Diary of a teenage superhero

[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.

 

[Rambo, John J]

13th May 2009

I'm staring at an email right now, and I can't quite believe what i'm reading.

Life's been.... ticking over really. I can't really remember anything of any consequence thats happened the past few weeks. There's been work... patrolling... fighting and... and... ugh - its all pretty much a blur. As though days and weeks are melding together into one big coalescent ball of... s**te really.

My face feels completely pinched and weather-worn, my eyes are heavy and all I want to do right now is sleep. But I can't.

This email.

And its in an email account that virtually nobody knows about. I knew who it was from the second I saw the email header:

'Kaia'

I opened it, and all it said was 'I'll help you this once. Be ready tonight.'

And that was it. I've read and reread it - as though somehow the words will change and give me more information. And all of a sudden its pissing me off. I hate this whole 'cryptic cluemaster' schtick. Its from mentor man, that much is clear, but why now, and why all the cloak and dagger? How's he going to know where i'll be or what i'll be doing. Will I be tailed, is that it? Am I under surveillence right now?

And what if I decide not to go out tonight? What'll happen then?



Agh... when did this all get so complicated?

Is this what happens? How it starts? The whole 'escalation' thing? Is this only the beginning?

Either way, what happens next isn't down to me. Any control I had over this situation - of myself - is gradually slipping away. And i'm not sure what's going to happen next.