Masked In Purple

Prologue

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(Unknown POV. Several years ago.)

AND then he slammed me against the wall. Blood was dripping down my face, blinding my vision. I could feel my bangs beginning to stiffen as blood dried on them. I was moaning in pain, every part of my body hurt. 

I never should of cut down this alley.

I should have never come to this city. I should have stayed in Vale.

Another punch to my face. Gah, how was nobody hearing my yowls of pain? Either that or nobody cared.

I guess I never realized how ironic the city's name was.

My head bounced back up against the side of the building I was pinned on, before falling back forward. The group of men beating me laughed wickedly, snickering in my pain. I blinked open my right eye, just slightly, to see a man straight in front of me. I groaned, noticing the other men. Some, not all, had silver chains clipped to their pants. But every man here boasted several purple bandanas.

It was as if the purple bandanas were a sign of unity, or something that gave them the power- the privilege- to beat me willingly. It was like magic that had been tossed into the wrong hands and used for evil.

I wonder if I could turn that around.

"How the heck is he not dead, yet?", one man laughed, his voice muffled by the bandana on his chin.

Another attack, and I cried out, falling to the floor.

And that's where my legacy began.

*~

(A different unknown person's POV. Several weeks after that event.)

I couldn't do anything but stare out of my window.

It was dangerous to go outside in this dump of a city I call home, no matter what.

I only ever left the house to buy food or other needy items.

Because of this, the house didn't have a whole lot of furniture, for the most part it contained mostly of objects I would need to survive like a bed and a TV for news and such. 

And staring out into the street, down by the old pet store which was now covered in graffti, there were three men harassing what looked to be a fourteen year old girl.

She was terrified, as the men pulled out her purse and smacked her right in the face everytime she tried to get it back.

The bigger, more stronger men always wore the silver chains, with each member wearing at least one purple bandana. It was identification. You had a purple bandana on, you were apart of their gang. 

I felt a lump in my throat form. It wasn't from witnessing the girl get mugged and not doing a thing, but it was because I had seen this so many times. Countless times had I watched people get hurt-die, and not do a single thing.

All because if I stepped out there, the same thing would happen to me. 

It didn't even surprise me anymore, sometimes I would walk by the other windows in my house and see others down the street being beat up, and I would just continue with my life as if nothing had happened.

Being used to that?

That's messed up.

That is what caused the lump in my throat.

And it was because I had seen these types of things so many times that I usually didn't care to watch,  but for some reason I watched this one.

And i'm awfully glad I did.

Because there was something new in this one.

A man, wearing an outfit of black and covered head-to-toe in purple bandanas, along with a cape of the purple fabric, leaped off a small building and threw himself onto one of the men attacking the girl.

It was him.

I had heard about this man on the news. One that was apparently turning the purple bandana into a symbol of good, a man that wore the gang's sign of unity yet fought against them.

I smiled wide as I saw him defeat the gang members and rescue the girl. He scooped her up in his arms, and jumped up onto a building, taking her home.

To be able to leap like that.

I wonder where he had gotten that 'power' from.

I watched as he disappeared into the distance.

He says his name is Bandana Man.

I wonder who he really is..

Someday I want to talk to him.