The Etcher

Captain Greenwood got out of his car and made his way through the crowd. He passed through the barricades and met up with the other officers.

“How many are there,” the captain asked.

“By my count, forty,” an officer replied.

Greenwood’s eyes began to scan the scene. He saw forty people laying on the street, tied up in coils of rope; each person had a stack of pictures stuck to them and the name of the crime they committed carved into the street.

“Looks like he had a busy night,” Sergeant Collins said walking up to the captain.

“I’d say so. He hasn’t had this many in a while,” Greenwood said while squinting in the morning sun.

“Tell me about it. And this group is diverse too. Take a look at that guy down there,” Collins said pointing to a young man lying next to a building.

“Littering…” Greenwood chuckled.

“That was my reaction too,” Collins said with a smile. “This guy is too much.”

Greenwood recovered his professionalism and said, “Yeah, but now we have to clean up this mess. Sergeant, I want you and Clasky you start on the west end. Read them their rights and get them processed. Quickly too. We have other things to do today than to clean up the messes he left us.”

The “He” Greenwood was referring too was a man the press dubbed, “The Etcher.” The Etcher spent the nights stalking and capturing criminals. He would tie them up, leave behind evidence, and etch the name of their crime in the street next to them. It had only been about a year since he first appeared, but his impact was significant. Some said that his tactics were cruel and unconstitutional. Others looked up to him and called him a hero. However, regardless of what people thought of him, no one could deny that the streets were safer because of him.

The Etcher wasn’t always a hero though. He spent most of his life as Eric Jennings. Eric was a relatively unassuming person. Like most people, he wished he could make a difference in the world, but he didn’t know how. So he just lived his life the best he could. Occasionally he would watch or read something that bothered him, but mostly he didn’t let things get to him.

That would change though. It changed the night Eric tried to be a hero. While waiting at the subway station, he witnessed a woman being attacked. A few people called 911, but most of the looked away. Suddenly, a feeling of pure disgust for humanity rose up inside of Eric. He rushed at the attackers and managed to free the woman, but his reward for his heroism was a gunshot to the face. Eric was left to die on the train platform.

Seventeen days later, Eric woke up and saw he was in the hospital. His family was relieved when he came to, but he didn’t care. The only thought in his head was that he wasn’t strong enough. Eric carried that thought throughout his recovery. Every night, as tears dripped down his face, he begged to be stronger. Memories of the attack haunted him and increased his resolve to get stronger.

Only a few weeks had passed when Eric left the hospital. He had made a full recovery, save for the scar left on his face. He felt stronger than he ever had, but it wasn’t enough. Eric still felt weak. The time spent in the hospital had changed him. He thought of the woman and the countless people in the world like her. He thought of the defenseless being killed each day. Eric now believed that the only reason he was alive was so he could save them, but he still wasn’t strong enough. No matter how hard he worked, he wasn’t getting stronger. So he prayed for power each night. Each morning he woke up to disappointment.

A little less than a year after Eric was shot, he still struggled with his weakness. He continued to pray and to beg for power. As the time passed and the power he sought eluded him, Eric began to withdraw. He became suicidal. His ambition to make a difference was being unfulfilled. He was about to give up on his life when a miracle occurred.

One night, Eric was lying in his bed when he got the sudden urge to go for a walk. He left the house and began to wander the streets. He had no idea where he was going, but he felt as if something was pulling him along. Suddenly, Eric heard a nearby scream. Instinctively, he ran toward the direction of the scream and stumbled upon a group of teens mugging a young couple. Without thinking, Eric sprinted toward the teens. They never saw him coming. Within seconds, three of the teens were unconscious and another had both of his legs broken. One of the muggers pulled a gun, but found himself flying head first into a building. Eric was incredible. The young couple sat there stunned. They had never seen anyone move so fast. It was over swiftly. The one attacker, who could still move, ran off into the night. When it was over, Eric was in awe of himself. For the first time since the incident, he felt truly powerful.

From that day on, Eric was a hero. He began to wear a black mask and spent his nights going after criminals. He used his unnatural speed and strength to capture hundreds of crooks. Months passed and Eric got better and better each night. He even began to set up cameras to watch places he couldn’t be. He also began to leave his calling card to show the whole world the crime that was committed. To the underworld, he seemed to be everywhere. It was not long before The Etcher owned the night.

As The Etcher cleaned up the city, the days became harder for Eric. He withdrew from his normal life. He suffered at work and the relationships with his friends and family grew strained. It was not long before Eric no longer had any friends. But he didn’t care. He was making a difference and he felt fulfilled. Each person he caught meant the city was that much safer.

His euphoria did not last forever though. It died a little each day as Eric’s life began to revolve around his role at The Etcher. The more isolated he became; the harder it became to be the hero. The longer he was The Etcher, the more he thought of giving it up. But he couldn’t. His powers were a gift; his life was a gift. He refused to let them go to waste. He reminded himself that he was saving lives, even if it was destroying his.

After a year or so of being a hero, Eric was a broken man. Each night was harder than the last for him to put on his costume. He spent his days vomiting uncontrollably and crying so hard that he would pass out. He didn’t sleep much anymore as there was always work to be done. His body was battered tremendously and his mind was even more so, but he couldn’t stop.

Eventually he got to the point where reminding himself that he was making a difference no longer meant anything. It wasn’t enough to convince him to be the hero. One night everything came to a head. Eric had spent the day hyperventilating and blacking out. His frustration with his life was too much for him to take. He screamed and punched holes into the walls of his house. He grabbed outfit and started to puke as he put it on. Eric didn’t want this, not anymore. It was too hard. He began to punch himself in the face until his knuckles were wet with blood and tears. He then looked in a mirror at his face and saw the scar from the night he was shot. He rubbed his fingers over it, reminding himself of why he began being the hero; reminding himself that he prayed for this. Eric then shattered the mirror with his face, grabbed a broken piece of glass, and etched the word “Hero” across the skin of his chest. The blood dripped as he finished getting dressed. The wound stung as it pressed up against his clothes. But Eric, didn’t care anymore. He left the house to begin another night as the hero. He wanted to be the hero. He prayed to be the hero. Now he was The Etcher, and nothing else.