Vigilantism

The world was a normal but interesting place. Pretty similar to the one you're in now. Twenty first century, populations booming, cities sprawling, forests dwindling, technology booming, and all that.

But in the dawn of 2020, right as the crowds cheered for a new year in Times Square, the world changed. A comet lit up the sky, and as its rainbow-colored tail streaked across the sky, it awakened the age of the superhero.

Certain lucky, or perhaps unlucky, individuals around the world manifested the Alter Gene, a dormant biological factor within their bodies that activated upon witnessing the comet. With this came their powers. Some received great strength, others heightened minds. Some mutated their bodies. Others could alter the world around them.

But with all these fantastical powers came upheaval. Society at large had not been equipped to deal with it, and a great war erupted across the world as people struggled with newfound power.

But eventually, and rather surprisingly quickly, the world settled back into a peaceful rhythm. Through the decades leading up to 2100, the world built itself back up, piecing back its broken cities and roads. Cities started bustling again, people started smiling again.

Powers were put under regulation through the emergence of the Alterhuman Agency, a global organization dedicated to putting Alter gene abilities for order, not chaos.

Thus came the age of Masks, men and women of the Alterhuman Agency who donned masks and capes and took to the skies and streets to keep the peace, and they did a fairly good job. But there were always cracks in the systems.

Always criminals or villains lurking about, abusing their powers.

And it was these that Fang targeted not as a heroic Mask, but as a vigilante.

Life had not dealt Fang the best of hands, but he prided himself in his ability to make much out of nothing. He had grown up without a penny to his name, scraping at the bottom of the barrel in a rackety, violence infested neighborhood in the dirtiest dregs of his city's Chinatown. He could check all the boxes for a stereotypical city hoodrat's childhood: he had a single mother, lived through gang violence, and grew up weaned on street smarts.

He'd probably have been like most of his peers, wasting away his youth enslaved to drugs and gang activity, but he had a defining moment. As a teenager, there was an incident where a Mask saved his life. That single moment left such a deep cut into his psyche that he held onto it tight, finding new drive and purpose in it.

He wanted to be like the Masks, saving others and locking criminals away, but he also wanted to be better. From firsthand experience, he knew that the law had loopholes, little mistakes and backdoors that let a surprising amount of criminals slip through justice's hands.

There was just one issue: he didn't have any Alter gene, no superhuman power to awaken.

That was why he knew he had to try hard. Finishing highschool, he went into the military. Learned to survive and fight. Came out of it with a scholarship to college. Fished out a degree that he turned into a successful small-scale business. Sold it.

At twenty eight, his life had reached a peak.

He sat on a few million, his body was in top shape, and he could fight. That was when he finally started on his dream to be a vigilante. A crazy dream, many would say, but one he was still devoted to. He carved a little base for himself deep in the streets of his crime-riddled neighborhood, manufactured a costume, and got to work, taking out criminals that Masks and the law couldn't seem to catch.

But now, a year and a half later, he found himself wondering if it was all worth it.

Because in present time, he had his hands and feet bound to a moldy chair in the depths of a mildewed, dank basement. His whole body hurt all over from multiple cuts and bruises. Men in suits surrounded him, staring at him impassively through their coal black shades, firearms strapped to their sides.

He'd been caught, and soon, he'd be dead.