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scans_dailyIt'd begun last October.
Officer Greg Hettinger, who'd donned the black hood of a man he'd shot in the line of duty, had fled the wake of his vigilantism.
He left his hood behind him on the outskirts of Philadelphia and went away.
He wound down to California.
There, he wore a bluer hood and threw himself at crime again.
He stopped a branding-obsessed shotgun-wielding duo from fulfilling a contract.
" Your brand needs work, raggedy man. " the second of them'd said, aiming his weapon.
" Here's my fucking brand. " he'd said, throwing the shotgun he'd taken away from the first one.
(The other shotgun guy'd taken the butt of his weapon to the head after it was taken away from him.)
" Everyone who's either cared for me is dead..
" .. or never wants to see me again.
" So I went away. "
He sat where he lived now, homeless in Santa Monica.
The man in the shadows, the contract killer known as the Nobody, the sort of man who kept a " Hunting Journal " in neat cursive, smiled.
He'd found the Black Hood again.
This time, he was the hunter- the first time, he'd been the prey.
He wanted to tie up this " loose end " - he'd confirmed the Hood's death, only to see him effectively come back to life.
He'd traced Greg's work in Philadelphia to its conclusion.
" .. the Hood fled. "
(The Nobody is the kind of man nobody notices.)
The Nobody felt an anticlimax as he made his way to Greg.
" Are you hungry? "
He pulled out a gun.
(Nice big fade-to-black, that.)
Officer Greg Hettinger, who'd donned the black hood of a man he'd shot in the line of duty, had fled the wake of his vigilantism.
He left his hood behind him on the outskirts of Philadelphia and went away.
He wound down to California.
There, he wore a bluer hood and threw himself at crime again.
He stopped a branding-obsessed shotgun-wielding duo from fulfilling a contract.
" Your brand needs work, raggedy man. " the second of them'd said, aiming his weapon.
" Here's my fucking brand. " he'd said, throwing the shotgun he'd taken away from the first one.
(The other shotgun guy'd taken the butt of his weapon to the head after it was taken away from him.)
" Everyone who's either cared for me is dead..
" .. or never wants to see me again.
" So I went away. "
He sat where he lived now, homeless in Santa Monica.
The man in the shadows, the contract killer known as the Nobody, the sort of man who kept a " Hunting Journal " in neat cursive, smiled.
He'd found the Black Hood again.
This time, he was the hunter- the first time, he'd been the prey.
He wanted to tie up this " loose end " - he'd confirmed the Hood's death, only to see him effectively come back to life.
He'd traced Greg's work in Philadelphia to its conclusion.
" .. the Hood fled. "
(The Nobody is the kind of man nobody notices.)
The Nobody felt an anticlimax as he made his way to Greg.
" Are you hungry? "
He pulled out a gun.
(Nice big fade-to-black, that.)
