Chapter Text
“I’m not some idiot you can make love you, Merlin! I’m a human being!”
“I’m not making you love me, Millie!”
“Yes you are! But you’re gay! You’re purposefully making me fall for you when I… can’t have you…”
I’m not even gay.
Millie ran out of my dorm. This is my specialty; making my close friends run off. I mean it makes sense. A criminology student vigilante? I was destined to make people run off.
Now I get it, the start sounds like every other cliche superhero ‘I was tested on by the government’ story; however I wasn’t tested on, never have been. I just really hate how the world is.
I take crime classes to learn how to get away with it (without leaving evidence), I train every day, and I live alone: very surprising for college dorms.
Well actually, scratch that. In two days I’ll be getting a roommate - who will hopefully be able to mind his damn business. A Greek lit major named Micheal Harrison is moving in. According to what I hear, he’s been obsessed with Greek tragedies since childhood, but he’s an asshole. He’s moving in because he fought his last roommate.
When I finally move, I close the door that Millie didn’t, I throw my books off of my bed, and sit down. Man do I hate this part. I need to stop letting people close.
I’m not the most emotionally healthy person, which is probably not stopping people from running from me.
I wipe the tears from my eyes and take a deep breath. It’s not night, so I can’t go out, and I have a class in 20 minutes, so there’s no point in moving until I have to.
With a deep breath I stand up again. Throwing a fit will not do me any good. I grab the trunk from under my bed - the hiding spot for my weapons - and open it. How in the hell am I going to sneak this out every night. I carefully moved everything around, trying to make sure everything was there.
AR -check, Wakizashi -check, two needle point knives -check, whip -lost in last fight, two 9mm’s - check. Hoodie - closet, gloves - top left drawer, boots - closet, vest - trunk, pants - with gloves. Are all of my weapons clean? Yes. clothes? yes.
When I finally determined I had everything ready for tonight, I closed the trunk and pushed it back under my bed. I live in an apartment style dorm, so everything will be safe, but how will I leave the apartment with a submachine gun? My new roommate is almost destined to figure it out within a matter of days. I push away that thought and stand up. I need to put on clothes that aren't paint stained for this class. I don’t feel like listening to my professor bitch.
I put on an old oversized Led Zeppelin T-Shirt, some baggy cargo pants and a pair of beaten up Doc Martins. I grab my two criminal behavior books and head out. I grab a monster, my notebook, and some random pen before I exit the dorm. It’s a five minute walk to the class, but with traffic, it’s ten, and there was traffic.
When I finally made it to my class, I was barely on time. I took one of the few empty seats, sitting me next to Carter. A pink haired straight boy who is best friends with - you guessed it - my soon to be new roommate. I gave Carter a small smile and went to put my headphones in… until I realized I left them at my dorm. Well, I guess conversation is my only option now.
“What do you think we’re gonna do today?” I asked, suddenly remembering why I don’t do small talk… I suck at it.
“We’ll probably do powerpoint notes, as always,” Carter responded. It was almost glaringly obvious that he didn’t enjoy this class. “Hey! What’s your opinion on the new vigilante guy? I’m trying to settle some dispute,” he asked and I could tell he’d been waiting to ask someone.
“We’re in a crime class right? Aren’t we supposed to be against him?” It was the simplest response.
“If we weren’t in a crime class, what would your opinion be?” he persisted.
“I suppose he’s probably doing it for good reasons,” complicated answers lead to more suspicion, I tried to remind myself.
“So, basically, you agree with them?” Carter asked, dumbing it down. I gave a simple and curt nod. Carter pumped his fist in the air as if he had won something and started furiously texting.
An aggressive throat clearing noise came from up front. When we all looked up there we saw an Edgar Allan Poe quote.
As I pulled my sword from the torso of the man beneath me, I felt guilty. I don’t enjoy the murder; however, it’s just me cleaning up the streets. I hear sirens getting closer. This kill was messy, no research went into it. I found him forcing some young kid to do things they didn’t want to, and so in the heat of the moment I ripped him off the kid, let the kid run, and killed him. I didn’t have a quote ready for this guy, so I grabbed a random napkin and the pen I always have on me and jotted down -
“ Years of love have been forgotten, in the hatred of a minute - Edgar Allan Poe. This was found on the victim of a brutal attack last night. It was very close to the campus. Who wants to tell me which active criminal this note lines up with?” the professor gave some background before asking.
Carter answered without even being picked, “That vigilante guy who’s been going around and stopping bad dudes!”
“Raise your hands guys, I enjoy my ears, but yes, Carter, you’re correct. Some suspect they’ve been operating under the police’s nose for a while, but recently he’s been leaving quotes from Edgar Allan Poe,” Professor Jackson explained. “Now, since we’re studying criminals, why doesn’t someone try to explain the significance of this particular quote?” I raised my hand. I could tell them the exact way he was killed if they asked, but it’s best to keep that to myself. Mr. Jackson nodded at me to answer. Why did I raise my hand? I hate answering questions. Especially ones that can incriminate me.
“I think they were trying to tell us that it was spontaneous, something they didn’t plan on doing,” I answered, giving the actual reason that quote was left.
“Nice observation, but actually-” I ignored the rest of his explanation. I wasn’t about to let somebody tell me the reason I left a certain quote.