BEHIND THE MASK:

The Rise and Fall of Casey Jones

Part 1-

Superstar/Savant

He was the hottest thing to hit sports in years, the biggest news in the rookie league and well on his way to claiming a spot among the greats, Casey Jones was a superstar. Not only able to play EVERY single sport he took up, he EXCELLED at them too, baseball, football, soccer, even tennis, Casey was one of the best. Bashing his way through anyone in his path, he was easily the deadliest man on the hockey rink at any given moment, even more-so when he had a puck to shoot home though. Indeed Hockey was Casey's calling from the very beginning, which made sense considering that both his father AND grandfather had been professional goalies. Some said Hockey was in his blood.

Casey's path to stardom began when he was in High School, up until that point, he'd been utilized as a sort of bulldozer on the hockey rink to clear a path to the goal, but after an incident in which Casey somehow managed to plow his way across the entire rink and score single-handedly, he was instantly given a scholarship and all-but guaranteed a professional shot… And sure enough, after 3 years of playing his way through college, Casey made it. He was drafted by the New York Rangers and was well on his way to PROFESSIONAL stardom… Until one night after a game…

Casey was on his way out of the stadium, he'd waited until all the press and fans had left, trying to get one night off from the attention he'd suddenly gotten during his year playing in the NHL. He made his way out of the locker room hallway, out into the cold, Winter New York air, the sounds of the city buzzing around him like an applause. He knew that this was the life for him, fortune and glory while doing what he loved to do. On top of the world, and nothing could bring him down.

He was suddenly snapped out of his thoughts by the sounds of footsteps approaching from behind the building, he turned, tucking a baseball cap down over his face so as to avoid any potential fans who'd been especially dedicated to waiting.

"Hey, Casey Jones!" One of them shouted, Casey sighed, tipped the hat back up on his head and turned around, plastering a smile on his face. He might as well give his fans what they wanted… Which, judging by the knife that was suddenly in his face, was a bit more than an autograph.

"Can I help you boys?" Casey asked, surveying the 5 men gathered around him, they looked big, mean, and angry about something to boot.

"I just blew 5,000 bucks on that game, Jones…"

Casey just shrugged, subtly reaching for the hockey stick stuck into his duffel bag. "Sorry fellas, can't not do what they brought me here to do." He said smugly. "Why don't you just bet the right way next time?"

"Or how bout you make up for the loss we took tonight?" One of them suggested, picking up a pipe from the ground.

Casey sighed. "Look boys, I'm tired, its been a long day and it smells like you've all been at the bottle already, why not go finish those off and we'll call it a night?"

"I'm gonna shut that smart-mouth of yours!" The one with the pipe shouted, rushing at him and swinging the weapon.

Casey ducked under the swing, yanking the hockey stick out of his bag and whipping the bag horizontally at the others, knocking the 'leader' into the ones behind him. He swung the hockey stick with all his might, driving it into the face of the man with the pipe and knocking his foe off his feet. He spun around and held the stick with both hands, driving it broad-side into the leader's chest. One of the other socked Casey in the face, which knocked him back, but he was used to taking hits, so he quickly recovered, yanking the rubber guard off the tip of his stick and driving the aluminum handle right into his sternum, causing his attacker to emit a loud gasp and then Casey shoved him to the ground. As he faced off with the last two, who were hesitant to attack now, he grinned.

"See? You coulda gone home and sobered up, but I guess getting your skulls busted will have to-"

His statement was cut off though, and replaced with a shout of pain as the man with the pipe, still on the ground, slammed the weapon into the back of Casey's knee as hard as he could, knocking it out of the socket and bringing him down on his damaged appendage. He clutched his broken knee in agony, groaning as his attackers slowly got to their feet, clutching their own wounds.

"Not so tough NOW, huh superstar?" The leader said, shoving him onto his back with his foot and grabbing the hockey stick from the ground. "Lets see if I got any talent for the game…" He added, hefting the stick and arching it back as though he was about to do a slapshot… Which he did.

He put all his muscle behind the stick and slammed it straight into Casey's injured knee, getting a scream of pain for his effort, then the others all gathered around Casey, pummeling the defenseless man without mercy.

After the stick hit his knee, Casey's memory began to get fuzzy, he vaguely remembered a security team stopping the assault, he barely remembered the ambulance arriving, and he had NO memory of the trip to the hospital or the next day that followed.

Casey awoke fully two days after his assault, barely able to open one of his eyes and feeling a welt on his bandaged head. The room had lots of flowers waiting, but nobody was present in the room, silent except for the steady 'beep, beep, beep' of the heart monitor he was hooked up to, which told him he was alive at least… Casey tried moving to a sitting position, but pain suddenly shot through his lower body, and he remembered the attack on his leg. Oh God… His leg!

He threw the blanket aside, fought through the stiffness and the sore muscles to push himself up… and saw it.

His entire leg and pelvis was in a cast… It had to be bad.

The doctor came in soon after he awoke and explained that he'd broken three bones in his leg, and that the cartilage in his knee was completely crushed. It would be awhile before he could walk without limping, and when he asked about playing Hockey, the Doctor paused, as though it was a silly question, then carefully informed Casey that he would probably not be able to play Hockey ever again.

The news hit him like a sledgehammer to the stomach, and he immediately vomited on the floor of his hospital room.

After he had gotten cleaned up, his manager, Carl Nesbitt came to see him. He was a pudgy little man with a quickly receding hairline that was only barely covered by his crappy hair plugs. He held a hat in his hands, wringing at it nervously. "How ya feelin', kid?" He asked Casey, taking a seat at his bedside.

Casey shook his head. "I don't believe them." He said firmly. "I'm gonna play again."

"Kid…" Carl started, but Casey glared at him.

"I'm. Going. To. Play. Again." He repeated, emphasizing each word. "I'm not gonna be a damn cripple the rest of my life."

"No, kid, that's not what I meant… I've got no doubt that you'll be back on your feet again… I've got no doubt that you'll be on skates again at some point…" He trailed off, getting to his feet and pacing.

Casey knew something was up. "What? What now?"

"Kid, I uh…" Carl tried.

"Just tell me!" Casey shouted, sitting up angrily.

"Those bums who attacked you…" Carl said. "Were you helping them fix games for cash?"

Casey's jaw literally dropped, and his brain froze. "Those sonsa…" Was all he could get out.

"Kid, just tell me its not true." Carl said, sitting next to his bed once again.

"It's not true." Casey said, his jaw tightening up. "And the fact that you even had to ASK is really testing my patience, Carl…"

"I'm sorry, I just had to ask." Carl said, holding his hands up defensively. "Because they're saying you did. The NHL is reviewing your contract as we speak… They're probably gonna cancel it."

Casey fell back against the bed, staring into space. After all he'd been through… All those years of blood, sweat, tears, broken bones and busted noses… Now he was gonna be done in by some punks out for a quick buck.

The following weeks were an onslaught of managers, cops, even fellow teammates… Casey had initially been glad to get visitors, but then… as the court case against the men who'd attacked him went on, he realized that people had begun to turn on him.

It turned out that the men who assaulted Casey were members of a large gambling ring, and they'd pointed the finger at Casey, claiming that he'd been helping them fix games all along. Naturally, once he was on his feet, Casey went and faced his accusers, claiming he'd had nothing to do with it, but unfortunately it didn't matter what he said at that point, the media ran with it.

He was called a liar, a cheater, every name in the book (that you could say on TV anyway) and soon, the Rangers terminated Casey's contract with them.

Almost 3 months after his contract had been terminated, Casey Jones left the Rangers stadium again, but now he walked with a cane and carried a VIP ticket… He'd been there watching, and by the end of the first quarter vowed that he'd kill himself before ever entering the arena again. It was too painful to watch them do what he'd never be able to do again, what he'd felt like he'd been BORN to do… What his FATHER and GRANDFATHER had done.

When he finally wandered back to his apartment, he began immediately sorting through all his trophies and awards, stuffing them into boxes, which he shoved into a closet he never used… Then he came to the display he'd made for his father's trophies… His father and grandfather had both used the same hockey mask, it had become sort of an heirloom for the men in the family, passed down from father to son… It was a customized one, very intimidating to look at, slits for eyes, a heavy brow had been added, to give the wearer a fierce gaze at all times. The mouth portion was just three slits and looked almost like fangs.

Casey slid the case open, removing the mask and running his fingers along the rough surface, tracing the familiar grooves left behind by all the hits it had taken over the years… He always liked the mask, and sort of wished he'd been a goalie himself, but it was a moot point now… His fingers tightened around the mask and he flung it back into the case angrily, turning away and kicking the box with his trophies inside, smashing it against the wall and knocking over a golf bag packed with random sports equipment in the closet… All his life had been spent working up to the NHL… He wouldn't even have gotten through COLLEGE if it wasn't for his sports, but now… Now he'd wasted his entire life, and the weight of this crashed down on him so hard that he literally was pushed to a sitting position on the floor of his apartment…

Then the sound of his name caught his ear and he turned towards the television, which he'd completely forgotten was even on.

"-and another shocking upset came today when the D.A. offered a deal to the men responsible for the assault on popular NHL player Casey Jones, resulting in the former star's untimely retirement from the professional league. The men were released on bail today, somehow able to afford the reportedly hefty sum, and sources close to the investigation are telling us that links to organized crime are being examined."

Casey pushed himself up off the ground with his cane, angrily shuffling over to the tv and staring at it incredulously… Released? They were supposed to be up for ATTEMPTED MURDER! How could they have been released!

He clenched his jaw and ran a hand through his hair, flinging his cane across the room and nearly falling over, but his fury made him fight through the pain, forcing himself to stand. He took a step away from the television, then another step… He barely even felt the pain from his injury now as he paced around the apartment… Something needed to be done… They HAD to pay for what they did to him, he pushed all his feelings of self-pity and woe down into the pit of his stomach, swallowed all his anger, letting it burn away those feelings and fuel his rage even MORE… Then his eyes fell across the mask, still laying in the display case…

He reached in and plucked the mask out once more, now looking at it with different eyes. An idea began forming in his mind, and he turned, looking at the bag of sports gear he'd knocked over, then back down at the mask again. He looked at himself in the mirror and saw the sad, unkempt face of a failure… But that could be hidden… The monster that was growing inside him from the hatred and fury he felt for what had been stolen from him could be presented to the world…

He slowly lifted the mask towards his head, feeling the leather straps slide down over his hair, the cool, smooth interior of the mask sliding over his sweat-coated face… and he looked at himself from the eyes that were no longer just that of Casey Jones… But something much more lethal.

He was ready for his revenge.

Part 2-

The First Inning

Burt Jackson stumbled out of the nightclub, adjusting the rolled-up sleeves of his blazer as he shambled down the sidewalk, nodding to the bouncer as he passed by. His discussion with the boss hadn't gone as well as he'd hoped, but he was still alive at least… Casey Jones being taken out of the league was unfortunate for their business, but it had been necessary, which is why his shoes were made of leather, not cement right now.

Jackson headed down the alley towards the parking garage where he'd left his car, passing underneath the streetlights, broken by the shadows of the fire-escapes mounted to the buildings around him. It was that awkward time of the year where winter was still clinging to life, but spring was trying to shove its way in. The weather was chilly, biting at his exposed neck and prompting him to pop up his collar to fight it off, but that didn't help much… it also didn't help that he felt like someone was following him.

He glanced over his shoulder a few times, but never saw anything, so he continued on his way. Suddenly, a few things happened at once, and in his inebriated condition, his perception took them in slow motion… Something crunched under his foot, and he looked down to see broken glass sprinkled down in a perfectly straight line, which seemed odd, then he heard a loud 'snap!' sound and something moved to his left, coming towards him. His leg was yanked upwards out from under him and he shot up into the air upside-down, his back striking the ground hard before he shot up into the air.

He screamed and grabbed at the wire holding his leg, spinning in mid-air as he struggled to find a way to free himself, now sober as a priest on Sunday from what was happening. He spun around toward the nearby fire-escape, which until now had been empty… and was now occupied by a figure shrouded in the shadows. The only thing Jackson could see was the upside-down form of a white, monstrous face glaring at him. He screamed for help, until a fingerless glove-clad hand clamped down over his mouth and another hand came up to the face, holding a finger over where its mouth would be in a 'shhh' sign.

"What do you want with me!" Jackson asked through the hand covering his mouth.

"You think you're above the law… You think you can just go around doing whatever you like… You think you can just beat a man down for no good reason whatsoever… and just walk away?" He asked, the voice was a deep, tight-jawed growl, almost like Dirty Harry. "You're nothing but a damn law-breaking scumbag… and I think its time that you and your ilk found out what justice is… Not that fake crap they put up in the courts and police stations… REAL justice for those that deserve it." He said, lowering his hand.

"Oh God… You're some nut-ball fan of that Jones guy, aren't you? Look asshole, he had that coming, he attacked US first! We just wanted to talk to him!"

The wire suddenly went slack and Jackson plummeted several stories, shouting in fear until the line pulled taught again, yanking him back up. When he did, the man before him grabbed Jackson by the throat and yanked him close to his face. "Piss me off again, and you kiss the pavement with that lying mouth…" He warned him. "You tell all your friends that I'm comin' for them… That PUNISHMENT is coming for them… And anyone they try to hide behind is gonna get plowed through. I guarantee it."

Jackson was breathing hard now, panicking as he felt the blood rushing to his head. "Wh- Who are you?"

The figure made a low, growling sound, maybe a laugh, but he couldn't be sure, pulling Jackson closer so they could look into each other's eyes. "That's the scariest part, isn't it? You have NO idea who I am… I'll be watching you, Burty-boy…"

With that, the line went slack again and he plummeted towards the pavement once more, screaming all the way down, covering his face as the ground came at him like a speeding train… Then he felt a painful pressure on his ankle, and he bounced in the air, slapping the pavement. Painful, but far from lethal.

Burt Jackson looked up at the fire escape, but his assailant was gone… Nothing was there at all in fact… No wire, no trace at all, if not for the piece of the wire still connected to his ankle, he almost thought he imagined it… but that little bit was all he needed to see, and he struggled to his feet to run away…

Casey Jones landed on the rooftop and grunted slightly at the pain in his knee, he adjusted the knee brace he'd made and hurried on, trying to get as much distance between himself and what he'd just done… What HAD he just done? He didn't know what kind of reaction he'd get from them, if any at all, but he felt some sort of release when he had Jackson in his grip… Some kind of peace had come over him, and he wasn't about to let that go until all of them paid for what they'd taken.

Casey slid the mask off, hefting the golf bag off his shoulder and set it down on the rooftop next to him for a moment, catching his breath. Just as he relaxed though, he heard a scream coming from somewhere nearby…

Peering down from the side of the rooftop, he caught a glimpse of a woman, her mouth being covered by a hand and a knife appearing by her throat as she was dragged into an alley across the street. Casey frowned, unsure of what to do… Was he a vigilante? Was that really the path he wanted to follow? Had he already made that choice?

As the woman let out another choked-off scream again and Casey was already on his feet, mask on his face and bag of weapons strapped across his chest once more… He already knew the answers to those questions…

"Shut up I said!" The mugger shouted angrily, back-handing the woman across the face and grabbing at her purse.

The sound of something hitting the ground behind him drew his attention, so he turned and raised the knife, but something hard struck his wrist with such force that he heard something crack and the knife flew from his grip. He looked and found himself staring at a man, wearing a wicked-looking hockey mask, a golf bag and a denim jacket with the sleeves ripped off. "What the hell is this!" The mugger asked, thoroughly confused.

"Well THAT is a crime…" Casey said, pointing to the woman. "And this… Well, this is the penalty!" He said, hefting a goalie-style hockey stick with both hands. He spun around and whacked the mugger across the face with it, sending him flying into the wall of the building nearby. He then hooked the stick around the mugger's legs and yanked them out from under him, spilling him into the trash bags on the ground. "Oooh, hooking, ten minutes!" Casey shouted.

He turned to the fallen woman and approached her, causing her to shrink away in fear. "Its okay, babe… You'll be just fine now, he's not gonna bother you. Take off, or gimme your number, whichever you feel more compelled to do." He said, chuckling, trying to off-set the intimidating appearance he had.

"Thank you…" She said, hurrying away. As Casey watched her go, he heard the mugger struggling to his feet and he heard the scrape of the knife's blade as he picked it up, so Casey simply pulled the Jose Consako baseball bat from his bag, pulled a baseball from the side pouch, and turned.

"Leaving the penalty box ahead of time? Sheesh, you're REALLY asking for it, Tinkerbell…" He said, then tossed the ball into the air and whacked it with all his might, sending it straight into the mugger's stomach, doubling him over, where he gasped for breath.

As Casey left the alley, he tossed the mugger's knife into a nearby sewer grate and grinned beneath his mask. This was gonna work out just fine…