• A gunshot rang out and the black car sped away as a girl's muffled scream erupted into the night. Then all was silent, all except for the pipes humming, steaming, gurggling as someone in a far up apartement did their laundry.

    People go on with their lives, and pay no heed to the girl with a bag on her head, thought the man in black duster as he tipped his wide brimmed hat, covering his scarred face from the world; as was habit now, ever since that accident... but none of that dreary talk, save that for after you save the girl Alabaster. Yes, save the girl, no distractions, no police, bring them in and they'll never let you go. Go after her.

    Tch, all he did was kill that man, he should be rewarded. He was a criminal after all, so many crimes that b*****d had commited, and most to the poor shadowy figure shrinking back into the darkness.

    Although, Alabaster was another "criminal," that was propaganda set up by the camorra, at most he was a vigilante who renounced his family name when they had tried to kill him and his family. It was all the same. Everyone knew that Donovon Russo was a mad killer, everyone, even little kids knew to stay well away from his back-ally lot.

    But no more thinking of that, not before you save the girl! That little voice, always yammering away in his head, telling him to do things he wasn't interested in, gotta be the voice of god right? Either way, Alabaster ran off into the shadows; no longer slinking but hunching his tall lanky figure nearly in two making him appear to be and old man.

    He was tall, no more than 6 foot 5 though, with the blackest of black hair, skin white as snow, and eyes as hollow and black as a cave with no inhabitants. Few ever saw the man, but everyone who did agreed that Alabaster was the proper name for the man; no not man anymore, more like ghost.

    As Alabaster ran after the pitch colored car that stupid voice rang out through his head again, RUN FASTER YOU IDIOT!! Can't you see that you're losing them?! GO MAN GO!!! So he ran faster, and faster still. Until, that is, the car stopped near the Hudson; and the girl, puffy yellow skirt following digilantly behind her like a troop of ducklings as she was practically dragged down the hill leading to the river.

    She twisted and screamed a sad muffled noise as she was pushed the ground and the black bag ripped off her head. Poor thing was gagged by a dirty rag of tattered cloth and bound by a frayed rope. She fell into the mud as the struggled in her bindings, falling on her side into the mud and writhing there until having the epiphany that maybe just maybe it was hopeless. That no one would save her, or so it seemed to Alabaster.

    Just then, snapping Alabaster out of his thoughts, the leader of this little "hit" stepped out from around a bridge support. Donovon Russo, the bloody murderer, taking a long drag on his cigerette and exhaling it out his nose. He tipped the girl's chin up as he talking to her, menacingly no doubt. The girl dropped to the ground again, silent tear streaming down her face. Donovon paced, talking with wild gesticulations, but always coming back to that poor muddy girl.

    Alabaster almost lost it right then and there, but he somehow held himself together through the vivid flashbacks of that dark and dreadful night so long ago. He was just a boy then, but he understood it all now. How Russo had slaughtered his mother, father, brother, and sister; how he had hidden in the closet and listened to their last breaths, words, and screams. How as, but a child, had walked out shaking with a metal baseball bat in hand and tears streaming down his cheeks.

    Alabaster ran down the hill, directly aimed at Donovon, the cause of his personal hell. Seeing him sneer over his blood stained shoulder at him and walk away lighting a cigerette. That night, the night he lost his name. The night that changed his life forever.

    Suddenly, WHAM!! Alabaster impacted with the man, knocking them both the the ground. Then the world went blood red. He beat that murderer to a bloody pulp. Left, right, left, and he was dead. Stone dead, but still warm. The other men down on the river bank had all run off in their cowardice.

    The scarred man untied the now unconcious girl with a swift swipe of the small pocket blade he kept with him. He carried the girl to the stoop of the police station, sat down, and dropped into the most peaceful sleep he had had in years.

    The next morning Alabaster was awoken by a hand touching his shoulder. He opening his eyes and turned to face the girl he'd saved the previous night. She had an inquisitive look about her. Her oval-ish face and big round green eyes were framed beautifully by curly locks of brown hair falling to about her shoulder.

    "Hiya! My name is Carol Davish. Sorry to wake you but I just wanted to say thanks, for you know, saving me last night. I was persuing a story and it got out of hand. Oh right! I'm the owner of the news paper the 'Daily Days.'" The girl said.

    "I'm... Alabaster." he said, hesitating, trying to remember something extra about the Daily Days.

    "Oh yeah, I've heard of you. You're that vigilante guy the police are covering up... Well first of all thanks for ridding the city of those gangsters, and second of all what's your real name? It's hard to write a story with no background."

    "My-my n-name i-is..." Alabaster said, voice shaking like a leaf in the wind, "my name is Michael. Michael Russo."