Zoken said:
My name's Charles Stevens. People call me "the gay avenger". ****ing hate the name. First of all, I aint gay. Second, I've done other stuff besides kick the **** outta homophobes. I got the name from my first case.
I lived a pretty normal life in Quens. I had two parents who loved me, and a twin brother who was never far away from my side. Jerry and me like one sould with two bodies, my mother would say. We did everything together. Went top school together. Got in trouble together. Got harrased by bullies together. Shared a love of of comics and old pulp fictions together. Everything. But one day, my brother told me one thing about him that we didn't share.
He was gay.
At first I was shocked. But then I realized. He's still the same kid I grew up with. He's still my brother. Who he ****ed while I wasn't around wasn't going to change that. After that, things were fine. But then, one dayh, it happened.
We had just turned 21, and were at a bar for the first time. After a few drinks, we decided to go home. Wanting to play it safe, we took a cab to the bar and decided to take a cab back home. Jerry went outside to find a phone booth and call the cab company. I waited in the bear seing as how it was ****ing cold. When he was outiside, he ran into some drunk jock idiots from the local catholic school. I don't know exactly why they did it. Mabey they were drunki out of their minds. Mabey it was the 'roids they were poping to win football games. Mabey they were just evil bastards.
But the jumped my brother.
Starting beating on him.
Killed him.
I went outside, wondering what was taking Jery so long. I got out there just in time to see the bastards running away. I held Jerry in my arms for what seemed like years. He was crying and scared. I couldn't do anything.
Then he died.
After the funeral, I was a wreck. I didn't know what to do.
Then, one day, I was looking through our old comics and magazines.
And I found it.
The Shadow.
After that, I got together a mask, trench coat, fedora, and some weapons, and I tracked down my brother's killers.
This is the last one on the list. Pual Robertson. Christ, what a preppy name.
I climb uo the wall and through the window.
He's watching TV.
In the dark.
Perfect.
I take out my tape recorder and put my gun to the back of his head.
"Hello, Paul."
"HOLY ****!!!. Who are you?!?!"
"You killed my brother."
"I don't know what you're..."
"YOU KILLED MY BROTHER!!!!"
"Y...your brother was one of those *** kids?"
"One of those *** kids? How many were there Paul?"
"I..."
"HOW MANY?!?!"
"FIFTEEN!!! Me and the guys killed fifteen of 'em! I'll tell you there names!"
"Tell the cops."
I fire a trank into the back of his head. Then I leave.
His friends should watch out. And anyone like his friends shoudl watch out. 'Cause anybody who picks on the little guy, because of how they look or how they dress or where they're from or what they beleive, they'll have to answer to Hekate.
