I got into this business for all the right reasons: fighting crime, protecting the city, stopping injustice. As it turns out, ideals don’t make a thug’s fists any softer, or make my body ache any less in the morning. Ideals also don’t make a good news story. It turns out that dressing up in a costume and hanging around on rooftops gets you branded a pervert and a psychopath. I guess that’s what brings the ratings.

Still, sometimes this job is worth it. Running into a sexy fellow crimefighter is nice, and a flirty supervillain is even better. There’s the sense of accomplishment from cleaning up the streets and stopping criminals. Some of the cops get it, even if the media doesn’t. Then there’s the fans. It’s nice to know people care, though I’ve learned to stay away from DeviantArt.

And sometimes, when I’m perched on a rooftop on a moonlit night, I’ll catch a glimpse of myself in the windows of a nearby building and think, “Damn, I look fucking badass.”