Armor

Some knight in shining armour I turned out to be. Not a single gesture of appreciation, or even a thanks, just a bunch of people proving no good deed goes unpunished.

When I was growing up, I was always fascinated by super heroes, and knights defending the kingdom, do-gooders righting wrongs and the like. Frequently, I'd get picked on, but defend myself and those around me. Often get involved in the defense of others as well, but I learned quickly that doing so would result in swift punishment, so I had to be more subtle and stealthy. Eventually, I was righting wrongs, defeating bullies, and anonymously snitching on ne'er-do-wells to make sure they appropriately suffered as much as the suffering they were causing.

But what stuck with me most, was when I was nine, my mother became gravely sick. She was dying, and we all knew it, but what she said was cherish life, and how much it hurt her that her time here was going to end so soon. She's the one who taught me right and wrong, and bought all the comics and books for me, and constantly told me that I must be righteous.

Six days later, I had to bury my mother. I'd go on to be the do-gooder, exacting righteous justice wherever I could, as obfuscated as I could. I'd make the teachers that abused their students sit on tacks, or drink dirt with their coffee. I'd later step up my efforts to make sure the wicked and cruel truly suffered for their crimes, I'd cause them serious harm.

A strategically placed, opened can of fruit to fill their air vents with the ripe smell of rotting fruit for those who'd disrespect the queers. Smashing in a window to leave the miserly paying the costs. Roadkill on the doorstep of those who would harm animals. I just never felt it was enough.

Violence spoke loudest, and clearest. After all, if someone doesn't know how to read, we teach. If they don't know how to swim, we teach. If they don't know how to multiply, we teach. If they don't know how to be a good person, we...

Years go by, the few people I've harmed here and there don't go to the police, or if they do, they can't seem to get a good enough description to put me on the lineup. Much to my surprise though, I've learned that the more monstrous people cannot be redeemed, even with violence, for anything lasting. I'd learn more as I went on to major in psychology.

Did you know that the best way to stop bad behavior is to attack it early on? There's also the whole nature vs. nurture debate going on, some seem to be born little monsters, others become them over time. Seeing all these awful people around all the time began to sicken me, the thought of someone demanding they deign above another. Politics are a necessary evil, unfortunately, and I've not the charisma to really tackle that beast. But there's still something I can do on the smaller scale.

You never forget the first. A child, throwing a tantrum and exhibiting intense envy outside some pizza place. No parents in sight, this would likely be the kind of person to grow up and destroy countless lives in their endless envy, throwing a fit over not getting a present like the birthday child inside. I'd try to at least make it painless, but apparently there wasn't enough sedatives on the dart. Kid struggled and started having problems breathing I guess, so I hit him with another dart before letting the lethal dose do its work. Took all of my willpower to not stop myself from ending this seed of terror, but I took the darts, ditched them in several pieces along the river.

I knew I'd crossed a line, but even brave knights must make sacrifices. I'd make an acquisition to aid my crusade against cutting down the monsters before they could become something harmful, after all, it's not that different from spraying weeds while they're small.

As a side job, I got work at a pizza place doing security detail, watching cameras and seeing the young hopefuls being forced to mingle with the burgeoning monstrosities. The saddest and most ironic part is they can't even grasp that they're monsters. I'd study the movements of customer traffic, and I started researching a bit into the place, even got to read the copyright to a cartoon that's being made to star the animal mascots here.

Sifting through the ancient tomes and seeing through the spying lenses, I found some treasure. I discovered armor, and a mace. These would serve as my shining armor and holy bludgeon, and the foolish trust of the monsters as my shield. It took much planning, but my plans would come to fruition as I honed in on the beasts of sin. A seed of pride, who'd step on whomever it took to remain on top. A seed of gluttony, who'd sacrifice the lives and well being of others long before giving up their excess. A seed of wrath, who'd already struck their mother, and was likely going to hurt countless others through their life span. And a seed of avarice, who'd grow to do whatever it took to gain all they desired.

Not a single daemonic spawn would be spared. I'd have to cover my trail, as the automaton constructs would know my face from records of a rough past, I'd have to commit to another dark deed and make someone else their target, as shutting the simulacrums down would draw too much attention from the wrong people higher up and ruin everything. As a fellow sentinel, they'd understand, having to keep others safe.

Being vile beings of their comprehension, it wasn't hard to convince these diminutive devils to the blind spot of the sentinel gaze. Not with the shining, golden armor I'd learned of from the tomes and clairaudience devices. One by one, I'd strike down the cruel creatures with a single, precise blow. They didn't even make a sound beyond the squelching of those horrible skulls.

I made sure to hide signs of this dark, purging deed, making sure they wouldn't be found in those hollow, decrepit suits of armor. Of course, I'd be among those suspected in dispatching those disguised devils, but knowing the cues of guilt and such that the officials would be seeking, I would put on, successfully, the act of a stooge.

I should've performed some sort of purification ritual. The nightmares, the sickening sounds of bones cracking, the cries of children would haunt me for years. I'd find work later, not much would last, as I'd crack every so often, my will not as resolute as I'd thought when I began that crusade, cursed by the wicked spawn to be tormented. As years went on, the nightmares and hauntings escalated, taking on the twisted forms of those animal mascots, Freddy Fazbear's Pizzeria characters. I'd burned most of the merchandise I had from the place.

I've become old. Worn out. I'd finally cracked entirely, I was having problems sleeping and distinguishing what was real and what wasn't, hearing spectral sounds and seeing things out of the corner of my vision, constantly feeling as though the watcher had become the watched. It had to stop. I looked up where the hell the place was, and a spirit greeted me when I arrived. They led me inside, through the back. My hackles up, I was quite aware of my surroundings, a repair room, where they fixed the constru-Sorry, the animatronics. I saw my holy bludgeon, a crank, as I saw coming around the corner one of the machines.

I didn't think I'd be ready, an apparition of that evil seed from decades past had come into possession of one of the machines. The look in its eye was clearly somewhere between malice and wonder, as I took to it with the crank, quickly disassembling the damn thing as I saw the spirit diminish to nothing. Then another machine, I was almost caught off-guard, but I'd stop it as well, tearing the ancient machine apart. Then another, and another.

I thought I'd be in the clear with the apparitions gone, but it appears I forgot the fifth. It'd gone from one of guidance to a spirit of malice, the other four joining it. Throwing the crank at them, it didn't seem to do much, so I panicked, looking for something to protect myself with, when I saw it. The glistening, golden armor. I ran to it, and donned it as quickly as possible, but looking at the smug smiles on those specters, I knew my fate was sealed.

Locking mechanism after locking mechanism deployed, impaling or crushing parts of my body in agonizing manners, piercing my jaw from below, through my lower and upper lips, enough pressure to burst my middle, legs condensed in this hellish prison. My crusade was all for naught as I was damned to a fate of endless suffering without the release of death. Some shining knight I turned out to be.