The Sanctioner

I love this part-standing on the cracked and broken ledge of an old skyscraper with the moonlight glinting off my armored mask, muscles tensed, readying for the leap into the abyss, listening to the sounds of bad people doing bad things far below. It's the calm before the storm. When I land behind them in the shadows, they know I'm there, but fake courage and real fear keeps them from acknowledging the fact. The look on their faces when they realize their world is about to be upended is worth all the long nights and ragged scars.

There was a time, not long ago, before the powers, before the need, before the obsession, when I was a nobody doing nothing-wasting time until it ran out. Now, I have a purpose. Now, I have a reason. I punish the wicked and the corrupt. I spill blood if that's what's called for. I put fear into those who'd use it as a weapon against the weak and defenseless. In my city, nobody commits a crime twice.

I breathe deep the night air. The crisp, clean, cold of it fills my lungs. After the accident, a genetic miscalculation when treating a rare bone disease, my body feels like it's burning from the inside out, but it increased my bone density until it was like titanium and supercharged my muscles while strengthening my tendons and ligaments to withstand the added strain. My bone marrow too, was affected, allowing me to heal at an inhuman rate. Which is true enough. I may no longer be completely human. But, when I soar through the air, putting the fear of God into a criminal, for the first time in my life, I feel truly alive. They call me the Sanctioner. I wear the name like a badge.