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“Some criminals do deserve death. But if we just went out as vigilantes and killed everyone we thought was a criminal, we’d have a lot of innocent blood on our hands.”
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—Online video streamer and true crime researcher; enthusiast; and documentarian; Shane Harvey, while criticizing the idea of vigilantism in an online documentary.
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Pyre landed in the fenced-off backyard of the Kennedy house. It was a white-walled—at least looking at it from the exterior—two-story house, in a suburb-like area of the city, called the Garden District. Why it was called that, Pyre had no clue whatsoever, but it was known to house those who were well off, but not so rich as to be able to afford, or so vain as to desire, life in a mansion, like one of those things you’d see on Rich Man’s Row.
The green grass crunched crispy beneath Pyre’s feet, as he stood up and set Jessica down. She didn’t look, or smell, like she’d been allowed to shower or change clothes during her time as a captive of the Crimson Blades. The fact that Pyre—who typically had a weak sense of smell—noticed, was saying something.
The grass crunched beneath her feet as Jessica stood up, and whispered to Pyre, “Thanks. So, yeah…see you soon?”
She sounded very hopeful right then.
“Yeah,” Pyre replied, “See you tomorrow. Stay safe.”
Jessica stated, “Trust me, I’ve had enough danger for one lifetime. You too, Pyre.”
“I make no such promises,” Pyre answered her, a nasty feeling welling up in the pit of his stomach.
I succeeded in my mission, but failed to keep the promise I made to Violet, Pyre thought, If this is what victory feels like, how much worse would defeat feel?
Nodding, Jessica began walking towards the house, as Pyre heard a voice yell, “Daedalus Contracting Incorporated! Who’s in the backyard?”
Pyre heard Jessica call back, “It’s Jessica Wilcox! I’m back here sir! It’s just me!”
Upon hearing those words, Pyre turned around and used a pillar of solidified fire to begin catapulting himself away, thinking, I should get outta here before my presence gets Jessica into trouble.
As he catapulted himself away, Pyre heard the vague sounds of shouting, someone running, and a door being thrown open.
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Alex lay perfectly still, unable to sleep. He was face up on the bed that stood inside his blue walled bedroom, at home in his mother’s apartment. Well, technically his mother rented the apartment from someone else, but regardless, it was home.
The previous day’s encounter had gotten Richard stabbed, and had made it clear in Alex’s mind that he would need to obtain some sort of first aid training if he were to pursue his plans of becoming a vigilante. That said, Alex hadn’t yet decided on which type of first aid training, or other first responder-style medical course would be the right fit for his mission. And that was without even considering the factor of how much money he’d have to pay to be let into the training course in question.
Alex was deep in thought, as he stared at the off-white paint which covered the bedroom’s ceiling, the trim which separated the ceiling from the blue walls, and the baseboards which separated the wooden floor from those same blue walls—although Alex could not see the baseboards bordering the floor from where he lay without turning his head, which he was not doing at that point.
Yes, Alex thought, Then I can burn my father, and all the other abusers, in the flames of the pyre that they built with their actions, that they doused in the accelerants of their abuse! Every abuser I lay eyes on shall pay for their atrocities, one way or another. And I will never turn a blind eye, even if it gets me killed.
Then, an idea entered Alex’s mind, unexpected and unbidden, but the idea in question was not unwelcome.
I will become their pyre! That will be my alias, Alex thought, Pyre! But a simple burst of flame as my insignia would be too generic, too easy to mistake for something else, and too easy to misinterpret or misconstrue. So what to use as my insignia, to show that I will watch over the abused while burning any abusers I can find, no matter how powerful they are, no matter how difficult it becomes?
Then, another thought occurred to him. If he was going to be a watchful protector of the downtrodden, then that should be incorporated into the insignia he would use, the banner of his cause, or so speak. This thought now became that of a red, bloodshot eye, staring out from an orange fire. There would be no eyelid on the insignia, as Pyre will never turn a blind eye to those who abuse the innocent.
Yes, Alex thought as he stared up at the ceiling, it’s all coming together so nicely now.
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Pyre stood in front of the green screen, in the guesthouse that was on Rick’s property. It had six rooms—a bathroom, a kitchen/dining room hybrid, a living room, a bedroom, a storage room, and a laundry room. Pyre was currently in the storage room. The small green screen was something that Rick occasionally used to mess around with cameras for fun, but now Pyre used it to prevent himself from giving away his location or displaying the walls lined with shelves of his Pyre equipment—plus Richard’s computer stuff—now inside the room, with what he was about to do.
The storage room had been surprisingly empty, bar the stack of Rick’s camping gear in one corner. The off-white walls were now lined with shelves, holding various pieces of equipment, and there were several collapsible plastic tables in the room, including one against a wall, which was covered in computer monitors, and other items, all of which seemed to be hooked up to a laptop. Richard used this computer table as a desk. There were also padded folding chairs at the tables, and various sets of lightweight, plastic drawers, holding yet more equipment. The floor, on the other hand, was simple, grey cement, and the lighting was provided by long, rod-like bulbs, in a style of light fixture that somebody would probably expect to find in a garage. Off towards the opposite end of the room from the desk, stood the aforementioned green screen, which faced the center of the room.
Richard stood behind a camera, which was mounted on a tripod, as he asked Pyre, “You sure you want to do this?”
“Yes,” Pyre’s mechanically altered voice replied, “I need to do this. Let me know when it’s turned on, please.”
“All right,” Richard said, “It’s on in three…two…one…”
Pyre, facing the camera, began to speak, “Violet and Rose Brunswick, I am aware that, by the time you see this, news of Chad Brunswick’s death will likely have already reached you. I am filming now…speaking now, to tell you the circumstances of his death. Upon entering the building where Jessica Wilcox was being held, I confronted Chad, who was holding Jessica at gunpoint. We talked, and I convinced him to stand down, per the promise I made to you in exchange for your information on him—namely, that I would attempt to take him alive. He was ready to go peacefully, but Daedalus's forces entered the building and shot him dead anyway. I promised you I would do what I could to get your respective husband and father out alive while rescuing Jessica. I failed. And, for that, I give you my deepest, unreserved, apologies. Pyre out.”
Richard pressed a button, before saying, “Okay, the camera’s off. I’ll get this sent to the family. You good, man?”
“No,” Pyre answered, “I gave them my word…Chad let her go…I failed…”
“You’re being too hard on yourself,” Richard retorted, “That guy was a hostage-taking scumbag. Besides, you only promised that you’d try to take him alive. You followed through, and then someone else, who was not under your control, killed him. He died by an outside variable beyond your control.”
“But it wasn’t good enough. I wasn’t good enough,” Pyre lamented.
“Bullshit,” Richard replied, “That’s bullshit and you know it.”
“Tell that to the kid burying her father, or the widow putting her husband in a casket,” Pyre retorted, before turning away and beginning to walk off.
From somewhere behind him, Richard asked, “Where are you going?”
“Out,” Pyre answered bitterly, “Just out.”103Please respect copyright.PENANAraMlhG5OU7
With those words, Pyre walked away.103Please respect copyright.PENANA9nPt9Zu44i