In a part of Mexico, whose name I don’t want to remember, three men with anything but good intentions stayed inside a small apartment, with two of them playing with cards and the other reading a comic book. One of the two contenders at the game smiled after watching his cards, slamming them against the table.

- Eat that! Now pay up!

Shouted the winner, showing his yellow denture, lacking of some teeth, afterwards and grabbing all the wagered money with both arms before it could disappear in front of his eyes, while the loser cursed and offered a double or nothing in an attempt to recover the money, with his partner showing an internationally offensive gesture as an answer.

- Hey Juan, how about you stop wasting your time and come play?

Said the fortunate victor after moving his neck towards the man reading.

- Not interested.

The reader looked away from the comic to the other’s eyes to answer and immediately returned to it after his short answer.

- Aw, c’mon, it’s not like your life’s going to change for reading a stupid comic.

After the second attempt the man that won looked at the cover, seeing an adult and muscular male wearing a mask with horns and dressed with a blue and orange leotard accompanied by an orange cape, jumping between swinging between two buildings with a rope. That same page was adorned with the hero’s name, Diablo, stylized and written in capital letters.

- No way. Don’t tell me you’re one of those that believe he’s real.

The reader closed the object of his attention and left it on the chair once he got up to expose his opinion, accompanied by a good amount of gestures.

- He’s as real as you and I. José had a close up with him and ended up in the hospital with most of his bones broken, and one arm less.

- You know how much José drugs himself, so he probably imagined it and hurt himself to avoid a beating by the boss’ boys for losing the cocaine.

- I’m telling you he’s real, and you should be as scared as I am, Víctor. Dude’s been doing a one man war against every fucking cartel in México.

As he spoke signs of restlessness appeared, like shaking arms, biting his nails and, finally, before speaking again, drawing a cross on his body with his hand.

- Some say he’s a vengeful angel send by God, while other’s that he’s a demon that has come to make our lives a living hell. I don’t know you, but I’m learning everything I can if I ever meet him.

Victor laughed as loud as he could and grab his handgun from his pants.

- If that pendejo comes near me I’ll fill him with lead. Then you’ll see how that “demon”, “angel” or whatever the fuck he thinks he is will be just as dead as anyone else that gets shot.

And then, just as he finished the last word, a foot covered in a combat boot kicked the door and an array of bullets, short and precise, hit the three men in their legs, with the three of them cursing with every word they could imagine. Upon their heads hit the floor, all of them where trying to move their heads towards the unknown attacker, opening their eyes and mouths in disbelief of what they were seeing.

- It’s him, it’s Diablo! Please, in the name of God, forgive me!

Juan screamed as he saw the man standing at the door: short, muscular, with a military haircut and his faced painted with red, black and white giving the form of a skull with horns, wearing the aforementioned black boots, a black bulletproof vest, camouflage trousers, a white T-shirt, a colourful bracelet on his left wrist and a purple hoodie. In his hands he held the instrument that had caused the damage to their bodies, an FX-05 assault rifle whose magazine was being changed.

The urban legend walked stepping on wooden floor stained with drops of blood, approaching the nearest man with his weapon ready, putting their handguns way from their reach and shooting them in the sane extremities, listening to obscenities, menaces and pleads. Once every one of them had their limbs useless he put the rifle’s safe on, picked and extended a baton and approached the one that was still boasting a bravado. He was going to break him and wanted the others to watch.

He proceeded to hit him in the face and the torso, with every strike stronger than the last one, thinking of what he had lost and swore to avenge. The blunt object got covered in more blood with every blow, and he had to make a great effort to restrain himself in order to avoid killing him, leaving his body with broken bones, no teeth, black eyes and a hanging jaw. He didn’t want to kill them, he wanted them to suffer, to face a punishment for their sins, and death was just an exit from it.

For the other two, Diablo was going to beat them to unconciousness. While dealing with one of them, the other, who had tried to prepare for him with no results, began to pray with tears in his eyes.

- Padre nuestro, que estás en los Cielos, santificado sea tu nombre, venga tu Reino, hágase tu voluntad así en la tierra como en el cielo. y perdónanos nuestras deudas así como nosotros perdonamos a nuestros deu...

After finishing with the second, the vengeful man started to beat Juan, with no respect for the words to the Lord. Before leaving, he took a glimpse of the comic book laying on the chair. After grabbing it with his hand, he examined the title and the cover, comparing his looks to that of the comic and focusing on its differences.

“Is this supposed to be me?”