OSAIR Report #4:
Subject: “The Hanging Judge”
Known Abilities: Teleportation, Physical strength at a far-above average level, Melee-weapon abilities [blunt & rope-based weapons]
Physical Characteristics:Ht__6-7 ft___ Wt__250 lbs [approx.]
Identity: Known Unknown
If Known:
Affiliations: None.
Current Ideological Orientations:
America: Pro Anti Unknown
Law/Order: Pro Anti Unknown
Threat/Influence Assessment:
Subject does not appear at this time to be a threat to the aims of the United States government, but this is not certain. Subject is, at this time, the most enigmatic of the individuals studied by this office and hence the most unpredictable.
In the field of operations, witnesses have described an uncanny ability to appear out of a cloud of smoke, then relocate short distances within a fighting range so as to obtain advantages over foes.
Witnesses have further described the use of a large, gavel-shaped hammer and a noose used as weapons in close-quarter fighting.
Subject also has been described as using legal terminology during the process of subduing criminals caught in the act of illegal activity. A typical pattern of activity involves subject interrupting a criminal activity, stating ‘Court is in session,’ denying pleas for mercy with phrases such as ‘overruled,’ etc.
Attempts to trace a pattern of behavior to result in a predictable set of actions have proven fruitless. Subject’s choice of vigilante venues seems at times almost random. In the month leading up to the filing of this report, subject was credibly sighted a) breaking up a meeting of a ring of pimps of child prostitutes, b) breaking into the home and injuring a well-heeled lawyer guilty of beating his wife, and c) assaulting a drug-smuggling ringleader on the street at 3 a.m. and breaking both his arms on two places each.
The only visible pattern is that the victims of the subject’s vigilante justice all escaped or were not in danger of being subjected to the normal level of consequences from the mainstream legal system.
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A tall, dark figure with a long white judge’s wig swept through the room and the young men yelled in surprise. I had a sense of relief mixed with fear and puzzlement. Just how old are you now, Judge? I thought. And when the figure brought out a large gavel and began to slam young men, and lasso them with a white noose, pulling in the ones who tried to escape and pummeling them further, I felt an even greater sense of satisfaction.
“Order, Court is in session”, the figure whispered, loud enough to somehow be heard over the boys screaming and scrambling to escape. I tried to track their dealings with his eyes but couldn’t- things were too blurry. I could see that the leader of the hoodlums was on his knees, begging, gibbering, crying as the Hanging Judge stood over him, the noose in his right hand wrapped securely around the boy’s neck, the large ornate and brass and wood gavel in his left.
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“Vandalism. Grand theft auto. Rape. Second degree Assault. Premeditated Assault. Assault with intent to kill. Attempted murder. The sentence is . . .”
“Please! No! I’m sorry! I’m sorry! I won’t- I promise, I- please . . .” the boy, now apparently chastened, gibbered through fat, bloody lips.
“Sentence, passed.” The Hanging Judge pulled on the noose, hoisting the boy into the air, the long, stringy hair flapping over his eyes which now bulged with fear.
The Judge now had the young tough strung up on his toes, his back facing the Judge. I saw him swing the gavel towards the boy’s lower back, almost as if he was going to spank him with the comically oversized mallet. It made a solid connection with his lower back instead, hitting it with a meaty crunch. The boy’s legs, which had been trying to get some kind of foothold to release the pressure on his neck from the noose, now went slack.
The Judge made some kind of twitch with his hand, and the rope seemed to unravel around the boy, releasing him as he fell into a silent puddle.
I was still lying on the floor, and saw now that the other members of the little gang were also lying still around us. Some were breathing silently, some not moving at all.
Then the Hanging Judge strode towards me. I tried to rise, but my back, side and legs screamed if I tried to do more than breathe. I could see the thick, black boot in front of him with black laces holding it together. My eyes followed it up to the face hidden in shadow, framed by a white judge’s wig and a long black robe.
“Monteressor Petronia,” the black figure said, “you are innocent tonight.”
“Could’ve told you that,” I gasped.
The judge swirled his long, flowing black folds and was gone into the fog. As soon as he disappeared, a young patrolman ran through it and up to me, the red and blue lights from his patrol car flashing behind him.
“Sir? Are you alright? Can you tell me your name?”
I struggled with the words. My mouth didn’t seem to want to form them.
“Mister- Mister Mon-”
“Code ten-fifty-two,” the young rookie said into his should radio, now seeing the injured and still around him. “We need a bus out here. Maybe three. I’ve got at least six casualties that I can see right now and there may be more. Possible one-eight-sevens.”
****
#
“Everybody ready?”
Jane’s looking at us. The black eyemask is tight in place, but I can see her eyes inside. They’re sharp, focused and ready for anything.
“Ready, Calamity Jane!”
Gawd almighty, but Mi- Snowman, got to remember to use their ‘aliases,’ that way the cops’ll have a harder time finding us. But really, this is getting to be too much I think. We’re packed inside a stolen car like sardines in a can, we’ve gone over the plan as many times as you can go over something without actually being there, to the point where I know everyone else’s part as well as my own. Maybe even better than my own. Normally, when Jane asks that kind of question we just say ‘yeah,’ like a bunch of tired dogface soldiers who’ve been on a March all day. But good old Snowman here, sitting up front and perked up like a good doggy ready to get a biscuit? He’s using the lingo Jane said to use, keeping our aliases steady, talking like he’s one of the guys out of comics instead of a guy who ain’t even old enough to drink or vote who’s about to commit a crime he could go away for twenty years for if he gets caught.
Really, it makes me wonder: we’re five people in a little car, dressed in goofy outfits and masks. How come no one’s reported us yet and we don’t have someone like the Airman drop outta the sky, or the Champion charge down the street on his white horse that he’s named Virtue. Yeah, you got that right. I try driving a car with expired plates, cops swoop down on me and give me a ticket, making Jew jokes the whole time when they see my last name on my driver’s license. Guy like the Champion charges down 5th avenue on a fucking horse, they stand back and applaud. What?
“Mothman, you listnin’?”
Crap. we’re here.
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TO BE CONTINUED...