>>71707116If Sonny was molested on the train, it should be by a woman, and he would immediately lash an arm out after someone grabbed his bulge out of nowhere, and knock several people to the ground with his strength. He is unceremoniously thrown out of the car at the next station as people automatically assumed that he was the instigator, and the last thing he sees as the train cars close and he's picking himself off the ground is the molester woman's face, her smug countenance being burned into his memory ever since. After the station managers let him go with a shrug and no care to look into the situation, Sonny goes home and gets to work, noting every single thing he remembered about her. Her plain, stringy black hair, her thin eyebrows, even details like the tag of her shirt that he recalled as he combed over every millisecond of his memories on that train ride. After finally amassing a profile, he started to stalk the stations along the line he rode. He spent mornings pretending to enjoy the fresh air as his eagle eyes zeroed in on any woman who looked even slightly similar to the molester. He pretended to sketch the scenery when in actuality he was taking extensive notes on each woman in the area.
And finally, after 4 months of dogged pursuit, he spotted her. It wasn't a cold chill that went down his spine when he saw her tapping mindlessly on her phone, waiting for the train one fateful afternoon, her pointed heels just mere inches from the tracks. Instead, it was a cold, calculating, pinpoint of purpose. He knew what he had to do. His muscles were wound up in anticipation as he tipped his baseball cap lower, to hide his hair, to hide his striking eyes lest she recognize him. He crept up behind her, keeping several feet of space between them. The incoming train honked its loud, whining horn. The wind picked up around them. As it rushed into the station, he pushed her.
