The light blinded him, and seemed even more intense due to the darkness that surrounded him and the light was directly above his head and shone straight into his eyes. He looked down at his hands; they were restrained against the chair he sat on. He then stared down at his feet and saw they had taken the same fate as his hands. He shook his head back and forth, the long strands of material that hung off his mask batted his face and whipped in random directions. His eyes had still not adjusted to the abyss that surrounded him, yet he continued to look into the darkness, as if expecting something to reveal itself.

He shook his shackles loudly, as if trying to appeal to a mysterious entity to release him. When he realised nobody had come, he repeated it, this time adding screams so intense his head began to ache. Heavy breathing came next, followed by the raking of his dirty finger nails against the arm rest, which soon turned into a rhythmic tapping. The restlessness increased in him, screaming, tapping, shaking of shackles, foot stamping, sobbing, mindless jabbering….silence.

As soon as the outburst stopped, a light flickered opposite him, revealing someone sat in a chair, but not shackled. The man had short, sharp spikes for hair, and dressed casually, his expression was one of uncaringness and contentment with himself. The man slammed his palms against the arm rest and stood up, hands in the pockets either side of his trousers and he whistled us he walked slowly over to his hostage. The man’s hands wandered over his hostage’s mask and gradually down his face. He stroked the beard of his hostage, mockingly and then gave a skin-touch slap to the man shackled to the chair.

“How are you feeling?” The man shrugged.

His hostage remained silent.

“Yes, I know, you don’t like it.  Neither do I, but this is necessary,” the man said sadly.

The hostage still stared into the eyes of the man, who merely broke his gaze and walked behind the hostage and started to massage the head of his hostage.

“Better? Are you calming down? I’ve been to Thailand, so I know a thing about massages.”

“Artemis. Why am I in shackles?” The hostage finally spoke.

“Well, CraZe….it’s one of my methods.”

“.......”

“I should explain. You want to remember your past, right?”

“More than anything.”

“So, I wanted to sit you down and have a conversation, but that was pretty hard, as you always walked off. Then I decided to go for the extreme…I knocked you unconscious, tied you up and your little outburst cleared your head of any anger you’ve had clouding your mind,” Pembroke explained.

“Was that necessary?”

“Hey, it’s my methods,” Pembroke shrugged.

“Can I go yet, or at least talk about this in a place that doesn’t look like a sex dungeon?” CraZe moaned.

“Speaking from experience?”

“A guy in a mask roaming the streets is bound to end up in one sooner or later,” CraZe said nonchalantly.

“Even that is too weird for me to discuss, but anyway, I didn’t teach you how to communicate again just so you can avoid discussion,” Pembroke smiled.

“Deal with it.”

“That’s where you’re wrong, you’re kind of trapped here until we talk,” Pembroke chuckled.

“What’s funny?”

“It’s always good being in control over you, it’s been a while.”

Pembroke walked back to his original chair, sat down and sighed, following by a slightly annoying whistle.

“So…tell me about Harry Vetch,” Pembroke said.

CraZe tensed up at the mention of the name and his eyes increased in size slightly and his fingers fidgeted. Pembroke obviously noticed this, but showed no reaction, he was expecting this to happen of course, bringing up memories that someone locks away will normally cause an odd reaction.

“Vetch was an old man wasn’t he? Sources say he was sixty-eight, great age for someone homeless,” Pembroke added.

CraZe still didn’t answer. His eyes began to glaze over slightly. It seemed his brain remembered everything, but did not want to let loose anything of value.

“And of course, when I raided one of your many safe houses in the streets, I came across clothing. It had the blood from Harry Vetch on it.”

This seemed to struck a nerve with CraZe, as the Loopy Luchadore’s lost the day dreaming look and turned into one of hate, directed at Pembroke.

“I didn’t kill him,” CraZe muttered.

“What was that?” Pembroke asked patronisingly.

“I DIDN’T KILL HIM!”

“Okay,” Pembroke replied simply.

“That’s not what I do, I don’t kill people, I try…I try to save them,” CraZe said as tears slowly came to his eyes.

“Fine, fine,” Pembroke said, “Please, tell me about your relationship with Harry Vetch.”

“Okay, here goes…..”

I first met Harry Vetch…in December 2009 in Bristol. They said it was the coldest December in over one hundred years, or so they said.  Vetch didn’t care; he seemed impervious to the cold and didn’t care much for summer either. He pretty much lived with an uncaring attitude, I mean, nobody cared about him and vice versa, if somebody told him a family member had died, he didn’t care, they had abandoned him. He would lose a dog, and he’d find another mutt just one day later.

I was in Bristol after causing a disturbance in Gloucester, stopping a dog walker from being attacked at night, and then saved someone in the same area from being hit by a car followed by saving a child from pond. Media began to grow in the area, looking for the so called “superhero” to show up, so I fled many a mile to Bristol. Settled down in the city centre, practically buried myself in alley ways under rubbish bags and all kinds of crap.

I was struggling to keep warm, dressed in a mask and ripped trousers; it wasn’t exactly the greatest way of protecting yourself against the British cold. So, whilst nearly shivering to death, I met Harry Vetch….

“What the fuck are you?” The old man questioned as he kicked the thing before him, “You’re a bloody clubber, aren’t you? Get wasted and then dress up for the laughs only to awake in a hospital with liver poisoning.

The thing in front of him, half buried in black rubbish bags began to twitch every few seconds as the old man grew impatient as the time went on and he hadn’t received a response.

“Oi, you little shit, this is my place, fuck off,” the old man continued.

Still, no response came from the ever twitching thing.

“Bugger,” the old man said as he kicked the thing again.

The old man bent down and wrapped his hand around the ankle of the thing and began top drag it across the street floor, not caring if it’s ankle met any broken glass or any other nasty things. The thing’s head became visible: a green and black mask with long black strands of material hanging from the back. The old man seemed taken aback at the creature before him, curiosity had struck him slightly, but he went back to his accusing ways.

“You are a party goer aren’t you? Must have been dress up night, you don’t look like those chino wankers or those bastards with their greasy comb overs,” The old man barked.

The thing before him slowly began to stir and dropped itself up on it’s elbows while it’s hands clawed at it’s mask. It seemed quite calm, casual in fact, yet it could not stop the twitch and shivers that seemed to affect the rest of it’s body.

“I’ll give you five seconds before I beat the crap out of you, son, just you wai-“ the old man was cut off as the back of the thing’s hand met the face of the old man.

The creature had gotten to it’s feet so quickly it had caught the old man unexpectedly with a backfist. The thing fell into a crouch and slowly moved itself over to the man. The thing growled cautiously, but it soon fell to a whimper as it tried to awake the old man. It took a few light nudges followed by a serious kick to awaken the man. In an instant, the old man backed away from the creature until he hit the wall behind him.

“What the fuck are you?” The homeless man said for a second time.

The thing’s only response was a growl, before it turned and latched onto a nearby wall and began to climb. But it’s escape was cut off by the old man pulling the leg of the thing until it fell off the wall and the homeless man spun him around.

“You’re not going anywhere,” the old man grunted as he nailed the thing in the stomach and followed it up by throwing the creature into the ground.

The homeless man stared down at the mysterious creature and swiftly stomped on the ribs of the thing. The creature tried to crawl away from the assault, but more kicks rained down on the masked thing. The creature turned over and backed away, before oddly pressing his hands together in a pray or a peace symbol. The man’s stare softened in response.

“You’re scared,” the old man said softly, “You’re just like everyone else in this world,”

The old man grabbed the creature’s arm and pulled him up and embraced him awkwardly.

“You’re batshit insane, but screw it, you’ll be entertaining,”  The old man said.

The creature tried to pull away but the old man still had it in his grip.

“What I’m trying to say is, stay here for the night, keep warm, and then fuck off the following morning, okay?”

The creature’s response seemed to be one of acceptance.


“So, how long did you stay with him,” Pembroke asked.

“One night turned into three months,”  CraZe said.

“So what happened in the end?” Pembroke questioned.

“I don’t want to go into it,” CraZe said.

“Why?” Pembroke said.

“I left him,”  CraZe said.

“When?”

“As he was dying.”

“You left? But why?”

“You tracked me down.”