[b]Phantom's Journal, October 15th, [YEAR REDACTED], Entry #1[/b]

[i]Found a dog carcass in the alley last night. Rats and roaches and flies swarmed around it, defiling it. Reminds me of this city. A once great place, corroded and swarmed by all the low-life scum with their drugs and murder and pornography. The streets are extended gutters, and the gutters are filled with blood. When the drains finally scab over and all the vermin drown, they'll look up and shout "save us!"

And I'll look down and whisper "no."[/i]

Closing his journal shut and stuffing it and the pen into his coat pocket, Phantom stood from his crouching position and looked on at the city of Treaft. It disgusted him. One of these days, someone will clean this place up. That someday will be no time soon. Until it comes, he's trying to clean up as much as he can.

He heard a scream nearby. Straightening his fedora, he broke into a sprint, leaped across a three meter gap to another rooftop, then, when he reached the edge of that roof, kneeled down and looked into the alley below. A mugging in progress. Two guys ganging up on a woman. And, if things go their way, it's more than likely they'll rape her.

That's not going to happen on his watch.

Phantom pulled out his grappling hook, then took aim at the fire escape on the other roof. He fired, and the hook wrapped around the railing. Making sure it was secured, Phantom then let it pull him across the gap. After clearing it, he retracted the hook and walked down the fire escape as quietly as possible. He dropped down onto the ground without a sound, then looked over at the two men.

"Gentlemen." He said, before darting into the cover of a barrel as the men looked around in confusion. When they weren't looking, he darted to another bit of cover, a dumpster, getting closer to them. Picking up a brick, he chucked it down the other end of the alley. When the thugs were looking away towards the sound of the brick, he slowly walked up behind them, looking to their victim and putting a finger up to his lips.

Then, he grabbed both of their heads and slammed them together, hard enough to probably cause a concussion. He quickly broke the arms of one of the thugs, then stomped on the knees of the other. As the woman screamed in terror and ran, Phantom beat down on the incapacitated thugs until they were bloodied and bruised and nearly dead. Normally he'd keep going until they [i]were[/i] dead, but he felt merciful that night. He pulled a small card out of his pocket, which had his symbol on it: a smiley face. Quickly, he turned and ran away.

Phantom then walked to the post office. It was closed at this time of night, being 3 in the morning, but he had a way of getting inside. That meant grabbing a nearby pot and throwing it at the window, breaking it open and stepping inside, ignoring the alarm. He then went to his PO box, and leafed through the letters inside. He found one that caught his interest, talking about a team of vigilantes forming, and to meet at a warehouse. It gave him an address, a time and a day. 11 PM, October 15th. That was 18 hours from now. He had time.

[b]Phantom's Journal, October 15th, [YEAR REDACTED], Entry #2[/b]

[i]Going to this warehouse. Team of vigilantes, apparently. Maybe they can help me clean up this city. If not, then I can always go back to a solo career. And if this a trap set up by Polybius, then I can fight him off. Always have. Maybe this time I'll kill the bastard.

Leaving now. If there are no more entries after this, I've been killed. If that happens, then, to whoever finds this: burn this book.[/i]

Phantom closes the book and stuffs it and the pen into his pocket. He stood from his crouching position, and looked down at the warehouse. Time to find out who this person was that sent him the letter. He climbed down the fire escape and walked to the building silently, sticking to cover and the shadows. No need to alert anyone to his presence.

As he slipped inside, he saw a man that was undoubtedly several years his senior. Big guy, wearing combat armor, and has quite a few guns on his person. He also saw a young woman there, maybe a few years younger than he was. He cleared his throat. "I got the letter. Whoever wrote it can tell me what this is about."