The Watcher of the City.

[Weltall84 559]

When you had nowhere to go, no money, no job, or at least one worth living off of; you lived in the underground. Find a space, claim it, and its yours, if you can keep others from taking it from you. Even all this time after the war, 'the law of might makes right' never seemed to go away despite such mindset was one of the things that led to the war that nearly killed them all.

Silently he moved, invisible to even the naked eye, quietly checking the many dens and burrows of the homeless and down trodden. Seeing who was accounted for, who was out or missing, who was cold and hungry. In ages past there was a holiday, Christmas that spoke of a jolly red elf that brought presents to good boys and girls. While red and white were not part of his outfit, he almost felt like the jolly old elf. As he discreetly left boxes of canned rations for the family who took up in the old sewer control station, or the blankets for the elderly couple who made their nest in the unused drainage pipe #12. He let them sleep, they didn't need to see him, or thank him; their survival and whatever small happiness he could bring, was reward enough.

Plus those gangbangers in the warehouse district didn't need those stolen rations and blankets. No doubt the news would be buzzing with yet another gang found beaten to hell and left 'tied up' in some fashion for the cops to find.

He gave a snort to himself; sure there were plenty of good security enforcers for the city, but the negligent or outright bad ones were enough in number to allow or cause a lot of the crime-related problems in the city. Leaving the sewers, he climbs up the side of a building, reaching the roof tops and surveying the vast, mega-city landscape before him. His home, well adopted home. His real home was wiped out a long, long time ago, and history had long forgotten its name.

The suit bonded to him gave him long life, allowing him to keep living after the fire, and death covered the planet. A strength but also his curse; and for his part in the war, he'd make it up to the survivors descendants by trying to 'clean up' things that the city government or law couldn't or refused to do.

He was just a soldier, whose real name was a distant echo, only his code name remained but even the city didn't know it. A scant few did but he could count them on one hand.

The air around him shimmered as he de-cloaked, revealing a tall humanoid form in a black and metal suit of some kind; that looked partly alive but fused with machinery. He glanced along the city skyline, his helmet's internal radio listening out for anything for him to check out.