A Knight for Heroes

By Kym Robinson

Being a costumed hero was not exceptional. Jedd was just better than most.  In an era of costumed vigilantes few could be called hero. As in any other age it was a time of villains.  Like an open comic book, the pages of incredible absurdity came to life with the flickering passage of every wind stroke.

 

Follow Jedd as he rampages through the city, fighting the darkness, bashing evil as he finds others who seek a justice of their own.

Villains and heroes come together in a blend of violence that will challenge the good in them all.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Kym Robinson
• Release date: Jan 12, 2024
• ISBN: 9798224014965

Book preview

Chapter One

No Hero but Man

Jedd Saville stood at the bulge on the rooftop of the tallest building that he could climb, the wind pressed against him though he did not sway.  He looked across the ocean of lights and absorbed the blended chaos of noise, it was like most cities, but this was his home.  Jedd was hunting, he watched and searched for those who harmed. His body was wrapped in scars, years of effort. The deepest could not be seen.  His clothing dark and customised, expensive and rare.  He wore it as concealment, as light armour and as an identity. 

Being a costumed hero was not exceptional. Jedd was just better than most.  In an era of costumed vigilantes few could be called hero. As in any other age it was a time of villains.  Like an open comic book, the pages of incredible absurdity came to life with the flickering passage of every wind stroke. He found it easy to conceal himself among the freaks, his abnormalities were less obvious in such a place.  Though many were phonies and did more harm than good, few had the moral courage or the ability to make a difference. It was with little skill or application that required one to be a successful villain, humanity was predisposed to such a talent.

Jedd left his perch and roamed among the debris below, he used the shadows and avoided the still awake gazes of the living city. A distant squeal pierced Jedd’s ears, he turned to towards the assault.  He found her, a woman on the ground, two men standing over her.  A scene that had played out over again in both the staged moments of fiction and painful grimness of reality. By now a cliché, a stereotype. The perfect prologue for every heroic origin tale, a victim and her tormentors. The hero to the rescue.

Jedd arrived, a drunk woman celebrated with her friends, shrieking like a desperate goat.  The women dressed to attract laughed louder when they saw Jedd in his heroic garb. One fell over slipping on the wet pavement in her heels. Jedd considered helping her, her red thong on display, he turned away and returned to the night. Jedd cursed himself for glimpsing up her skirt, he was better than that.

Jedd strolled concealed by the darkness preferring shadows to light when he entered the beams, he wore an overcoat that covered his costume.  He passed the crowds of drunks and low life’s, the occasional professional either selling or leaving for the night, whether a corporate stooge or a leg opening entrepreneur he saw their work as the same. Time and dignity for fiat. So long as it was consensual, he had no issues with who ever made their buck, whores always had willing customers.  He walked past the drug dealers and considered them with as much disregard. It was a living and they had an endless line of willing clientele.  If people could not control their addictions, then that was their own problem.  Alcohol, sex, drugs or ice cream, it was their choice to pursue and not his to get in their way.  He despised the violent predators; they were his prey. Public or Private, it did not matter.

His car was on the outer rim of the city, a generic sedan. No Batmobile or gadget filled Aston Martin, instead he made do with an aftermarket sound system so that he could play his mp3s from his phone through to the cars speakers. That was as high tech as he managed to get when it came to his vehicle.  On his person, however, was a different story.  A .45 Glock sat on his hip. Along with a bowie knife. He trained with them both, skilled and capable he had used them both to take life.

Jedd was near his car when he heard the familiar domestic spat of two lovers quarrelling.  It was not hard to find them.  A hulking beast of a man stood broad shouldered before a petite woman, his blonde hair as natural as his swollen chest and arms.  She screamed and stumbled as tears and rage elevated the situation. The gym forged man stood statue like absorbing her verbal onslaught.  Slap soon followed slap, as she began to physically lash out at the blonde statue.  Soon the big man leaned towards her, letting her hit him again.  His face red both from the impact and a boiling rage in response to the physical contact that she continued to make with each stinging slap.  The blonde statue like man was going to hit her.  Jedd knew this, instead he watched on as she slapped the blonde statue one more time.

The blonde statue of a man slowly leaned down and hugged her tight, a little tighter than usual.  She lashed against him until he released her. Still she slapped and screamed again.  Until his big arms worked in a furious unison. Two hard slaps impacted into her like the swatting paws from an uncoordinated Polar Bear.  She stumbled and fell. The blonde statue stood over her and kicked her twice in the stomach as she wheezed and begged, her tears now desperate.  Jedd stepped from the shadows and called out, Hey Dolph, she’s had enough

Fuck you freak job, the gym forged blonde man towered over the costumed hero.

With little thought Jedd jumped into a fast and accurate spinning back kick, a hard-booted foot to the blonde man’s face. Rearranging the pretty features with a bloody delight.  The large man fell to the ground his thoughts as scattered as his dyed hair; blood gushed from his mouth as teeth flowed like escaping boats upon a crimson tide.  Jedd stepped in and kicked the gym statue until his face crumbled into a liquid pulp.

The woman sobbed, Leave him alone.

He is a piece of shit. Jedd left her as she tended to her limp boyfriend’s brain-dead body.

Jedd did not care if the blonde statue of a man lived or died. That was not his problem. Jedd made it to his car, wiping the slime from his boots.  He sat down and removed his mask. Jedd looked at himself in the mirror briefly before turning away.  He flicked the cars music on, it was a selected play list.  Intense soundtrack music played loudly from within the car’s interior.  He flicked it off. That was his leaving home music. The audio for the before.   He switched play lists.  An unpronounceable J-Pop song boomed; hyperactive female voices chirped away to a catchy beat as he drove his car among the dark morning traffic.   The happy foreign tunes calmed his mind.  Jedd let the sugary sounds remove the violent bitterness from his mind.

Jedd exited his sedan and strolled into an underwhelming abode.  It was plain and common, a tediously mundane house on the coastal suburban edge of the city. He lived out of familiar habit, he hated the suburbs as much as he did the city, but no night fighting vigilante ever managed to succeed in the rural countryside at least not in any of the movies that he had watched. Jedd was called a lot of things, some good and some bad. He knew however that he was not a nice guy. Just a man with a determined mission. One that he could never complete. 

After showering, masturbating and having a glass of milk he fell heavily into his bed, only to awaken late in the morning to a surprisingly sunny winters day.  He stared at the light as it breached his room in beams. It cast across the neat and tidy room.  He had no visitors and retained a life of isolation, in doing so he found his lifestyle to be easier.  He had girlfriends in his past when he tried for the normal living. He was the problem, dressing up to kill after dark is not a past time that any woman should have to contend with. Jedd had the internet and lubricant, for his masculine urges.  The companionship, courting and deceit never really appealed to him. 

Jedd never once questioned his world view, let alone the consequences to what he did.  He climbed from his bed and looked over his kit, browsed the dark web before consuming breakfast.   Sipping down a blend of watermelon juice, macca powder, creatine, l-arginine and a lot of green tea he began to ready his body for two hours of strenuous martial and acrobatic exertions.  Pressing play on his montage play list he slowly warmed up with conventional shadow boxing.  He then tumbled repeatedly with a grace that defied his one hundred kilograms of muscular mass.  Once he had done the throws and falls, he began to punch up and down with brisk push ups before climbing to his feet where he threw an array of high and fast kicks.  Guzzling down a litre of coconut water he then lifted a heavy bag, it weighed over half his weight.  Suplexing it with perfect form he then began to lift and slam the large bag back to the ground before he started to practice ground positions on it, spinning into arm locks and manipulating the bag with grace and zeal.  After hitting a hanging bag for a thousand punches in combinations with his gloved hands, he began to stretch.

Jedd thought about the violence he had experienced. It was the fuel that sustained him.  His mind wary of straying back to the moments in his tender years when he suffered the ultimate violence. A shameful pain that he did his best to strengthen himself away from. It was his context to kill, to protect. It helped him to understand the imbalance between predator and prey.

The cold streams of the shower stung his hot blood-filled muscles.  It was not uncommon for him to shower several times a day.  Especially after memories flooded back into his mind.  He returned to bed, pulled the covers up to his broad shoulders and stared upwards at the ceiling.  He had no family, his teenage mother aborted him to the protection of the State. He was then raised by a series of professionals that were anything but professional in their parenting.  He was a means to an income; he was lobbed from household to household. Until one interested couple took him in, it was there that he discovered just how terrible some could treat the vulnerable, especially those supposedly in their care.  Jedd was fed on like meat. He soon escaped their care finding a life of his own on the outside. The cold of the streets was better than the repeated boiling shame.

Jedd lived on the streets from the age of thirteen, returned to stab his foster father to death by fifteen and worked several jobs in various industries.  The internet and magazines had been his higher education. He would listen and observe from those who would teach him anything that was relevant for his needs.  Self-trained, Jedd fought bareknuckle matches inside car parks, barns and pubs for little money against grown men from when he was sixteen.  Only losing his first fight, which he soon avenged by breaking the man’s arms in a rematch.  By the time he was twenty he turned pro and fought inside the cage in sanctioned events, winning fifteen fights under a false name.  He retired at twenty-three, the cage and facing mostly nice men did not satisfy his deeper instincts. It was all just training for a greater calling.

A man that Jedd had once worked for had taken a liking to the polite youngster, keeping his eye on Jedd. The old boss died; his loss was felt by Jedd.  He left Jedd with a small fortune, not millions but enough to buy a house and pay for ‘normal’ and less than normal things. It was then that Jedd attempted the suburban life of legitimacy. When the conventional work place anchored him, girlfriends tried to fix him, and his training and coaching of others offered an escape. By the time he was thirty-three, Jedd disappeared and began to derive his income from the pockets of predators, from the treasury of the tormentors, Jedd self-financed his own campaign of terror against the terrorists of the city.  His initial success inspired others, coinciding with the popular boom of comic book imitation, Jedd found himself as a black and white reality mingling among the gaudy colours of pretend ‘heroes’.

While the many other heroes met up in club rooms and posted on the internet, Jedd bludgeoned bullies among the shadows. They raised money for charity with car washes or provided faux security at teenage discos, Jedd ripped the throats from killers.  He did what they could not imagine doing, but they at least had creative names and adorable outfits.  Jedd stayed away from them and they seldom glimpsed him, except in the moments when he struck. Jedd was an untouchable, even if he could be found he was not interested in any form of bribe. Jedd was at peace with the pain and violence, it was his life. 

Chapter Two

A Good Deed Indeed

Jedd rolled out from his bed, he strolled to his computers scanning for various news stories that interested him, avoiding the many that referred to his recent nocturnal actions.  He was called the ‘Killer shadow’ or ‘Night fiend’ by some of the more creative media pundits, others editorialised that he was a vigilante serial killer or that he was a mad lunatic fresh from an insane asylum.  He ignored the stupidity of their speculation.  The other vigilantes and heroes entertained him though, he considered himself their superior.  Finding their exploits comical and idiotic, most of them suffered death or injuries while others ended up being arrested.  Some were even blamed for his actions.  They were for the most part harmless kids, lacking the ability or follow through to do anything other than scare away a mugger with their gaudy costumes.

While on the dark web via a special browser Jedd searched the many forums where superheroes discussed their exploits or conspired against evil doers, the real and imagined.  He logged in under his usual forum name ‘paininthemask’.  He perused the many message boards that he posted on, he found that the combined knowledge on such forums could be a mix bag, some of the posters were genius though it took patience and ability to sift through the trolls, memes and morons.

The more moronic tended to be paranoid keypad mashers convinced that everything all converged into one singular evil entity.  The X-files had run its course now such episodic entertainment had mutated into canon online via social media and secret groups. Many inside the superhero world fantasied about a super unified villain. Zionists, Bilderberger, Illuminati, Rothschilds, reptiles a secretive deep state or satanic cabals controlling the governments, sometimes a blend of all or a mix of some.  Jedd knew the streets, he had seen up close the eager viciousness of common folk to realise that no super elites needed to pull any mystical strings of power, humanity itself was the super villain.

Thanks to such forums though he had managed to learn a great deal of skills, he was a ’hackademic’ in the truest sense. He had learned how to make his costume, to personalising his night vision gear right up to his shooting skills. All of it quite impressive for a high school dropout. And what he could not do on his own he was able to find those that could, crypto currencies, foreign dollars and just good old fashion trade was payment enough to buy him precious information and kit.  Idle hands and fast-moving minds were available if he took the time to find them. There was a double edge to such information, for every credible insight and ounce of useful knowledge scores of pages were dedicated to rambling conspiracies and useless posturing.  The paranoid and socially reclusive had a peculiar world view that lent itself to believing that they knew how the world worked from the prism of their screens, Jedd was aware of this and often asked himself if he shared such delusions. He knew that he didn’t.

The mainstream and alternative news media suddenly blasted with coverage of a spree shooting that had just occurred interstate.  An apparent single white male had carried out an execution of strangers at a shopping mall, using a trolley full of firearms the killer was malicious as he spent the ammunition from one weapon only to discard it and use another, like a sadistic first-person shooter he took life with excited horror. Streaming it live to the internet he even managed to respond to comments as he checked his mobile device during the murderous rampage.  One interested commenter maintained a kill count as they watched eagerly from the safety of their home as the camera attached to the killer’s head captured each frightful moment.

Out of ammunition and with fifty-three dead and eighty wounded, the police arrived forty minutes into the murders to arrest the killer unharmed.  It did not take long for the media to speculate, the political elites pushed new laws to prevent legal firearm ownership, a review of live streaming and a question into alternative social media all were scapegoats for the acts of one piece of filth.  The forums were rife with theories as to who and what the killer’s true agenda was, he was an agent of Satan, the government, a Freemason and so on or it was all just a false flag attack to push through new laws. Others declared it was a hoax full of crisis actors and special effects. 

Jedd had seen enough murder to recognise the real thing, he also knew that horrible people had no compunction when it came to taking life, how they did it was irrelevant, they still did it.  Jedd questioned what it would take for a person to walk into a building full of strangers, to kill them like that.  It made him sick and angry. 

After a couple of hours of sitting in front of his computers, interspersed with shadow boxing and push ups to help tame the rage he felt over the spree killer. Jedd found an interesting thread about a group of ‘super heroes’ planning to take down a sex slave ring.  Rumours of sex slaves and indentured servants were not uncommon.  The present insert of information was specific down to the hour.  Young women had been transported into the city then forced to work the various brothels since the nation was born, recently there had been an upsurge in such imports. The media had a week ago aired a special report of light sensational coverage to be followed up with token police action on the matter it seemed to go in and out of popular awareness. 

The politicos, police and judiciary were usually the most consistent customers of the sex industry and tended to look the other way when they operated with coercion. Besides the thrill of a coerced slave seemed to edge many of the elites and their public servant cronies into a greater ecstasy, it was after all the nature of their employment. Jedd wanted to spit the distaste from his mouth as he read the evidence presented on the forum thread.  The detective work was impressive, as was often the case from many of the cyber sleuths.  Unlike the spree murder that had just occurred interstate the next shipment of sex slaves was something that Jedd could influence for the positive.

The wider public cared little about the victims of sex trafficking nearly all were foreigners from poor countries bought in to satisfy the many kinks of opulent locals.  Inside the populist’s mindset it was figured that the slavery and indignity was a decent trade-off for the benefits of living in an apparently better society.  For the victim’s misery was miserable regardless of the geography and the nationality of their abuser. Fortunately, those on the superhero forums agreed with Jedd as the threads ran long and deep with details.  Images of the young women, beaten and broken, discarded by those importing them soon came up inside a sub-thread.

Jedd felt the familiar stirring stab from his centre and into his throat, the rage that pushed him to kill caused his fingers to tremble and fist to clench. For the next week at least the media and government would be fixated on the recent spree murderer so any interest in saving rape slaves would come a distant second.  Jedd decided that he needed to act. The idea of women and girls like that suffering penetrated at his dignity and what little principles remained inside him.  He had no code and considered honour to be a dead man’s curse.  Jedd figured that he would always know what right and wrong was in any given moment. He felt that distinction now as he looked at the beaten and dead victims on his screen.

SIXTEEN-YEAR-OLD ADAM Marcus rolled out from beneath the warm cocoon of blankets, he pressed the screen of his phone and saw the time.  It was ten minutes to seven am, his alarm was about to irritate him announcing the start of his day.  He cursed politely at the concept of time and briefly bargained for just another hour’s sleep. Instead he was doomed to obligations and had to force himself from the warm protective recesses of his bed and confront the cold grim realm beyond.  High School.

While in bed, the blankets now kicked free from his legs, Adam perused his phone checking his notifications, sleepily replying to friends while watching the photos and images that scrolled down in front of his news feed.  He followed mostly fight and training related hashtags, along with any to do with superheroes.  He watched with interest recent footage leaked from a superhero rescue, a masked man had defeated several bad guys in a warehouse, his movement was fast and deadly. Adam felt an excitement as he watched the footage.  Upon reading the information beneath the video, he watched the clip again. This was the man who had just saved sex slaves, the ones that were on the news. Now the police were after the man. Madness thought Adam, the man had done good.  Sitting up from his bed with energy he felt a sense of pride in knowing that a man like the one in the video existed in his city.

Good morning honey His mother, Laura, chimed as she departed the shower wrapped in towels. Steam and artificial light following her as she left the bathroom open for him. The slight clothing that she had worn at her place of work remained in a pile in the bathroom. Adam covered them with a towel, any reminder of what she did for income pained him. His mother was beautiful and with such a natural gift she derived an income that sheltered and fed them.  Adam let the hot water wash across him, as the steam swallowed up the perfume his mother only put on for her work.  He was lanky, having suffered a battery of growth spurts that had only seen his body stretch upwards with regular awkwardness.  Though just over six foot, he was not abnormally tall, his seventy kilograms however lacked the meat to fill such a lengthy frame.  As he dried himself the energetic teen shadow boxed in front of the mirror, thinking about the heroic rescue video that he would again soon rewatch. 

His mother had his breakfast cereal ready for him as soon as he emerged dry and dressed from his bedroom.  Adam did not want to go to school, he thought about the coming morning ahead as he sat himself down in front of his cereal. His mother pottered about the kitchen tidying and preparing with pride and talent. If he ignored the lingerie and short skirt left in the bathroom, he could pretend that she was a normal mother, like his friends had. She kept a tidy household and took pride in her cooking, even how she presented his cereal was done with great consideration and care.

Thank you Adam smiled at her before he began to eat, he was always hungry.  He had no father. His mother had been fifteen when she had him, his conception was neither romantic or consensual. Laura’s smile was fixated on him as he finished his breakfast, she was dressed for her domestic duties that she did so well. Casual clothing that concealed her body, modest and even frumpy. Adam preferred to see her that way. And she most likely did to.  Laura never let a day past where she did not remind her son of how much she loved him.

Have a good day at school sweetie she wished for him as he left the front yard, Adam waved her good bye.

Adam walked alone to school, he punched and kicked the air as he passed low hanging branches. He imagined that he was inside his own martial art film, Van Damme, Bruce Lee and Chuck Norris all had been is fantasy avatar at some point in time. He had gorged himself on old films where the hero punched or kicked their way to justice.  His motions and actions steeling him in anticipation of another day of fear and boredom while he remained at school. Adam spoke to himself as he threw a series of fanciful movements into the imagined villains of his mind.  The villains in real life were harder to deal with.

Fuck weasel, what are you doing? A familiar voice growled over the thrum of a clapped-out car engine.

Adam looked up and saw three of the older boys that occasionally went to his school, though nineteen they had filled out and enjoyed the maturity to menace the younger kids like Adam. He knew them well, Brad the mouthy leader, along with Todd and Stomie his buffoon friends.

Adam kept walking, pulling down on his school bag ignoring the slow-moving car as it shadowed alongside him.

Come on fuck weasel, no love for us? The car pulled over just ahead of him, Adam continued to walk on.

The three older teenagers jumped from the car, they wore a mish mash of wannabe gangster attire, jewellery dangled from their necks and rings filled their fingers.  Brad rushed ahead of Adam and pushed against his chest, the other two circled to his rear.

"You not