Below, I have copied and pasted the story you had added to the Vigilante page:
An ex-police officer is enraged by the increase of crime on the streets of his town. While he was fired for his violent and rash methods, he has a strong sense of justice. As the death toll in the town rises, his anger only grows as he finds the criminal's identity is obvious. That night, he makes his final, heavy decision. If the law won't take down this fiend, he'll have to do it himself. He fishes his pistol out of the end table beside his bed, loading it with two bullets. One to kill, and one for backup. He usually didn't miss, but it paid to be cautious. Using the shadow of the night as his disguise, he sneaks into his suspect's house to find them cleaning a bloody knife. I knew it, he thought, his lips curling in disgust at the sight. Letting out a quiet, steady breath, he raised his gun and pulled the trigger. His suspect hit the floor, all signs of life disappearing from their body. Pleased with the results, the man slips back into his home and climbs into his bed. He sleeps soundly, feeling as if a heavy weight had been lifted from his shoulders. The following morning, a panicked frenzy meets him in the square. The doctor had been discovered dead in their home after doing surgery on a wounded patient. Nausea washes over him. The doctor. He had killed the doctor. Self-preservation pins his lips together during the day, and misery drags his feet back home that night. He finds his gun resting on the end table, just where he had left it after slaying an innocent soul. The weight returns, crashing down on him heavier than before. One bullet left.
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