm just trying to help things at a different level. I'm not building an army, why do you think that?"

He stepped back and shook his head. "I know you think you're helping, but you're not. End this." With that he turned and left. Walking calmly, he was gone in a matter of seconds and when I attempted to give chase, I was set upon by the mutant kids. More of a hindrance than anything, I tried to shake them off, but by the time I had, he was gone.

The last time we met, he told me : "maybe you'll be able to do some real good."

And like an idiot I believed him. What have I been doing for the past while if not good? Like I said, I can read people. I know when something isn't right. I notice the things that most people miss. I know when something isn't quite right.

What i'm doing is right, it's just, and I have no ulterior motives. I don't want reward, or recognition, or payment. I just want to help. I can read people. I could read him. And I know there's something else behind what he told me. I know now that he's a liar. I suspect now that his (and, by default, their) definition of 'help' doesn't completely align with mine. If I want to help, to do the right thing, and he (or his superiors) don't want me to, then what (I have to ask myself) is their agenda? And what are they planning to do when I don't stop?

[boywondernerdDC]

nice entry man i'm loving it

[donaldthe3rd]

Very cool! Do you actually go out and full fill what we've all dreamed of doing or is this just fan fic?

[Agentdemon]

It's fiction.

[Rambo, John J]

10 June 2008

Oh goody.... Psych 101 time again.

I thought that moving in with a friend in the city centre would be a good thing. I needed a place in the city centre to operate from essentially. A place that was within easy distance of most trouble spots. And insofar as location is an issue, the place is perfect. I live in an apartment just behind City Hall and have quick and easy access to virtually the entire city.

What i hadn't figured on was the roommate situation. When I lived with my brother, it was a case of 'ships in the night.' We never saw each other. he never knew where I was or what I was doing and vice versa. Not that there were any issues between us or anything, it just so happens that that's the way we were around each other. He had his life, and I had mine.

But now... in making the choice to live with a friend - and a good friend at that - I think I may have inadvertently shot myself in the foot. Not withstanding the fact that i've concealed (a major) part of my life from him for the past 6/ 7 years, I now (once again) lie daily about where I am and what i'm doing. But this time its different. This isn't just some little white lie of omission. I'm actually looking barefaced at a trusted (and trusting) friend, and outright lying right in front of him. And I know he doesn't beleive me.

Lying to my brother was one thing, but this... this is horrible. The guy's my best friend for a reason. Because I trust him. And because he'd understand.

I'm sick and tired of having to sneak in, in the early hours (and he doesn't go to bed til late). I'm sick and tired of having to hide the bruises, the scars and the general wear and tear. Lets face it, there's only so many times I can blame rock-climbing.

Dammit! I moved in with him to avoid exactly this sort of sneaking around lifestyle. And its hard. Its hard to go out with him and lie about what I got up to the night before. To pretend i'm getting drunk when i'm stone cold sober. And the worst part? he's acting like its all cool. I can see the look of betrayal, the hurt, and the confusion. But he doesn't say a goddamn word. And obviously that just sends me into a tailspin of negativity, self-loathing and regret. I'm toying with the idea of telling him, but there're already too many people who know.

My 'real' life has changed recently as well. I haven't talked about it here (well - I haven't been near a computer in a month or so) but... in the same way I conceal part of my life from friends and family, I also conceal part of my life from this diary.

In my 'real' life, I had a girlfriend. I never talked about her in this... i guess because I wanted to keep some vestige of my normal life for myself. I wanted to keep what we had pure, and untainted by everything else. When I decided about my whole '1 complete life' thing, I still kept a modicum of seperation. I thought there's no way I can be the MIB 24-7. I need some time to myself. To be 'Marty'.

In my 'real' life, things fell apart. So now there's no reason to have any seperation. In my real life, things fell apart. In my life as the MIB, things couldn't be better. I'm kicking ass and chewing bubblegum (and i'm all outta gum) and things are ticking over. Belfast is a (marginally) safer city and as the MIB and Marty (despite my persistent problematic lifestyle) i'm for once, relatively happy. But as for the mentor man and his associates, i'm waiting on the other shoe to drop. And I suspect that when it does, it's going to drop hard.

[Batjosh]

Foreshadowing. Awesome!

[GopherX]

Wow, we're doing this kind of thing in video. great to read. thanks

[Batjosh]

Hope to see an entry this month.

[Batjosh]

Okay, then. Maybe this month?

[Batjosh]

I've long since given up on this, but it's a very good read. I'm bumping this so that maybe a few new people can read it.

[Rambo, John J]

6th February 2009

Jeez... 2009. I think its been almost ten years since I started this... diary. Its funny how I write in this now when i'm feeling reflective or contemplative as opposed to how it was only a few years ago when I was driven by anger, fear and - dare I say - a faint species of resentment against pretty much the entire planet.

I remember how it was the first time. The first time I saved a life. Not a simple thwarting of an attempted mugging, but the first time I knew that if I didn't get involved, someone was going to die. I'll not get into the details of the incident, but its funny how I've never relied on this memory to help me through my so-called 'darker' periods. Thats another thing, i've undergone a sort of rebirth recently as well. Nothing to do with the MIB or a girl or this supposed government agency which now has me shadowed on a constant basis, but rather a complete paradigm shift in my way of thinking.

And it was a literal overnight transformation. I was walking home after escorting a would-be victim home when I was suddenly filled with an incredibly fulfilling sense of elation. I don't know how or where it came from, but since then, my life has been one of transformation and improvement. But i'm digressing. I guess because the way I am now reminds me of the first time. I understand now how important it is to hold onto these good memories and thoughts - how they attract other good things into your life.

Christ, I sound like a self-help book. And I'm digressing again.

The first time.

The first time....

Elation isn't exactly how to describe the feeling. Happiness, calmness yet also adrenaline coursing through my entire existence. Myself, my very being defined in one complete moment. Perhaps elation is the right word, but its tempered by a better, a more pure emotion than one driven by selfish needs and desires and self-aggrandisement.

For the first few moments there was nothing. The delayed response time you observe when a toddler falls over and bangs himself. Indeed, for those first few heartbeats it was difficult to believe i'd done anything. I stood there - almost outside of myself and watched the man who had tried to stab the another guy - now behind me - writhing on the ground, making no attempt to grab the blade he'd dropped beside him. I was aware of the guy behind me becoming more and more agitated even though any danger of bodily harm had long since passed. He was talking, almost shouting, but his words were unimportant. Everything was unimportant. Even the crowd that was gathering and murmuring and casting suspicous, almost fearful glances at the strange guy dressed in black who had dropped a much larger fellow without so much as a break in stride.

Suddenly sensation came back to me. Whereas a microsecond later nothing was important, now everything was important. Except, just then... for that brief fraction of eternity... those two statements were true at the exact same time. That doesn't make any sense whatsoever, but its the only way I can convey what happened. How I felt. How it was.

There was nothing, then everything. Everything was heightened. My senses, my body, my feelings, everything around me instantly became more real. As though i'd been seeing through obscured glasses all my life which were now cast aside. Not just my blood pumping, my veins throbbing... - I could feel every atom in my body vibrating with the very essence of life itself. I felt completely supercharged, inextricably attuned to the entire universe. For those brief few seconds, I felt like a god.

I suppose thats yet another reason why I continue on this fools errand. To try and recapture that feeling of... of completeness. But its now more than that. In that moment, I knew myself, I knew my purpose.

I'd love to be a leader. To be the person that other people follow and respect and admire and look up to. To be the movie star, the footballer, with more money than sense. To be rich and famous, admired and loved by all. I'd love that, but thats not why i'm here.

I'm here to help others. To make the world a better place. To enhance the lives of those around me and in so doing enhance my own life. I know this with a conviction that I have never felt before, and I now know that whatever obstacles I meet, whatever enemies I accrue along the way - street level thugs; local paramilitaries; this section of the government led by my onetime mentor who seem determined to prove that i'm a threat to the status quo - whatever happens I will get through it.

I'm the Man In Black.

[Rambo, John J]

12th February 2009

"Did you think it would be allowed?"

Christ, i'm so exhausted. I remember those words - months, years? ago. "Did you think it would be allowed?"

The accusation that I was building an army to follow my lead clamours loudly in my head now. At the time, I scoffed, not really believing that my mysterious mentor would think me capable of this. Or that I'd actively go about encouraging a band of followers. With the gangs of teen kids, I'd merely been trying to instil in them sort sense of civic pride. A sense of decency and order. That they didn't have to go around beating each other up or mugging pensioners.

But perhaps my mentor was right. Despite my best efforts to dissuade any copycats - and there have been several - it seems that i've ended up amassing exactly what my mentor feared. I now have a band of followers. Followers and copycats. Both of which were - until recently - unsanctioned by me, and are in fact actively discouraged any time I come across them. Or at least they were.

After I nearly killed those gangsters in the warehouse, an age ago it seems, i've kept close tabs on them. I've even gone so far as to strike up an uneasy alliance with the one who helped me save the others. He has contacts and sources of news that i'm not privvy to. I would suspect that this alliance hasn't gone over too well either with my mentor. But its necessary.

I wondered what would happen, what my mentor - and those he works for - would do when I didn't stop training the mutant gangs. It seems i'm about to find out.

I didn't mean for this to happen you understand. When I was training and fighting with these street gangs, I was doing it in the name of education and encouraging social responsibility. I'm not a leader as I said before, but somehow it seems as though i've ended up as a de facto commander of an army. One thing I never expected was the respect I earned whilst sparring with these gang leaders. No. Not just respect. Admiration and loyalty. Devotion. Obedience. I'm not a leader, but somehow i've ended up with a loyal band of followers, willing to carry out commands and orders. Which fortunately i've yet to give.

It happened a few months ago when sparring with one of the older (and stronger) gang leaders. I'd defeated him - with some difficulty, he'd had training - but instead of the tirade of usual (good natured) abuse he stepped away from me and his gang gathered around him. Head lowered, he spoke in his broad west Belfast accent, "We can't be arsed with this anymore. You coming round here all the time and beatin' us up. We don't want it anymore. None of us do. You're our gang leader now Man in Black. What do you want us to do?"

After getting over my initial shock I chose my next words carefully, "I want you to stop. All of you. Go home. I'm tired of these fights. I'm tired of having to clean up after you. Of having to teach you the hard way to be better people." I looked around at all of them. "Go home. Don't make me waste my time when I could be helping people. When you could be helping people."

One by one they drifted off, each of them deferring to me as they did so. A nod, a shrug of the shoulders. Until at last only the leader was left. He squinted at me in the dark, "Now what?"

At length I replied, "Well i'm not sure. You want to help? You say i'm your leader?" He nodded fervently, obediently. "Then be ready."

He frowned, confused, "Ready for what?"

"I'm not quite sure myself. But be ready. And in the time being - be good." With that I left.

I had similar encounters with other gang leaders around the city - word must have spread that I was coming to some sort of truce - and I told them all essentially the same message. Be ready, and meantime, behave yourselves.

Ready for what? Its funny, but at the time I said it, I just had a gut feeling. Something was on the horizon, and I would need allies. I didn't know what threat was lurking, but I suspected. And that's enough. I've checked in with these gang leaders on occasion, making sure that they're keeping their territory in order, and making sure their gangs aren't intimidating people. And making sure that they're still loyal to me.

What came first, the chicken or the egg? The cause, or the effect? In threatening me for sparring with gang leaders in empty wasteground and derelict sites, did my mentor galvanise me into creating the very threat that he feared? My own personal army?

I never intended for any of this to happen, but for a while now i've been aware that i've been tailed at night. By men and women. People who know how to move, and use the night and darkness. Organised and methodical. None of them have approached me - and in fact have probably been ordered not to. Until last night.

I'd worked til about half 2 in the bar, cleaning up and chatting with the doorstaff before going on patrol. After a while of little activity or trouble (i'd actually considered calling it an early night) I realised I was being followed. Stalked. I turned to face my follower - who had clearly wanted to be noticed. As I turned, the person stepped into the glare of an overhead street lamp, and once again I froze in amazement as I realised that I recognised the peson. The woman.

It was K.

[Rambo, John J]

16th February 2009

"Hello, Marty."

I hadn't realised til that moment how much i'd missed her. Well... Not missed her, not exactly. But I was suddenly aware that she'd constantly been in my thoughts, always there in the back of my mind. I realised that i'd neglected our friendship, that i'd let it lapse, or rather, that i'd forced her away during my depression, and for that moment, I became acutely aware of my embarrassment about how unfeeling i'd been.

I was also dimly aware however that her appearing like this out of the blue, following me whilst on patrol, was... incongruent. I was spooked already, for numerous reasons, and her showing up like this was just a little too convenient. Or inconvenient depending on your point of view. I had, as Han Solo would say, a bad feeling about this. Conflicting emotions were running like wildfire through me. So for that reason, I was less than cordial. My relaxed look morphed almost imperceptibly into one of calculation.

"What are you doing here?"

"Its nice to see you too, Marty. Miss me?"

There was something just a little bit too rehearsed about her comment. As though she'd been expecting my negative atitude and had prepared several answers depending on what I said. My bad feeling got worse. I said nothing, looked at her expectantly.

"I missed you, you know. I thought about you every day. I wondered how you'd been getting on with your life....with your Man In Black thing."

I bristled slightly, "My...thing?"

She shook her head sadly. "I was worried. After the Milkybar Man you became so... so empty. It was like I didn't know you. I tried to help... I..." She trailed off into silence and walked slowly over to me, raised her hand and stroked my face. I closed my eyes and thought of our first time together. Of how she'd detested me and I her. Of how she'd bandaged my wounds that first time I met the Milkybar Man. I thought about the connection we'd had. She was the first person I'd fully opened to about the Man In Black. The only person. She stroked my face and stood up on her tiptoes to kiss me.

I realised that I had missed her. And terribly so at that. I reached up and took her hands in mine, sqeezing them gently.

"Why are you here?" I asked gently.

She looked openly at me, her expression one of sadness. "You know why."

"Oh. Him. Them."

She shook her head again in sorrow. "Not them. Us. Me."

Am I making sense here? My thoughts were running a mile a minute at this point. I was calculating and recalculating variables, scenarios and possibilities. Thoughts of my mentor man, the people he worked for, the position in which I now found myself and which I had apparently brought on myself, my entire life as the Man In Black. And all of it ended in this moment, standing here with her. I thought and deduced so many likely reasons as to why she'd be there, and why she'd be working for them, but I wanted her to tell me herself.

"What do they... you... want? Why am I being followed? Why does he think I'm gathering an army?"

"Aren't you?" She asked. "For God's sake Martin you've been out training these kids almost every night for a year. What did you think was going to happen?"

"Its not like that" I protested angrily. "I'm not training them, at least not for combat. Not to join me." I gestured helplessly, "I'm just trying to help. I had to try something different. I wasn't getting through to them. Or to anyone else."

"So... what? You thought you'd teach kids how to fight like you? So that they could beat up people the way you do?!"

"No!" I exclaimed angrily. "I..." I trailed off. What had I been doing? Had I just been deluding myself? Was I doing nothing more than equipping these kids with tools and fighting skills that they might one day abuse? "No." I said. More forcefully this time. "I'm teaching these kids about respect. About manners and honour. About how they don't have to solve everything with violence and anger."

K gave me a look of incredulity, "Like you, you mean?"

The remark stung slightly. "That was different. I was different. I was... lost. If I can teach these kids, guide them...

...Can you imagine the city not needing the Man In Black? For these kids to be out helping people instead of heckling and intimidating them? That's what I want. That's what I see."

"Do you really believe that? Do you really think you can?" By her tone I sensed I was getting through to her, that I was convincing her.

"Yes, I do. I don't want an army. I don't want followers, or copycats. I just want to try and do the right thing. To help people and inspire others to do the same. Its what i've wanted all along."

Suddenly her attitude shifted. "I read your diary you know." I looked questionigly at her.
"Well. Most of it. Before you moved it. She stroked my face again. "So much anger. Pain. Resentment."

"I told you. I was different then. I thought I was doing good as the Man In Black, and I was. But I was doing it from the wrong place. With the wrong aims. I've changed. I'm not the same Man In Black from before you left. I'm not angry and i'm not resentful. I can make this city - my city - safe.

I just need you, and your employers to get off my back. Trust me. You did once before. I know what i'm doing."

She looked down at the ground and back up at me, hesitantly. "I don't know." She whispered. "I think they know you want to do the right thing. That's why they're scared of you. Of what you could accomplish."

I rubbed my face with both hands. Christ, when did I start to feel so tired all the time? When did it all get so complicated?

"Just go to your boss and tell him to get off my back. I'm doing good. And i'm so close to getting through to these kids. If your people are against that, then what's their agenda?"

With that, I turned and strode off, ignoring her calls.


So now I wait. Whoever these people are, however they got K working for them, the next move is theirs. And when they make it, i'll be ready.

[Rambo, John J]

8th March 2009

Oh.. oh god... I.. I don't know what to say. What to do...

Thing is, I never intended for any of this to happen. I just wanted to help people. 'Do the right thing.' Whatever that means.

What do you do when there are several 'right things'? Or no 'right things.' What do you do when you're placed in a situation whereby no matter your actions, no matter what you do, things will not end well.

Agh! Christ, why can I not type properly in this when its important!? Why is it I have these great insights and thoughts when i'm out patrolling but as soon as I get back to the computer I just get like.. a mental block? Is there something within me that doesn't want to acknowledge the events of the past while. Some sort of embedded self inflicted command that no matter how hard I look I just can't see? Some sort of overridding hardwiring that prevents me from exploring my own psyche and divining some sort of meaning, pattern or even clues when it matters most?

Its interesting, most superheroes wear masks. Spider-Man, Batman, Captain America... I read an interesting theory a while ago about why this is. (Setting aside that they're fictional characters) I read in Amazing Spider-Man (of all things) that putting the mask - the costume; the alter ego - on meant that you could take it off. Essentially, you can divest yourself completely of your alternate persona and examine it as a separate entity from yourself. You can treat it as an object, and in so doing, reduce your culpability, your responsibility for any actions you take while wearing the mask. As well as that, you detach slightly from the superhero persona. For all intents and purposes, your superhero other half isn't you! Its someone else!

Is that what i've been doing wrong? Am I too close to the Man In Black? Is that why it affected me so for so long? And consequently, is that why i'm unable to look objectively at the events of recent weeks? Is that why i'm having trouble being honest?

Is that the reason I can't come to terms with the fact that K's dead.

And its my fault.

[Rambo, John J]

9th March 2009

K.... K's funeral was today.

Kaia. That was her name. I never told her how pretty I thought it was. And now I never can.

It was raining, appropriately. I.... Oh christ, I... I can't think of what to say or what to do. I'm... Jesus, I feel like i'm going to die.

.
.
.
.

Ok, i've spent 40 minutes staring at the screen and ignoring Coronation Street on TV. My flatmate is shouting at the characters - a behavioural trait we both seem to have developed since moving in together. Half 6 its Hollyoaks, half 8 its Corrie. We sit and scream at the TV and the lucridity of the plots and the lines, our empathy towards or hatred of the characters changing depending on the episode and whatever recent development they've gotten themselves embroiled in.

I've sat here, staring at the screen and i've rubbed my eyes to disguise the tears. My flatmate knows that a friend of mine died. He knows I was at the funeral today and he knows I'm upset. But he thinks K was just a university acquaintence. Someone I hadn't seen in years and who i'd mentioned only in passing. He doesn't know how hard i'm finding it to just sit here and not smash everything in sight. He doesn't know how close we... were. No-one does. And no-one will. Ever.

Even at the funeral. I caught up with a lot of the folks from university, folks I hadn't seen in years and all I could say was that we had been 'friends.' I told that lie to everyone I met today, including Kaia's parents and siblings. We'd just been friends.

"Were you two close?"

I'd gulp and swallow bile "No, not really." The lie became more bitter each time I spun it. It felt like betrayal in every single way. The only time the facade cracked was during a reminiscing session with a few people from uni. One of the girls from the class, Michelle, said directly to me in front of a few others, "Weren't you and Kaia pretty much inseperable during final year? We thought you two were going to get married, what happened?"

Aware of all eyes on me, I mumbled something about drifting apart and walked out the doors of the hotel we were in and dry-heaved round the back at the kitchen entrance. I sat down on a stack of damp wooden pallets and just... stared at my hands in my lap. I couldn't even muster up the energy to cry. All those times she'd been there for me. All those times she'd listened to me recounting stories of patrolling, not speaking much herself, but just listening. Listening and understanding. And i'd pushed her away, without so much as a second thought. We hadn't drifted apart, i'd dissolved our friendship with no regard to how she felt.

.
.
.
.

It happened 4 nights ago. I'd been patrolling after work, and was just finished a sweep of one of my patrol routes near the university. I'd been doing well in terms of keeping my focus. So many thoughts had been running through my mind. Kaia, the people she worked for mostly. I'd been wondering what they were going to do about me. And i'd been thinking about trying to come to some sort of compromise with them. Accept them as allies. Join them. Or have them join me. I'd just come off a sparring session with one of the gang leaders - the one who had called a truce of sorts all those months ago. Funny, he's the kind of kid you look at and ask inwardly "Him? In a gang? Really?" But looks can be, and this case, most definitely were, deceptive. Slight, but not weak. And vastly intelligent. He'd learned so much in the past few months. Not just fighting and patrolling, but strategy. Offense, defense, flanking opponents, thinking like an enemy, thinking long term, holistically. Seeing the bigger picture.

I say intelligent because he was also a talker. We'd talk and debate about everything under the sun anytime I encountered him. About the nature of what I was doing, about religion, philosophy, history, anything. Any subject you mentioned he would have a more than passing familiarity with.

"Does it ever worry you?" He asked one night. "Enemies, I mean." I frowned, thinking of the Milkybar Man. "Do you ever worry that some people will try to get their revenge on you at some point?"

As we sparred, I considered the question. "No." I answered at last. And it was the truth. I didn't think about that sort of thing. Not fully anyway. I was aware on some level that there were folks out there who would like nothing better than to finish me off, but it never plagued my thoughts the way you'd expect.

It was then that he said something that gave me pause for thought. "You didn't hear this from me, but people are beginning to hate you again." I stopped sparring and lowered my guard, receiving a haymaker right to the face. "Those gangs you train, the way you train me? Some them are just bad. There's no getting through to them. You think you're teaching them respect? Honour? All you're doing is teaching them to hurt people better."

Incensed, I grabbed him and slammed him against a wall. "Did.... did he - they - put you up to this?" I snarled. "Did they tell you to say that?!"

He gawped helplessly, his feet a few inches off the ground, he looked down at me, terrified. "Who?"

Slowly I lowered him. "Never mind."

Angered by my sudden loss of control, he punched me again in the face. Hard. "You don't see these kids the way I do. You're an *******. And an idiot."

With that he stalked off.

I'd thought about that comment a lot over the past few weeks, although he hadn't mentioned it since. Making my way home, I thought about it again. The thought, the idea worried at me. Gnawing. Enemies. Would-be rapists and muggers. Mutants. Was he right? Had my judgement been that unsound? I'd thought I had a good handle on these kids, that I was getting through to them.

I heard footsteps behind me and whirled to face Kaia. She looked just as I remembered from university. Her hair was longer, that was the only difference. I'd noticed last time, but hadn't said anything.

"Marty..." She began.

I cut her off, "I like your hair that way. It suits you." I grinned to show I wasn't about to start arguing, and she smiled back. I'll never forget that smile. It was forgiveness. Despite how i'd acted towards her, despite how I'd let our friendship wane, she still knew how to smile at me. We started to walk back to my flat, and her right hand took my left. I squeezed it gently. A simple gesture, a mutual acknowledgement that we both cared so deeply for each other, we didn't even need to mention it. As we walked along deserted streets, basking in the orange glow of the street lights, I took a brief moment to savour this new found contentment. Neither of us talking. Just enjoying the moment. But the silence had to be broken at some point.

"I've been thinking..." I began. "Your employers... I don't want a war. I never have. And I have to concede that they may be right about.... some of those mutant gangs."

Off her confused look, I started to explain about The Dark Knight Returns, and the street gangs of kids in that, and how i'd began to use the moniker. I was so engrossed in trying to explain the hilarity of the names Rob and Don that I didn't even hear the running footsteps behind me until it was too late. A blunt object thudded off my head, and I fell to my hands and knees, dimly aware that i'd just been beaned by a two by four.

"Is it him?" A high pitched voice hissed.

"Aye, it is too. Holy...."

"Wha'? Wha?'"

"Jaysis, the Man in Black has a girlfriend!"

"Sure grab her!" I snatched at a pair of ankles beside me, and got my hand trampled on by several sets of feet. I heard scuffling and looked up to see Kaia fighting off three teenagers. Mutants. She was doing well, holding her own, but she was no match for three heavier men. No, not men. Kids. Mutants. I wrenched my arm from the weight of the two people standing on it and tried to stagger to my feet.

"F**k it, he's getting up!" Another nasal, whiny voice. "Do what we were supposed to dickh**d!" Admonished another voice. I was knocked to the ground again, my face smashing off a kerbstone. I felt enormous pressure on my back and neck and abruptly, I felt a piercing in my lower back. I'd been stabbed. Again and again one of the assailants pushed the knife into me.

"That should do it. There's no way anyone can survive that." One of the voices said. Still I tried to get to my feet. Losing blood, I could hear the faint sound of sirens.

"F**k! Peelers!" Squalled one of the mutants. Finish her as well and lets get out of here!"

I heard a pulpy, succulent sound and as I turned my head, I saw Kaia drop to the ground beside me, blood spurting from her neck. An artery. The mutants ran off, a pack of dogs, their work done for the night. I crawled to Kaia and.... even through my haze I could tell that too much damage had been done. My front covered in blood, some mine... most of it hers, I cradled her head in my lap and began screaming.

.
.
.
.

There were questions asked while I was in hospital of course. Why were we out so late? Where had we been? Why were we both dressed in Black? But I think between my obvious shock and mindlock, not to mention loss of blood and stab wounds, the police didn't probe too hard. After all, I had just watched my... my girlfriend killed in front of me. I suspect also that her employers may have stepped in as well. Whatever.

They were at the funeral as well. My onetime mentor came up to me as I sagged against damp wooden crates at the back of the hotel. I looked at him, weakly. I had nothing left in me. No witty retorts, no snappy comebacks. Whatever my expression, he bit back whatever remark he'd opened his mouth to say and settled for, simply, "This is on your hands Martin. I warned you." Then he turned and walked away. I did fall then. Right into a puddle of rainwater, dishwater and god knows what else. I covered my face with my hands and began to sob earnestly.

[Batjosh]

Wow. Looks like you might actually start fighting crime the old fashioned way again.

[Rambo, John J]

12th March 2009

1. Denial.

2. Anger.

3. Bargaining.

4. Depression.

5. Acceptance.

The 5 stages of grief. Truthfully, i'm not sure which one i'm in right now. I've been wavering between all 5 for the past few days. Its weird, for a brief period every now and again, it seems like nothing has changed. The world hasn't stopped and I want to grab the nearest person and shake them and make them see - make everyone see - that the world has changed, irrevocably, forever. Then it hits me, no-one else knows or can suspect the enormity with which this has affected me.

5 stages of grief. I wonder why numbness isn't included in the list. Cause when i'm not wallowing in self-loathing, I don't feel much of anything.

Except rage. I don't have the words to describe the unbridled fury I feel. Worse than ever before - this goes way beyond my anger problem, bcause I know i've successfully dealt with that. This anger I feel now is... pure. And its completely controllable. I'm not lashing out at strangers or friends the way I used to. No, i'm reserving this anger for those who deserve it. Those who attacked Kaia and I. Those.... those who murdered her. They and their ilk. I will hunt them down, the way I used to. No long term strategy, no tactics, no 'social work.' I'm doing this the way the Man In Black used to. I will find them.

And I will make them pay.

[Rambo, John J]

26th March 2009

The hardest thing about writing in this is having to revisit and re-experience feelings and emotions i'd thought were dealt with. Its been over two weeks since... since Kaia's funeral, and I think in that time, i've averaged about 2 hours of sleep a night.

I can sense that those who know me are getting worried about me again. From other people's perspective, it must look as though i'm going completely off the rails. I stumble in at 6 in the morning - as the dawn is breaking, usually bloody - (and a lot of it mine as well, but we'll get to that) - and dishevelled. I mutter a good morning to my flatmate as I pass him in the hall - on his way to start his working day an hour early and literally crash onto my bed where I zone out for most of the day, - I don't even think I actually sleep properly most times. I'm aware of the day blurring by me in flashes and fleeting microseconds of lucidity, as I try and process my life thus far before prising myself off to get showered and go to the bar for work. I serve customers in what must surely come across as a rude and ignorant manner before heading out on patrol.

Thing is, i'm not being purposefully rude or even angry at people anymore, at the moment, i'm just always too exhausted to care about my appearance, or how my attitude is, or what other people think or say. I sleepwalk through the vast majority of my day, completely on autopilot, but when I get my uniform on and go out on patrol, I suddenly become completely focussed, alert and dedicated. And yet... once again, there's the faint nagging doubt that whispers to me that i'm going about this all wrong. I wonder, is it possible to go through this life and not learn any lessons from past mistakes at all?

At the moment, I just don't care about any other aspect of my life, other than the overriding desire to catch these mutant gangs and either have them put away, or taught a lesson. I've been out all night every night for the past fortnight, and I'm beginning to notice a pattern that has seemingly always been there. Its as though i'm being taunted. Every night, there's been nothing but run of the mill hooliganism. Bar fights, street brawls, stabbings, beatings, rapes, all of it going on, but now there's an almost underlying sense of order about these things. As though they're being orchestrated, set-up; to distract me from what I mean to do when I go out now. I've been looking for signs of these mutant gangs, but it seems they've gone completely to ground. Even the one who i'd been sparring with, the one who had tried - in a roundabout way - to warn me about the way things were, has made himself unavailable and uncontactable.

To vent my frustration, i've been picking fights everywhere i go on patrol, goading would-be muggers into brawls. And i've gotten my fair share of kickings over the past couple of weeks as well by doing this. I haven't properly healed from the stab wounds, but thats not the reason i'm getting as god as I give in fights that shouldn't even have me breaking a sweat. No, i'm losing these fights because I want to. Because i'm being apathetic. Because I just don't care. Is this survivors guilt? I tell myself that I can snap out of this funk i've gotten myself into anytime I want, and I suspect I could if I wanted to. But its the 'wanting to' thats the problem at the moment.

Take this morning for example. End of a night of patrolling, and i'd not gotten into any major fights and was heading home through the city centre when I saw a couple of guys fighting outside Jury's Inn. Without even thinking I jumped in, fists blazing at both guys and ended up with both of them joining forces to try and beat me. I got such a beating that I can't tell which of the bruises on my body and face are old and which are new, there's that many of them. I think i may need to go to the dentist as well... I stumbled in, blood dripping from numerous cuts on my face and mouth, and sank into the sofa in the living room where I just conked out. Next thing i knew, my flatmate was shaking me awake, a look of concern on his face. I staggered to my feet, pushed past him - virtually ignoring him - and went to my room and slammed the door.

I just.... I know i'll get myself out of this - I always do, but for now, it feels right that I should be feeling like crap about things, as though I don't have the right to be happy or content. As though my survival is an affront to Kaia's death.

I need to find these mutant gangs. And I need to decimate them completely. I think its the only way i'll get out of this.

[Rambo, John J]

27th March 2009

Its an indication of my overwhelming fatigue at the moment - I can't actually remember typing that last entry...

[Rambo, John J]

20th April 2009

Over a month. Almost two months and it feels as though i'm moving on.... and I feel like i shouldn't be. Moving on I mean. Logicaly.... rationally, I work things through, the events leading up to Kaia's death, and I absolve myself of blame. It wasn't my fault. Not in any sort way that I would have been able to anticipate or avert. What happened wasn't of my doing, and I wasn't the one who killed her. At least, thats what I tell myself on my good days.

Then there's the bad days. of which there are many. There's the part of me that waits and whispers; that encapsulates that what I suspect others think about me. That part of me hides in my subconcious until i'm at a particularly low point and hisses 'It was your fault. And you know it.'

And at those moments, objectively or not, logically or not... I have no choice but to agree with it. I wasn't the one to kill her, but was it because of me she returned to Belfast? Was it because of me she joined this organisation? (Of which I still know virtually nothing). Was it because of me the mutant gangs were out and about that night? That they'd been trained? I'm forced to consider these questions. And the only answer I can come up with that has any kernel of truth to it is, 'Yes.

I try and put that kind of thinking out of my mind before it can gain a sure foothold - to dwell on what-ifs and maybes will surely drive me mad.

Hh...

I had my first panic attack the other day. My first real one. My first one which left me completely and utterly helpless. I don't know if its related to Kaia's death specifically, or is just a cumulative effect of my life for the past few years.

I was squaring off against a crowd of mutant kids - the first time i'd encountered any in over a month. 14-19 years old, they were taunting me, goading me about Kaia. I was about to sail into them when all of a sudden I felt this completely overwhelming sense of fear, anxiety and - heh - panic. Its strange now, looking back objectively at what happened.
Physiologically my body went into overdrive. I could feel my heart fluttering, my muscles twitching and my skin becoming cold and clammy - as though \i was going into shock. My fingers and toes especially became numb and tingly and a fleeting pulse down my arms led me for a brief moment to suspect a heart attack (it happens) which only added to the mounting panic.
The edges of my vision became darkened; blurry; and I was taken by a sheer need to escape. To get away. Not necessarily to anywhere, but just to flee the immediate vicinity. It felt very... primal. Logical processes and the ability to think rationally were engulfed by a force so powerful and regressive that - thinking about it now - would be incredibily useful if it could be harnessed and utilised.

I panicked - completely and utterly - and flailed wildly at those few mutant kids who had ecided to try and atack physically. Fending them off, not caring who or where I hit, I fled the scene blindly, moaning incoherently with a thrill of mounting panic in my voice. Not knowing or caring where I was going I began to hyperventilate, running panicked, with no sense where I was going or what I was doing.
Except.... except somehow I did know where I was going. Or at least, a part of me did. The real 'me' the driving force behind my actions, that part which does the thinking and analysing and planning; it took a back seat, and was replaced by a palpable force of animalistic instinct. A beacon in my minds eye. A flashing warning light that contained a prime directive which supplanted every other part of my core being. A directive which said simply 'SAFE'. Over and over again, this word flashed in my brain. It was as though all other mental faculties had shut down and I was operating on some human equivalent of an in-built 'safe' mode. Everything striped from me completely but an overriding desire to hide and be safe. A need to find a safe area and stay there. A bolt-hole. And its strange, my 'bolt-hole' wasn't a place I would have expected.

It was a while before I came out of my faugue state, and rather than my bedroom - which is where I would have expected to find myself - I found myself hunkered down beside a large industrial bin in the dark recesses of a squalid, damp and pungent city centre dead-end alley. I was rocking back and forth on my toes, my face in my hands, and completely drenched in sweat.
Slowly, labouriously, I stood up and crept, sneaked, towards the entrance to the alley. I realised that the alley served the row of commercial units of which JonnyHotRocks was one, and hesitantly I walked in, sinking onto one of the sofa's and breathed a massive sigh of relief.
Jonny, one of the owners, came over and started to talk to me, but after a few rambling, nonsensical responses he must have realised that I wasn't up for conversation and gracefully left me in peace.

I was still 'rebooting' I suppose is the most appropriate analogy - and was slowly, painfully approaching something akin to my normal self. Jonny came back and placed a bowl of steamed milk in front of me. "You look like you're in shock - get that down yeh."

I looked up gratefully and nodded my thanks as he walked off. JonnyHotRocks is a themed coffee shop. They show movies and TV shows all day every day, and as I focused on the screen in front of me I realised they were showing 'The Dark Knight.'

I giggled uncontrollably at the appropriateness, and finishing my milk, trudged home, feeling... feeling that everything was ok.

That things would change soon.

[Rambo, John J]

30th April 2009

I never intended for this to become a diary you know - despite the name. It was always meant to be more of a journal - a log. Something to keep track of what i'd been doing as the MIB and where i'd been doing it. Things i'd tried as the MIB; what had worked, what hadn't worked; things I could be doing better or shouldn't be doing at all - that sort of thing.

But the second I wrote the title, and began typing... it became its own thing. It was almost as though I was writing about someone else's life. Or a life that could have been mine in the next universe. Writing about it the way I do - as a story makes it seem less real to me; and yet somehow more real at the same time. I read over it on occasion and can hardly beleive some of the things that have happened to me. And thats only the things I feel are worthy of mention. There's a lot more goes on at night when i'm on patrol that is left unsaid.

I loved to write as a kid. But I wrote sci-fi; fiction; fantasy; adventure. Make-believe. Although I enjoy writing about myself on occasion, there's a forced regularity about the keeping of a diary that was always off-putting to me. As well as the implicit understanding that to write in a diary is to commit a part of yourself to page, to write about aspects and facets of yourself, life and personality you'd sometimes rather left buried; there's also always a constant secret worry that eats at you, 'what if someone I know finds this?'

Out here in the internet, everyone has a blog, or a facebook or myspace. Everyone's life is public; everyone knows each others business. And yet, in some respects, we don't know the other people we're 'friends' with at all.

I don't mind keeping this diary online where its readily available for anyone to read (if they know where to look). Because at the end of the day, people who know me well; people I would consider myself to be close to; they have no idea of my secret life. Its strange, I alluded to this diary on my facebook page - I wrote about how writing took up a bit of my time (and it does) - and the next day in work a co-worker who i'd never really even talked to asked me how the book was coming along. I blinked stupidly and asked 'wha... huh?' blankly; completely confused.

"Your book. You said on facebook about writing taking up all your time. You must be writing a book for you to spend so much time on it. I haven't seen you out for a night out in ages!"

I grinned, "Oh yeah..! The....book..." I elaborated slightly with the guy, telling him that it was just a project I'd be doing for a few years - nothing serious, but he seemed impressed that I sat down in front of a computer to type a load of nonsense. At least, as far as he knows.

I'm not quite sure where i'm going with this mini-rant. I just felt like writing about something that isn't MIB related for a change. Well, not directly anyway. I'm out nightly still searching for the mutant kids, but there's a sense of inexorability about it now. I will find them eventually, I know that with a deep conviction, so i'm not going to let it run my life.

My flatmate lost his job recently as well. Another victim of the good old credit crunch. As a result, he's job hunting daily and is about the house a lot more now. I take the precaution of hiding my uniform (not costume) securely now before I leave the house. Not because I think the worst, but because he's unemployed, lounging around the house, bored - idle hands and all that.

He also stays up late now as well - til about three or four in the morning. He explained it by saying that he's bored during the day, so the way he sees it, he may as well stay up late, then wake up late so that the day's half over. I can't say I agreed with his rationale, but who am I to argue.

This of course means that when I come in after patrol, I now have to sneak in and get to my room quietly. Living in a tiny city centre flat as we do, this is beginning to become something of an annoyance. Its weird too, I used to be able to tell the guy anything and everything but recently... recently its as though he's just given up on living. There are days when I come home and he's blatantly sat around the house playing Pro-evo on the Playstation all day. The place is a tip, and he's sure as hell not been out job-hunting. Then he lies and tells me about how he's spent all day tidying and looking for jobs. I actually want to grab him and knock some sense into him. I want to confront him, call him on his lies; but I don't. Hypocrisy notwithstanding, i'm not his father. He's a grown man, he shouldn't need to be told to sort himself out; to get a job. He tells me his lies, and I pretend like I believe him. And again comes the doubt - is this breakdown in our friendship my fault? If I confided in him would things be different between us?

And I guess thats the real cost of being the Man In Black. The small things. Not the stabbings, broken bones or plethora of other larger scale events i've depicted in this. Its the minutia. Those little slices of life that are soured or ruined by having to constantly flake out; to lie to those around me; to not be there for someone when they need you to be.

What is it they say? That life's that thing that happens to you while you're waiting on things to happen? No idea who 'they' are, or indeed what that means, but it seems to fit my mood.

Ugh... Sometimes I just depress myself.

Right, i'm off out on patrol. I've a rare night off from work so i'm heading out early.

I'll be back though constant reader. Although I began this as a ledger of sorts, there have been times when all I can think about is getting home so that I might recap the events of the night or of previous weeks. I did this for me, as a way to keep myself sane; but upon discovering that there are people out there who do read this (and although they - very probably - consider it a work of fiction); I find myself not wanting to disappoint them. Or you for that matter.