The night was dark, and a cool breeze flowed through the city, his city, as Bob peered downwards from his rooftop perch.
“Hey Bobby, are you going to come over here and help or stand around like a jackass?”
Phil, his unfortunate coworker, called out from behind his shoulder. Bob turned back towards the rooftop; Phil stood, mop brandished towards him.
Bob had to clean.
“What were you looking for anyways; another Traeger?” Phil leers at Bob from the other side of the half cleaned rooftop.
This roof was especially gross, soot and oil covering much of it.
“No,” Bob responds, “I was looking for criminals.” Like a hero, Bob thought heroically.
“Well you should be looking for dirt to clean, cause we have two more roofs to get after this one and I want to get home before my wife watches Survivor without me,” Phil says, irritation creeping into his soot-covered face.
Bob doesn’t respond. “Why do they keep pairing me with this freak?” Phil says quietly, but not quietly enough for Bob to miss.
Bob continues looking out at the city, but his resolve is starting to waver. It was a huge city, how is one man going to make a difference?
Minutes pass in silence before Phil once again jerks Bob from his contemplative reverie.
“Anyway, I think the company’s having another BBQ cook-off tomorrow, but I’d understand if you don’t want to be around that.”
Just the words “BBQ cook-off” send Bob into a whirlwind of emotions. Screams, fire, pain and an earth-shattering, unquenchable hatred for assorted BBQ equipment flash through his mind as he is reminded of his his darkest moment.
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Phil chuckles, but Bob is struck with a bolt of inspiration: the next step in his quest to rid his beloved city of evil. To find justice. The Traeger.
Feigning a sudden bout of sickness, which, despite his best acting abilities, hardly seems to convince Phil, Bob rushes through the rooftop door, down a flight of stairs, takes a ten minute breather, contemplates continuing down the stairs, runs into the elevator, clicks the bottom floor, rushes out and into his car, and then drives back onto the road.
Bob arrives at the roof cleaning company’s main office as the clock strikes 9:30 PM. Althought the office is nondescript on the outside, Bob knows the evils that lurks within. He creeps in through the back door, empty office none the wiser, and into the warehouse, the location of tomorrow’s cook-off.
Entering in a crouch, he rounds a corner and spies his prey: The Treager. It stands mockingly in the center of the room, unpunished for the crimes it has committed. Bob stalks up to the Traeger, the pain in his burnt toes magnified by its aloof stance.
“Hello again,” Bob says, “I bet you thought you could just get away with what you did.”
The Traeger stares back at Bob defiantly.
“I will not let your presence tarnish this great city any longer,” Bob says with a triumphant flair walking to a crowbar lying on a shelf nearby. “Your rain of terror is at an end, any last words?” Bob glares at the Traeger.
It says nothing, just like the man on the street, contemptuously robbing Bob of his existence. A dull red creeps into Bob’s vision, his flabby arms bringing the crowbar above his head, vengea– justice would be his!
Bob hammers the crowbar into The Traeger, scratching the paint off its circular top; the crowbar rebounds off and nicks his shin. Bob squirms in agony, however manages to avoid screaming, lest he be heard by any night cleaners in the office.
Bob uses the pain to fuel his anger, and he resumes his onslaught.
Bob lays into the machine, gouging holes through the side, the machine squeaking and squealing in agony, oil splattering onto his face and clothes. Bob throws a mighty swing, and disconnects the chimney from its side, knocking it to the ground with a clang. Bob grins as the machine is destroyed part by part, until only its creaking carcass remains, lying in a pool of its own oil.
With one last thrust, Bob stabs The Treager through the lid, into the grill, and out the coal slot, the irony smell of rusted metal fills the room as Bob stumbles away from the grisly scene, picking up the dismembered chimney on the way out. The smell begins to make Bob’s eyes water, however the pain in his toes is gone. The Treager is no more, and Bob vanishes into the night.
As he drives through the night sky, the cool air cools his raging emotions, allowing him to think rationally of the day’s events. As the cold creeps into his bones, so too does a sense of conviction, to save the city from the woes that he alone can identify.