He had a name once.

He had a life once. He had fought and bled to get that life in some of the worse hellholes the world had to offer. He had spilled blood for that life. He had suffered and lost for that life. And when the fighting was done, he laid down his arms and walked into heaven on Earth. He had it all: A nice house, good friends, a beautiful wife, a steady job. And the light of his life- a little angel named Emily.

Not anymore.

A cruel twist of fate took away everything in an instant. All that was left was pain.

And a thirst for vengeance.

They called him many things. Vigilante. Mass murderer. Menace. Serial killer. A necessary evil. To the scum he wiped out night after night, he was simply called Reaper.

Reaper heard the woman's cries for help, the gangsters talking among themselves and then to someone else. As he rounded the corner to the alleyway, he saw the men, all looking away from him, the victim, squirming against her captor. And at the far end, standing over a freshly-fallen foe, was a girl in a costume.

He had heard the rumors of a vigilante in the city, though she never usually came down this far. Whatever the reason for her being here, it changed nothing for Reaper. His trusty combat-knife in hand, he stomped up behind the man holding the woman, tapped him on the shoulder, and as soon as the gangster's neck was exposed, sliced his throat. The woman screamed as she sprang free from the (soon-to-be) dead man's limp grasp. The scream drew the attention of his buddies, but Reaper had already drawn out a 9mm pistol and while they were still caught off guard, popped the two closest to him, a single headshot each.