Innocent little Storybrooke, Maine.  Nothing happened there.  No one came, and no one left.   That was how things worked; everyone went about their lives in semi-clouded bliss, dealing with troubles in private, never bothering each other with trivial matters.  The sheriff handled crime quickly and easily, if there ever was any out in the open.  Life was as simple as simple could be, almost like a haze over the town.  That changed.  Time began to make an impact in Storybrooke.  It was like the fog had lifted with the unlikely arrival of Emma Swan, and everyone—even the seedy underbelly of the tiny town—had taken note.  More accidents in the streets than normal, robberies, Mr. Gold kidnapped a guy and beat the ever-loving shit out of him, and let’s not forget the really out-of-the-blue heart attack that took good old Sheriff Graham out of office.

Someone had stepped up, taken the law into their own hands and started being the town vigilante.  It was never really made clear what the final straw was to cause it.  But it was one of the better things that happened before the Stranger rolled into town.  For the first time since the haze, things were doing a little bit better.  Sheriff Swan didn't want to encourage their actions--it'd send the wrong message--but she didn't discourage them either.  In fact, when she was asked, she didn't say anything that helped, she just avoided the subject with tact.

To the majority of the town, the vigilante's identity was unknown, a dark shadow that was there and gone before anyone could get a good look.  But one girl knew the truth: Camille Paisley.   The proverbial worried female friend who would wind up with a battered boy on her doorstep every other night.

It was two in the morning when he arrived, not bothering to knock, letting himself in and collapsing on her couch.  She had just gotten off her shift at the towing business, and was getting ready to head to bed; the blonde came walking into the front room brushing her teeth with drooping eyes.  When her eyes finally landed on him, she jerked to a stop, nearly choking on the toothpaste in her mouth, and letting her toothbrush clatter to the ground.  Her hand covered her mouth as she darted to the kitchen to spit into the sink, then ran back to the couch swearing under her breath.

"Couldn't you have knocked?" Camille hissed, gingerly hitting his shoulder.  He shook his head and pulled off the ski mask that concealed his identity.  She sighed and rubbed the bridge of her nose, "Kayden Hammond you're going to be the death of me."

"Sorry."

She shook her head, ruffled his curls and went to get the first aid kit and a wet cloth, "If you were sorry you'd stop this hero stuff."  The couch sagged under her added weight when she sat on the edge.  Her fingers trembled as she began dabbing at a cut on his forehead.  Truth be told she was horrible at fixing people up, and being charged with fixing him up made her all kinds of scared.  Night after night since she'd learned the truth, she'd been kept up for hours, worried sick about if he was okay.  One night he would go out and he wouldn't come back, or would have something she couldn't mend with her twenty dollar first aid kit. "Or at least go to a hospital."

"Can't do that, pretty."