Let me take you back to the start.

Every story has an incidence behind it. Something that starts it. The causation, the spark. In my case it wasn't a pretty site. Disgusting to be honest, the most vile, the most gross. A causation that showed how base humanity could be, if you can call it that.

And how unflinchingly mute the rest of us could be. Impotent, as if the whole majority was nothing but a colony of ants, and the ones we were scared of, though completely outnumbered by the week masses, appeared to us, to be monsters. Something that could not be defeated. And if we were to raise our heads, our heads would be dispatched from our quivering bodies.

And that moment when I saw, I dared raise my head. I didn't think much of it. I was too part of that monstorisity, so to speak. Power, money and shear wealth, the kind the colony of ants would never rise against. I was untouchable, I truly believed that.

I raised by head against the monsters pillaging the naivety and feeding on the apparent impunity of a woman out after some absurd sort of curfew. She was merely paying the rightful price, everybody thought. The colony merely looked upon the monsters with a frightening and absurd dormancy. As if comatose. I didn't  belong in the pathetic colony. I was a monster, and only monsters can defeat monsters.

I didn't succeed entirely, I did save her, but the horde had taken vengeance on me. Their anger satiated by showing their justice on me. Leaving my face disfigured, a mash-up of the consequences of the rage of their fists. I was broken, but not destroyed. 

I had saved one. But she was only one.

And that was the start. Simply put.