This is OC. THis has truly happened. And I feel I need to inform you guys. I don't do blogs.

I don't say many things. I am a lurker. But today, I am a hero. Dear /b/, let me introduce myself. I am Anonymous. In this case I am a European 24 year old, fat no-lifer who regularly plays World of Warcraft. I still live with my parents, I leech from the warmth of their comfy home and cash and they don't mind. I suffer from social phobia, which basically means I can't be assed dealing with people in my own tim e. In fact, I'm scared of dealing with people in my own time. People are opinionated assholes and i can't be sure whether they like me or not. I'm merely a fragment of what I should be, /b/. But this is not about my problems. You could care less. /b/, today I have become a hero. Stay awhile, and listen. Two weeks ago, I got a message on my instant messaging program. It was a message from my 15-year-old niece. For those interested, she's 5'4" and is running behind on being jailbait; tappab le for some sick fucks on /b/, but there's mile better. To explain the age difference, her mother (my sister)'s in her 40's. There's a l arge age gap between my sister and myself, because my parents had consensual sex in the missionary position without protection 24 years ago. I am the result. I am nothing more but 'an accident', something they are very ho nest about. But they care about me. Now to get back to the story, my niece asked me the following: - "Anonymous, will you be online tomorrow?" Stupid question. Of course I would be here. I am always here, you tool. I have n o life. We never talk much unless it's IRL though. I visit my sis' place regularly so I wondered wtf was going on. "Yes. I'll be online. 'Sup?" In a seemingly distracted fashion she answered: "..I don't want to tell mom and dad." Now to be specific here, due to the minor age difference between us I'm not much of an uncle. She's 15 and I'm 24; so in reality I'm more of an older brother than anything el se. She knows she can trust me with anything and ask me shit she doesn't get yet or is afraid to ask or tell her parents; I browse the goddamn internet and I am older than her so I'm rumoured to know things better.

"Tell them what?" - "...two words." - "Sexual harassment." I could sense she felt like crying after those two words. That's what family doe s. I told her I would shut my lip to her parents and told her to get some sleep. I would be here in the morning; and she definitly needed some shuteye. When she went offline, I already started plotting. Nobody puts their filthy hands on my family without consent and gets away with i t. When she contacted me the following day, the fire raging within my heart was bur ning steadily. I love my family in the way I am supposed to. Nothing wincestual. A big-ass conversation followed, with an overly large use of those goddamn emoti cons that always piss me off. If you want to be serious, don't fucking type T_T' or :*-(. It makes you look li ke an absolute retard. Anyway, /b/, my niece was raped. And apparantly it was awwwwwwwright for this as shole to do it. She'd been dating this guy awhile now and making out happened and all that crap i don't give a fuck about. (I am a bitter and lonely male with a penchant for fa pping off to /s/, /h/ and /d/ with the occasional /f/) To speak in a fashion that /b/ will understand; "Bitch didn't put out." So the asshole did what many a /b/tard claims to have done. Smacked 'r upside th e head and put it in. In all fucking honesty, I didn't want to hear the details. But I just had to kee p listening. I'm family, for fucks sake. If this were anything but family I'd po st the convo on /b/ and furiously fap to it when it's being copypasta'd. But her e I was. In my uncomfortable plastic chair from IKEA. Shaking furiously at the i njustice that had been done. I asked for his name. With a ;_; following, she gave me his name. I promised her I would not tell her parents, but urged her to see a doctorabout this - if not the police. Rape is serious business and I am not a social worker. Fuck that. But now, /b/. Now I had his fucking name. This bastard's name was on my screen a nd I know pretty goddamn well what a man with sufficient understanding of comput ers and the internet can do with one single name. I was still furious. And a man in anger can do things he thought were never poss ible. In what seemed like several seconds, his name was linked to an address. An adres s conveniently in the same district as I live. A very quiet place. This is where it actually starts. I hadn't visited my sis' place for awhile now. She called me several times to as k where I was. I told my parents I was going out and about. Something they rejoi ced about because "finally you're going outside without us telling you to. We're proud of you, son.". And I was. But when a man has a goal, he can do things that go past his fears. Instead of being out (even my own sister believed this), I was stalking the bast

ard that raped my niece. Literally stalked. For a week, I followed his pattern. And I got my hands on his timetable. By the end of the week I knew everything about this guy. What time he went to sleep, his breakfast cereal, what time he took the buss. wh at classes he took, who his friends are, where he usually hung out after college , what sports he played. Almost. Fucking. Everything. I was a complete fucking mess. I hadn't shaved properly and I scribbled down eve ry piece of information on my notepad with a short piece of pencil. I hadn't talked to my niece for this time. I left her with a message before I un dertook this crusade: "Do what I told you to. Tell your parents if you can. I'll make sure everything wll be alright." I carefully planned my way around his schedual. I was going to make him go paran oid first. First, I periodically left notes in his mailbox. "Anonymous does not forgive." "Anonymous does not forget." "I am watching you, faggot." Small notes. On notepad paper. Scribbled down in anger and hatred. Because this was an obvious jock. And I fucking hate jocks. Women are people too. It's only by their 18th they pro perly learn their way to the kitchen and no asshole is going to fuck them up men tally to screw that pattern up. Secondly, I had his name called through the school. Several times. When secretar ies switched, I would rush into the building and claim I wanted to speak to this guy. Sometimes, I would be David Davidson. But mostly, I was 'Chris Hansen' and I wanted a word with him. I never stayed around to see him. I noticed he was getting more careful. Huge success. On the seventh day, I felt it was time to strike. He had made arrangements to see his friends in town early in the monring. He would never reach them. When he left the house to walk to the buss station, I followed him. He looked ba ck several times. I quickened my pace. So did he. Then he walked around the corner, into a small p assage between two blocks. No windows. The perfect opportunity. Just as planned. In the fastest sprint I'll ever do with my fat body, I lunged and caught his leg s. Spinning around midfall to see what was going the fuck on, we had a little conve rsation "HEY ASSHOLE!" - "What the FUCK!", he shouted. "MUDAH MUDAH MUDAH MUDAH MUDAH MUDAH!" With the element of surprise I swung my fists at his face. "MUDAH MUDAH MUDAH!" The lovely sound of fist against face is one that will always remind me of this day.

I was a being of justice. I was punching this fucker in the face over 100 timess . I was Dio Brando. Nobody was awake yet. Absolute perfect timing. With his face brutally battered and him unable to speak I executed the last stag e of my plan. I jumped from him. Now, I couldn't see from my right eye and my face and arms we re full of scratches from his faggot attempt to get me away from him. But I didn 't feel a thing. Not a single thing but anger and hate. "ZA WARUDO!!!" The only sound filling the air was the claxon of a buss and his groans of pain. Unable to stop time or throw several knives, I went for the next best thing. "ROADA ROLLERA DA!!" I failed. I were not able to smash a steamroller in his fucking face. But there was a nearby dumpster. Picking his battered self up from the floor, I smashed his head several times in to the side of that dumpster until it seemed bloody enough. "WRRRYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY!!!" I screamed at the top of my lungs. Only now, people started to wake the fuck up and wondered the the hell was going on. Perfect witnesses to a crime that had al ready been committed. When one of them finally got the urge to rush down to help this 'poor victim', I let him go. His body slumped against the dumpster and he spat blood at me, asking why. "Nobody messes with my family and gets away with it.", I spat back. "I am the goddamn Batman." Then, I ran. With this, I had left for home. Leaving his body behind. I hoped I killed him. P erhaps not. He would never dare recognise me anyway or I'd fuck him up again. As promised; Anonymous had taken care of things. I snuck past my parents and declared I was home and needed a shower. They said i t was alright. The warm water splashing against my wounds made me hurt and I cou ldn't help but cry. Because I had conquered fears. And justice had been dealt. I just came from the shower, /b/. My right eye hurts like fuck. I can't see a th ing. I think I'm going to get an awesome black eye here. The scratches on my fac e are starting to sting. My arms feel numb and I'm still out of breath. I still don't feel much. It feels like a haze. It feels like a bad dream. But it's not a dream. Not this time. I am wide awake, these wounds are real. And I have finally tasted a bit of actua l life. It's a good hurt. It's good pain. The moral this prick has learned is a simple one. You don't mess around with my family. Justice has been fucking served.

Signed, Anonymous