There is an abundance of evil in this world, and no one who tries to stop it. Sure, there's the police, who supposedly protect civilians from harm, and then there's paramedics who try to save those who the police failed to protect at some point. However, they cannot truly stop the evil. It is always there, and always will be. In some people it is obvious, churning just below the surface. These are the people who you see in the media, sentenced to prison for murder, rape, toture, kidnapping, and any number of heinous crimes. Then there's the evil hidden deep in the crevasses of the heart, always watching, waiting for a chance to burst free. I see this hidden evil in the hearts and minds of the preachers who praise god before the Sunday service, and steal from the church afterwards, or molest young children in the basement of the church, I see it in the teachers who abuse and defile their students, and then greet these same student's parents with a smile. I see it all, and I am determined to end it.

It all started when my younger brother died. The police said it was an accident, but I know better. I saw the high schoolers push him onto the frozen river after school, and then throw heavy cinderblocks onto the ice around him, until it cracked and shattered, plunging his frail and tiny body to the bottom of the river. I watched this from the other side of the body of water, and I did nothing. The secret of his death remains with me to this day, and I still do not know why I never spoke up. As I made my way home that day, I also saw the couple hundred dollars my stepfather gave to the same high school murderers, once they told him they had taken care of the "problem". Later that night, as I walked towards my room, our eyes met, and I could see in him the evil that had led him to pay for my brother's death, and I hated it, I hated him, and, most of all, I hated myself for doing nothing about it.

That was a long time ago however, and I have since then learned to not let the evil ways of others go unpunished. I realized that Justice needed to be served, even if I was the only one who assumed this task. When I watched the masked men kick down the door to my house and end my stepfather's life with the blade of a knife, all for a mere 50 bucks that he owed them, I thought that it was just that he had died, but I also thought they deserved the same fate. So, now that I am older, and live on my own, I pledge myself to serving out justice in my own way, murdering the murderers, toturting the torturers, defilying the defilers, and easing the pain I hold inside, the pain I feel everytime I look inside someone's eyes and see the evil lodged in their heart, festering into something hideous.

As you listen to this, my intermost thoughts, you might think that I am no better than those I punish. If that is what you think, then stop now, before you get any farther into the contest between me and the evil I have faced. If my story does not trouble you, then hear me now, for many have died at my hand, and I find pleasure in finally telling others my story.

My first act of justice took place a few years after my stepfather's death, when I was old enough to be considered an adult by society, yet still nothing more than a child inside. I had walked across town, to the slums near the abandoned paint factory. This was one of my favorite places, as it always yielded a new target, and there was nice bench overlooking the neighborhood where I could sit and watch as others went about their business, unaware that I was slowly coming for them. I had not been there for more than two hours when I saw him. A lone kid walking down the sidewalk, not bothering anyone or vandalising anyone's property, unlike the other punks I see. Seeing him, innocent and harmless, brought a smile to my face, as I was glad to see that not everyone was consumed by evil and hatred. Looking farther up the road, I noticed a car with tinted windows, pulling to the side of the road. As I watched what happened next, I felt a tingling sensation across the back of my neck, and I knew I would be busy tonight. Four thugs jumped out of the vehicle, surrounding the kid walking by himself. I could vaguely hear their voices, but they were too distant for me to understand their words. I watched as the kid backed away, and as two of the thugs grabbed his arms, and took a wallet from his pocket, and the Ipod he had been listening to. I could feel a flash of anger strike me as I watched this, and then an even more intense one as one of the assailants pulled a knife and stabbed it between the kid's ribs. Watching the car speed away, and the kid's lifeless body fall to the ground, it was almost as if I could feel the pain from the knife. My stomach churned violently, and I threw up in the bushes.

Later that night, I had come back to the neighborhood where the murder had taken place. I knew where the murderers lived, still do to this day in facts, because I had seen them many times before. As I approached their house, more of a derelict shack than a house, I could see the same car from earlier parked out front. I smiled in grim satisfaction as I pulled the can of gasoline from the bag I carried over my shoulder. Starting at the rear of the house, I poured its contents all over the siding of this den of sin, and I worked my way around to the front door. I payed extra attention the the doors and windows of the house, soaking them thoroughly in the gas, so that no one could escape. I then turned and traced my steps back to the rear of the house, and climbed the anntenae to the roof, where the last of my gas was poured out. Once I was back on the ground, I lit a match, throwing it onto the now-flammable door. I would forever remember what happened next.

Flames burst to life, reaching high above the roof, consuming the house entirely. As I retreated across the road, I could hear the screams and yells of the murderers inside. The smell, however, was the best part. It would be a smell I would come to know well throughout my life. It was the smell of evil burning.

Decades have passed since that night that began my reign of justice, and many more people haved died at my hand since then. I have shot, stabbed, burned, strangled and beat more people than you could imagine, and not a single one of them was innocent of some form of terrible evil. I do not mean to justify my actions, only to explain them, My explanations were not enough, however, for I was eventually caught, and sentenced to death. That is where I now tell you my story from; my cell in this prison. I do not mind being here, except for the hundreds of murderers around me, and knowing that I cannot do anything to them. It does not matter now however, as I am sentenced to die in a few days. They think that will punish me for my crimes, but they are wrong. I will not stop extracting justice on those who deserve it, even once I am dead. For I will come back, I already know. You see, I have made a deal. A deal that will allow me to continue my efforts long after my body is left cold and lifeless. Who have I made this deal with, you ask? To me, he is a friend, a sympathetic soul who appreciates my efforts and values my work. You, however, may know him as the Devil....