The Grim Reaper

My body is wrecked with pain. I can barely breath within the confines of this dark, filthy room, and when I do exhale it comes out as a horrible wheezing sound.
There's a bag on my head, but I wouldn't have been able to see anything anyway. No light leaks through the stitching of the bag, so I can tell the room I'm tied up in is pitch black.
It all started when I made an attempt to catch the murderer who was constantly plaguing my once peaceful town with death and sadness. Families everywhere grieved over their loved ones, and in a desperate mission to end all this suffering, I wandered straight into the trap of my enemies.
Light floods the room and the bag is yanked off my head, brushing against my bruised nose. I blink for a moment, my dark green eyes trying to adjust to the brightness.
"Well, well, well. If it is Detective Matthew Brown. Welcome to my underground home."
I stare into the cold, dark red eyes of my captor. No one knows his real name, but he refers to himself as the Grim Reaper. He earned the name a few months ago after he massacred several people in the middle of the town, and the name stuck.
He's dressed formally, although I can't think of any formal occasion the man would be invited to. And he wouldn't enjoy any of the food at any of those occasions anyway; I'll bet he only eats the blood and organs of his unfortunate victims.
He scans me one more time with his watchful, hawk-like eyes. "You've certainly been through a lot."
For once I have to agree with the vile maniac. My clothes are stained with blood from the wounds that were inflicted on me earlier. I think some of them may still be bleeding. My light brown hair is covered with dirt, along with the rest of my bruised face. A long, grisly gash runs down from just behind my ear to just above my neck from when one of Grim's henchmen tried to slice me apart, piece by piece.
I look up at Grim. That's my nickname for him; I don't like to say the full name since I hate to think about him most of the time. The mere thought of this man sends a chill down my spine and a pulsating sensation of anger up to my brain. Now I'm as angry as ever, and I just wanted to rip through the ropes that are binding me to the chair and slaughter the man. I don't care anymore; I just want him dead. He deserves to die for everything he's done.
In answer to Grim's question, I let out a chuckle. "Yeah, you certainly have been through a lot, too. I mean, you must be pretty busy, killing people all the time."
Before I can think, Grim punches me in the jaw, and for a moment my jaw hangs limp, threatening to break apart any moment. The pain is absolutely terrible.
Grim wipes his hand across his murderously gleeful face. "You of all people should know not to mess with me, Brown. You're a foolish man, incapable of even preparing a single plan properly."
"Well, who says you are any better?" I ask.
Before he can answer, I stand up the chair I'm tied to and slam my head against his. He stumbles back in surprise. I use this moment to whirl around and hit him once again, this time with the chair legs.
The chair leg hits him square in the neck, and then moves up to his jaw, and finally crashes into his nose. Blood spews from his broken face.
I run towards the door as Grim's henchmen all pull out their pistols and fire at me. I hear the bullets flying from their gun with loud booms. I feel one skim across my shoulder, slicing through my shirt and my skin, leaving a bloodied gash. But fortunately, most of the bullets slam into the back of the chair.
I charge down the staircase and leave the isolated warehouse where Grim relishes in his murders. The chair tied to my back slows me down as I run through the night, but st least I'm away from that horrible man.
And I managed to disfigure his face.
And although I may not have given him the fate he really deserves, I will someday.
I know I will.