The choice, forced upon me by those I have sworn to oppose, stared me in the face like an arrogant enemy who believes he has one. Two options, neither of them good. On the one hand: revealing my identity to my foe, severely impeding my ability to combat him and to keep the city I love safe. On the other: I watch as Ava bleeds onto the concrete, unable to reach her in time. The choice is hard, the ramifications far-reaching and clouded from sight. All I know now is that if I don’t remove my cowl in the next moment, the woman I love will die on my account. I look at her, lock onto her eyes. Only 5 paces away, I can practically smell her fear. I think about her perspective. She doesn’t see the face of the man who loves her, who would give anything to trade places with her. She sees the dark cowl of the vigilante, so often stained with blood after visiting violence on violent men. I lift my gaze, stare into the unblinking pinpoints of the muzzles that could instantly cut me down. Six of them. Two on the right of the leader, three on the left. Lock onto the one directed at the back of my love’s head. Look into the eyes of the man wielding it, the mob boss who has proffered this hellish dilemma. And I make my choice. I reach up, slowly, and unfasten the clasps on my armored cowl. I lift it from my head, see the sadistic glee on my rival’s face, see the horrified realization on the face of my darling. I see the shift in attention on the gang leader’s face, his gaze shifting from my face to my lover. I see the tensing of muscles in his wrist, preparing for the recoil of his large handgun. But it is too late, I am already in motion. I leap, hurling my cowl at his vulnerable weapon hand, my own hands darting to secure his wrist. My cowl connects just as he pulls the trigger, sending a ball of flame exploding past my lovers face. I grab the wrist of his dominant hand with my right, my left grabbing a fist full of his well groomed hair. I take a violent step forward, maneuvering his body in conjunction with mine, and as his men open fire on me from both sides, I pivot, shielding one side from harm using the body of my adversary. As the bullets slam into his back, his grip on his weapon loosens. I wrench the magnum from his grasp and snap it up, zeroing in on the two armed men to the boss’s right. I squeeze the trigger and the big gun booms, snapping the goons head back in a spray of blood and brain matter. The second henchman releases a wild spray of lead from his submachine gun just as the next slug from my revolver smashes him just below the nose, folding him like a cheap lawn chair. The life fading from his once haughty eyes, the mortally wounded mob boss sinks to the floor, exposing my left side to the three gun thugs on the left. Three rounds left in the cylinder, three targets to put down. I turn to swing the hefty weapon at the first shooter, but my arm is slow in responding. I glance down, and see that it is torn open just above the elbow. I desperately transition to my left hand and aim, but in my panic my first shot goes wide, striking my opponent in the arm and requiring a follow up shot to put him down. The final two shooters have taken cover, concealed from my eyes and weapon, but still revealed to my ears. I can hear their ragged breathing, the panic in their voice as they realize I have torn through 3 of their associates and now have my sights set on them. I run in a low crouch, moving in on the closest sounds of breathing. I round the corner of the skylight the man has taken cover behind, coming face to face with him. I see his eyes widen in terror as I extend my arm until the muzzle nearly rests on his nose and pull the trigger, sending gore cascading in every direction. As his body collapses to the ground, the final gunman stands, directing his muzzle at me. I rush at him, rapidly closing the distance as his Beretta pops one, two, three times. I feel the impacts, but I feel no pain, and I doubt I would stop if I did, the hate and desperation coursing through my veins are so strong. As soon as I am in arms reach I swing the long barrel of the revolver, striking his gun hand with enough force to knock the weapon from his grasp and likely to break several fingers. My next swing brings the barrel down across the crown of his head, sending him staggering into the side of the HVAC unit beside him. I swing again and again, until he slumps to the ground, life fading from his face. I take a step toward my stunned love and stumble, dropping to a knee. I look down at my body. Two rounds are embedded in the Kevlar on my chest, but there is a gunshot wound to my left thigh, in addition to the one on my right bicep. I just want to drop to the ground and close my eyes.. Before I can, however, I am met by an embrace of the kind only the most desperate of circumstances can. She wraps me in her arms, supporting me as she guides to the fire escape. No frail damsel, she has the presence of mind to secure my cowl to my face before supporting me to safety. As I look into her eyes, lit up with a determination I can’t match right now, I know I made the right choice.