part 1 - rise of the black skull

8/2/2019 Part 1 - Rise of the Black Skull

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The Shadow Watchers

Part 1-

Rise of the Black Skull

A Crime Fighter Serial by Andrew Roberts



Rockwell Bay – 2012

Night fell on the thriving metropolis of Rockwell Bay. Market stalls in Rockwell Plaza were being

packed up and vacated. The Prosperity Hall shopping mall was closing for the day. Drug dealers

and prostitutes were setting up on the street corners in Pleasure Circus, the city’s red-light district.

Vagrants tried to sleep of the effects of cheap booze throughout the slums of Skid Row, while

street gangs began to roam in the Hives. A couple was leaving a cinema, attempting to hail a taxi

to get home. As they searched, they found themselves wandering into the Hives, as shown by a

heavily graffiti-encrusted sign. Old flats comprised the neighbourhood buildings, interspersed with

bars and convenience stores sealed off with shutters and barred windows.

“Johnny,” the young woman said nervously, “I don’t like the look of this place. Why can’t we get a

cab?”

“We can take a shortcut through here.” Johnny replied, “Relax Lori. I know where we’re going.”

The pair strolled cautiously through the neighbourhood, when a large group of seven youths

blocked their path. As the couple tried to leave, three of the youths ran behind and shoved them to

the ground while another three began to beat them with baseball bats. When Lori tried to slip

away, the seventh youth drew a switchblade and held it at her jacket. Before anything else could

happen, a small object thrown from an alleyway struck him on the head. Nursing the bump, henoticed that the object was a small replica of a human skull, made of metal. The other youths

looked at it, bewildered.



“Who’s the retard who throws skulls?” one of them asked, prompting another to snigger. As they

examined it, the skull emitted an evil laugh from a concealed voice-box, prompting the leader of

the gang to drop it as he jumped from the unexpected novelty. The other hooligans laughed at

their leader’s skittishness, when the skull emitted a cloud of tear gas. The entire gr oup shielded

their eyes while crying in pain, trying to escape from the cloud while dragging the couple away in

the process. Their attempts were suddenly stopped when a shadowy figure emerged from the

alleyway. Although the thugs couldn’t make out this vis itor, they could make out the shape of a

steel pot helmet and a long, flowing trench coat.

“You want a root canal too, asshole?” The leader asked threateningly, brandishing the switchblade

with a murderous look on his face. The figure stepped closer, brandishing a pair of electric stun

batons. The leader thrust forward with the switchblade, driving it into the stranger’s chest and

withdrawing it. The figure stood there unphased. He rammed one of the stun batons into the

hooligan’s abdomen, knocking him to the ground with the electrical discharge. The other youths

advanced on him, swinging the bats in his direction. With finesse, the figure blocked the first swing

with the two batons. The thug raised the bat again, only to be shocked by the two stun batons. The

stranger turned to the next two youths, parrying their swings away and striking one of them in thestomach with the baton while knocking down the other with a roundhouse kick. One of the youths

pulled out a flashlight and shined it on the stranger’s face, only to find him staring at a gas mask

redesigned to feature a skeletal pattern. He was zapped in the chest and knocked back into his

friend. The masked man viewed the men leave, and heard another noise behind him. The leader

had stood up, trying to get steady while aiming a small .38 revolver at their attacker. In what felt

like a split second, the vigilante had pulled a knife from his belt and thrown it, hitting the thug in the

neck. He dropped to the ground, blood gushing from the wound. The unfortunate couple watched

the other gang members who were still conscious scatter and flee in all directions, while their

mysterious saviour reclaimed his throwing knife and walked away.

“Who are you?” Johnny asked as the man prepared to leave. He had tripped one of the fleeing

youths and held him in the air, not taking any notice of the question.

“Stir up the hives.” The stranger ordered the terrified thug, noticing something trickling from his

legs. “Warn the gangs that they should stop terrorising and victimising. Warn them that their

actions will now have reprisals. Tell them that they will face the Black Skull!”

He dropped the thug and walked away. Ten minutes later, the Rockwell Bay Police had arrived on

the scene. Detective McCredie was examining the aftermath of the fight as the thugs were

ambulanced off and the coroner took their leader away.

“So what happened here?” he asked the couple.

“These guys jumped out and started hitting us.” Johnny told him. “As we tried to struggle the guy

pulled a knife on my girlfriend, when some guy with in a trench coat and gas mask fought them

off.”

“What did this guy fight them off with?”

“Before he came in, he threw a metal skull that laughed evilly and released a cloud of gas. He then

attacked with a pair of stun batons. He called himself the Black Skull.”

McCredie wrote the details in his notebook and put it away. “Thanks for your help.” He said, “We’ll

take it from here.”



The following morning, McCredie was entering the Homicide squad room, trying to contemplate

the incident. His commander, Sergeant Gilligan, strolled over to his desk.

“What happened last night?” he asked.

“I dunno.” McCredie replied, “Some kind of attempted mugging foiled by some Batman -type

character.”

“Seriously?” Gilligan asked, sniggering, “Robbery’s been talking about those for last two weeks.

Reports of attempted break-ins interrupted by some skull-faced man in a coat beating the shit out

of the thieves with stun batons.”

“Christ…”

“I know. McCredie, the chief’s setting up a special detail to investigate this guy. I’m reassigning

you to this new Vigilante Squad.”

Later that day, McCredie had arrived at his new posting in an old office in the Hives. He was

greeted a portly detective chewing a toothpick.

“You must be Detective McCredie.” He said, “I’m Lieutenant Thornton from the Vice squad.”

McCredie was greeted by an unusual sensation. A feeling he always had when working with vice

cops. In the depths of his mind, he knew that he wouldn’t get along with his new superior.

“What do I start with?” he asked.

“I’m partnering you with Detective Jiménez.” Thornton told him. He waved his hand at a young

Hispanic woman in her late twenties unpacking the contents of a cardboard box onto her desk.

McCredie stifled a wolf whistle as they walked over to her.



“Jiménez, this is your new partner.” Thornton said to her.

“Hola .” She said, shaking McCredie’s hand, “I’m Detective Renee Jiménez.”

“Frank McCredie.” He replied, “I just got transferred here from Homicide.”

“I’m from the Robbery Division. You ready to catch this nut job?”

McCredie nodded. “Save the social.” Thornton said behind them, “I want you out on the streettonight doing this ghost-hunt.”

As night fell on the city once again, the Black Skull was wandering through Pleasure Circus. A

street dealer was yelling his typical sales pitch when he saw him approach.

“Hey man, you want me to fix you up something for the party? ” he said. The Black Skull grabbed

him by the neck and dragged him into the alleyway. “Don’t kill me man! I’m only trying to pay for

college.” The dealer screamed.

“You want to pay for college?” the Black Skull asked threateningly, “Tell me where the product

comes from.”

“That’s a trade secret man! You’ll cost me my job!”

The Skull grabbed the dealer’s wrist and pulled his index finger back. The dealer screamed as the

bone snapped. “Hey man, have you got any good product?” a voice asked behind them. The Skull

turned to see a junkie walking into the alleyway. “Oh Shit!” he cried upon seeing the vigilante,

running out of the alleyway. The Skull broke the dealer’s middle finger. He screamed again.

“Who’s your supplier?” The Black Skull asked again. Tears poured down the dealer’s face as he

tried to withstand the pain. The Black Skull rammed him against the wall.

“Lucky Luke’s!” the dealer screeched, “The lab’s at Lucky Luke’s!”

The Skull paused for a moment, and threw the dealer into the nearby dumpster. He left the

alleyway and strolled down the streets of Pleasure Circus. As he walked, the prostitutes and drug

dealers took off down the streets and hid away. After a short walk, the Black Skull arrived outside

Lucky Luke’s bookie joint.



Kicking in the door, the Skull entered the bookie joint. All the customers turned to face him. “All

bets are off Mac!” the clerk behind the window shouted. Several patrons hastily exited the building.

The Black Skull produced a suppressed Colt M1911 from his trench coat and aimed it at the clerk.

“Show me the drug lab.” He ordered. The clerk prepared to lower the shutters. In another rapid but

fluent move, the Skull threw another gas grenade through the slot beneath the clerk ’s window. As

the tear gas billowed out, the clerk opened the security door leading outside. The Skull watched

him leave, dislodging the window and climbing through to the back room. Making his way upstairs,he kicked the door down to reveal two men working inside a drug lab.

“Do you know who runs this place?” one of the men asked. The other man hastily drew a pistol

and aimed it at the masked intruder. The Skull raised the suppressed Colt and fired two shots into

the man’s chest. The man fell backwards into several shoeboxes full of money, receiving another

shot through the head as he tried to stand up. The first man dropped to his knees and shielded

his eyes. The Skull picked him up and threw him into the equipment, creating a dense cocaine

mist. While the man was trying to leave, the Black Skull punched him out and turned on one of the

gas taps. As the gas started to spread through the room, the Skull lit a match and threw it onto the

spilt cocaine, igniting it while he leapt from the window.

As the drug lab exploded, the Black Skull landed on a pile of bin bags in the back alleyway behind

the bookie joint. Standing up, he saw five men running towards him in the shadows, and pressed a

small button on his watch. When he turned to face the figures, he noticed that they were wearing

suits rather than urban wear. One of the men pulled a handgun from his jacket, only for the Skull

to dispatch him with a throwing knife. The second man drew his own handgun and fired a shot

which hit the Black Skull in the chest. He collapsed against the bins while the four thugs

approached him.

“Nice shot Tommy!” one of the men said, “He won’t be pulling a stunt like that.”

Tommy blew the smoke from his gun and put it back into his jacket as he approached the corpse.

“This guy was probably some kind of muscle Luke.” He said, “Paulie’s gonna want to know who he

is. Henry, check the guy’s wallet.”

One of the other men approached the immobile Black Skull and reached out to his pockets. “Hey

Jimmy, who the fuck would employ someone who dresses like this?” he called.

“That won’t matter.” Jimmy replied, “Maybe he’s high.”

“What kind of junkie would blow up a drug lab without stealing the product or the money? ” Luke

asked. “Maybe he’s part of some police death squad.”

Henry rooted through the body’s coat, finding the Skull’s fearsome arsenal. “Holy shit.” He said,

“Maybe this guy I some kind of special agent.”

“Hang on,” Tommy interrupted, “Why isn’t he bleeding?”

Who was this mysterious crime fighter? And will he be sleeping with the fishes?Only time will tell!

part 1 - rise of the black skull

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