Random Encounter with the Hooligan

I had just finished having dinner with
some friends and was leaving the restaurant, when I heard a commotion
going on down a nearby alley. Forgetting all common sense, I instead
followed my curiosity and followed the noise into the dark. Walking
around the corner I see a somewhat familiar sight. Littering the
ground are several brutal beaten and probably dead men and standing
tall above all them is patient #853.

I had never seen the man out of the
asylum, in his element. When I read the reports of his vigilante
exploits I had always envisioned him dressed as some comic book hero,
but the truth is far more imposing. There he stood in combat boots,
black military style pants, Kevlar chest armor, a massive over coat,
a pair of work gloves one of which is holding a length of pipe
dripping with blood and covered in gore, and last a black and
featureless mask made of ballistic resistant materials. He didn't
look like a superhero, he looked like what he was...untimely death,
personified.

“Fancy meeting you here, Doc,”
patient #853 addressed me.

“Um...hello, Hooligan,” I answer
back, more than a little bit nervous. “Should I be afraid?”

The violent murderer considered the
question for a moment. “No,” he finally answered. “Killing
you would just be rude, given the circumstances.”

“That is good to hear. When did
Wickman let you out?” I asked him.

“Yesterday,” patient #853 answered.
 “I'll probably be back in my cell by Monday, depending on how many
worthy victims I find.”

“That does raise a question I have
been curious about,” I said, getting his attention. “How do you
pick your...targets?”

“I kill the evil, the corrupt, the
criminal, the...bad?” he answered, with a shrug.

“Yes yes, I know that. What I wanted
to know is how you know those you've targeted fall under those
parameters?” I ask. “I've looked over the backgrounds of all of
your victims, and as far as I can see, you're never wrong.”

Before he could answer the late night
stillness is broken the explosive bang of a gunshot. I darted back
around the corner then cautiously looked back around to see one of
the Hooligan's badly beaten foes firing a handgun into the
superhuman. The massive mental patient slowly turned to man and
waited as the poor fool continued to uselessly empty the weapon into
his unmoving form. That done the man tried throwing the pistol, but
it went nowhere near #853 before it clattered to the ground.

“To tell you the truth, Doc, they are
normally not that hard to find,” the Hooligan explained as he
slowly made his way to now disarmed and weeping man. I believe he
uttered some sort of curse at the vigilante until he was silenced by
a swift downward blow from the pipe. Being thorough, he then
continued with five more blows each ending with a sickening thud,
until the man's skull is nothing more than a mess of bloody gore on
the ground. “You know though, I do have a certain...sense that
helps me find someone to beat down,” the Hooligan continued
explaining as he turned back to me, as if he hadn't just paused to
murder someone. “Its not like a smell, or a feeling, or anything
that matches the normal senses...I just know when someone is meant
for me.”

“Fascinating,” I admitted. “I'll
add that to my notes.”

“You do that, Dr. Keen,” he told me
as he turned again and began walking away. “I'll see you at the
office.”

“Yes, I'll see you there Michael
Doe,” I called to him.

That made him stop, look over his
shoulder at me, and ask, “Michael Doe?”

“Yes,” I answer, a bit embarrassed.
 “We have so many John and Jane Does at Hillbrook, that I decide to
change up the names a bit. So...I named you Michael.”

Then, patient #853 laughed. “You're
a character, Doc!” he told me, before walking away.