People started to fall off the windows screaming before I entered the building, and all the gunshots stopped before I got to the second floor. I saw a man holding another man’s neck when I eventually climbed up the stairs. The man threw away that guy in his hand and stared at me. His pale white ski mask was covered in messy red pigment. I couldn’t tell what the paint was about, but I witnessed a scarlet storm, a tsunami of blood, or a direct visualization of chaos itself that I was too naive to understand.

I was stunned by the raw havoc hiding in that mask. When my soul finally came back to me, the man had started escaping. Regardless of all the bodies lying on the floor, I chased him out of the window. He wasn’t as keen as I imagined. I doubted I could still be faster than him, even with another two hundred pounds on me. My fist could have reached him if we were an inch closer, or I was a quarter second faster, or he was a bit slower.

I smashed the two mounts of alloy on the window frame as I watched the man climb up the wall. The two golden gloves were raised from the two big dents and crushed into the wall. “Ahhhhh!” I roared with my fists in the air and swung both of them toward the edge between the wall and the window. My fists went right through the wall, knocking down the broken concrete from the building.

Rage recoil: Recoil

The taste of blood had been numbing my tongue too long that I could even tell if there were still blood in my mouth. I pulled down my white balaclava as I jumped off a building. In the dark alley, I realized that the mask in my hands was already covered in gore. The blood flooded out from my mouth and dyed the lower part of my balaclava bloodily red. Moving my eyes lower, I saw the jacket was also in redness. I was like a baby dropping tomato juice from my mouth. With red liquid kept sliding down my chin, I sat against the wall and shut my eyes like a castle’s gates.

Recoil is the gun pushing back at the user when firing. It is similar to the side effects of pills and the price you pay when buying stuff. This world wasn’t fair. Most things weren’t impartial, but people tended to think that fairness and equity were nature’s rules. Nature didn’t give equitable apportionment. Yet, I would.

I used to be the one getting the most. I was a fool who paid for not realizing it. Then, I lost the privilege, and I became the one executing fairness, even to myself and my power. I called myself Recoil, just to remind myself that guns didn’t fire without pushing back.

Back on my feet, I took off my ski mask and jacket. These belonged to the ash, so I got their existence out of this world. While cleaning the remaining blood on my chin and neck, I slowly limped out of the alley.

The pain within me sluggishly faded as I lay on the hotel’s bed and quilt. My mind also started to be faint, with my eyelids lying leisurely on my eyeballs. I focused on the softness of the quilt instead of what I had done and how the power drained my body and will. I had no idea how long I could last. Especially when the only ones I could rely on were some random beddings. The part of me who wanted to stop the pain was growing stronger and stronger. The piece of me who wanted to quit killing was strengthening day by day. I knew the desire to expose that man behind the curtain was in me, and she would like it. She would pray for it if she still could.

I prayed and wished she was still here.

Suddenly, the landline next to the bed rang me out of my half-sleeping.

Rage recoil: Knight Bat

I couldn’t get that man I met out of my mind. I knew Hank left this country after that accident, but maybe he had returned. Perhaps, he lost his memory, or he just didn’t want to see me. I felt a bit sorry to track the man, but it would be worthy if he was indeed Hank. My briefly-appeared logical thinking nature warned me that I had never seen Hank’s whole face before, and the man could just be a brave guy. Still, my desperate desire brought me to this hotel instead of the restaurant hundreds of meters away with all the police and Hannah.

The receptionist told me his room number after giving him my name, Alice Moontear. My eyes were immediately flooded with tears as I heard the receptionist’s words. I rushed to the elevator and pressed the right button with my twitching hand. The man recognized my name. How could he be anyone other than Hank? I had never told another man my surname. He had to be Hank!

I hastily scuttled through the hallway while my legs were unable to run because of trembling. My heart beat faster and faster as I approached the man’s room. My hand reached out but not to the doorbell. Even waiting for him to open the door bothered me, so I pressed down the door knob myself.

I saw him. I saw him wearing his mask and his uniform, a black ski mask with fire images above the two holes for the eyes, jackets, and jeans. He was just sitting there on the bed. His expression was hidden behind the black fabric, but we sensed each other without eyes needed. I jumped into his arms, and he embraced me. We had our faces buried in each others’ shoulders. My eyes were closed so that nothing could distract me from him. I wasn’t crying, but he was. Yet sincere, his cry was silent. Without seeing, I knew his teeth were twitching just to hold his voice. I tightened my arms and hugged him harder. No words nor uttering required, he let his voice out. Even the toughest person in the world needed a place to cry. Loneliness had to be an abyss. He fell into it like a wingless bird.

“I am here now. You don’t have to leave. We can be together ever after, as long as you stay,” the words were soft and slightly trembling while the unstoppable tear slid off the girl’s cheek.