The Mighty Skeptic - Begins
Samantha held her purse tightly as she hurried through the dark alley. That lonely, stinky, dark place was a stark contrast to the party she had just left. The smiles, the music, the warm friendliness... the thought of it helped her to gather courage and go on through this short cut to her home. Yet, she shivered, for she felt hostile eyes watching her from the shadows.
The sound of a crate crashing against the hard-trodden dirt floor heralded the realization of her worst fear. A brief, frightened glance revealed a bulky figure, hunched as if it had just avoided falling down, but now completely still. Surprised. In a second the man who had thus appeared recovered his composure. He stood straight, almost six and a half feet tall, eyes staring from a dark, partially hidden, face.
And then he stepped forward. And again. And again. And again, in a quickening rhythm. Samantha overcame her terror and started running. Desperate to make him lose her track, she took whatever turns she came across, trusting her knowledge of the area. Only when she stood, frozen, staring at a dead end, did she realize it had failed her. As she turned around, she saw him.
'Ah. A beautiful, young girl.' he said, his deep voice filled with contempt, as he marched forward - 'Smells like root beer. Expensive perfume, as well. And those clothes? Ain't leaving a lot to imagination, you know. Bet you're just out of a party.
'Please, mister. I'm just a student.' Samantha begged, pressing her back harder and harder against the wall in a futile attempt to escape the threat. 'I need to go home. I need to-.'
'I tell you what you need, bitch!' roared the brute, furious, cornering the girl and pinning her with his huge arms. She could do nothing but to sob and shake. 'I know what you need. I know what girls like you need. And I have it here for you!' he said, pulling something out of his clothing.
Samantha, terrified, could only mutely move her lips, as her voice failed to deliver her supplications.
It was a hard-cover King James bible.
She couldn't hold back the scream. His big hand covered her mouth, while the other held the book close to her face.
'You need the Lord! And I have Him, right here! You need to abandon your path of ruin and damnation, and start walking the hard walk! Forsake your sins! Forsake your vices! Repent, bitch!'
Summoning all the strength she had, she managed to free her mouth. 'I am studying biology! I believe in evolution! I can't! I can't!' she begged, in a pitiful attempt at negotiating with the zealot. Soon her mouth was forcefully shut again.
There ain't no such thing, girl! God made what you see, and nothing else! The real evolution is the evolution of the soul! When the soul gets purified of the flesh sins! Accept Jesus Christ into your heart!'
He covered her forehead with his calloused hands, and started singing How Great Art Thou. She felt the scientific knowledge being drained out of her mind, her head being filled by religious bliss, social conformism, and right wing thoughts. She strengthened her last vestiges of free will to shout for help one last time.
Suddenly, the bible was pulled from the preacher's hand. It was cut in half by a black fedora covered in Hitchens quotes, now stuck in the wall by its razor brim. The pages were burning from the sudden contact with scientific reason. Above, over the building, a round, but intimidating figure was putting another hat on his head before jumping down.
As his boot clad feet touched the ground, he pulled out a katana, and held it against the missionary's neck. He let Samantha fall to the ground, almost passing out but finally safe. The avenger said, on a forcefully hoarse, though still intimidating voice. 'Pastor James. On another conversion spree. Still preying on teenagers. Not brave enough to take your bigoted ideas to a university or an internet board?'
I am just doing the Lord's good work, Antichrist. What about you? Don't you have space in your heart for salvation?' said the pastor, not disguising his contempt, and spit on the atheist's neckbeard.
'No, and it also doesn't have space for forgiveness.' cried the logic warrior, cutting the fanatic clean in half with the powerful Japanese weapon (whose blade was folded over a thousand times in its forging). The corpse did not even have time to fall before he rushed to the girl, clasping her in his strong, thick arms. 'You will be fine. I arrived just in time. I was rushing to stop a mass Catholic baptism when I heard your scream. He will not cause trouble any more.'
He carefully moved her to a more comfortable position to rest and recover and he was about to leave, when her hand weakly held his trench coat. Samantha, barely conscious, spoke with a trembling voice. 'You... you saved... I am Samantha. What is... your name?'
He didn't turn to face her. He had delayed his duty long enough. However, he couldn't just leave like that. It was ungentlemanly. 'I am the Mighty Skeptic. And it was a pleasure... m'lady,' he said, tipping his hat, before climbing the wall running and disappearing on the rooftop. Samantha passed out.
Some minutes later, she woke up, resting on the same wall. No blood, no corpse, no fedora. She questioned if what had happened was a hallucination, or even a dream, when she saw the undeniable proof: the place where her hero touched her - her shoulders, and the bust area- were covered in Cheetos dust. An atheist warrior's hands had touched her. The Mighty Skeptic was real. She got up and walked by the tight space among the buildings once again, but this time, not afraid. For she knew there was someone - someone real - looking after her.
Days later they met again and she, naturally, rewarded him with sex.
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