'You're always doing this to me,' said Victoria. The sparkle had vanished from her chestnut eyes faster than Vikrum had ever seen it, only for it to have been replaced by something like fire. She sat back in her chair and pulled her black dress up above her cleavage, and Vikrum guessed he was no longer entitled to that view for the moment. 'Why do I put up with this, Vix? Why?'

Vikrum felt his cheeks grow warm. All the people here at the restaurant didn't need to know about their relationship problems. Still, he supposed that Victoria had the right to be annoyed. 'Vick…' he managed to muster. Yet he was unable to push the distress call from his mind. He could feel his pager vibrating, again and again against his hip.

He wanted to tell her. For the thousandth time, he tried to tell her. But what was he supposed to say? 'Hey, Vicky, guess what, babe? You know that guy you see on YouTube and on the news every day, you know, the guy that wears the orange and silver spandex with the silver horns? Him. That dude who can lift trees, run as fast as a bullet and burrows underground. Yeah, that's the one, Buleta The Bull Sastro! Well, surprise!!!'

He had imagined it a thousand times. No. At least two thousand times. Usually, if he wasn't thinking about it during his hours at work, then he imagined telling her the truth as he lay next to her in bed, pretending to be asleep. Of course, he never did say anything. Anything at all. He did not dare because if he did, what exactly would it accomplish? Would she understand? Doubtful. Would she like it? Almost certainly not. Would she support it? At that part, he almost laughed. He was back in the room at the sound of her clicking her fingers.

'I don't get you, Vix,' said Victoria, folding her arms.

Vikrum shrugged, helpless. He could think of nothing but the pager.

'You. You are too fucking quiet. Too silent. You used to talk to me until the early hours of the morning, and you'd never leave my side. Now, you barely say a word.' She looked around the restaurant - uncaring as she always was at witnesses - and gestured about them. 'You care about your reputation as a businessman, and you keep going on to me about it being crucial for business for people here at the Bull Ring respect you, but look at you, you don't say a fucking word to your girlfriend, and your making excuses to leave in the middle of our anniversary dinner.'

'Third anniversary, Vick.'

'Oh, now he speaks.'

'I've just got a lot on my mind recently.'

Victoria stood up. 'You know what,' she said, picking up her bag from the table, 'I'm done.'

Vikrum stood up at almost the same time. 'Look, I'm sorry, Vick, babe, but I have somewhere I need to be right now.'

He left her there, shouting something obscene with his name attached to it. He didn't look back, and he made a point of giving the man at the door a tip of ten pounds as he left. After all, one day soon, this place would be his, and after he bought it, he would prefer to keep the staff as they were. Too much change wasn't good, and a change of ownership would be change enough. 'Support is won by those that support you,' his father once told him, 'and those who will support you are those that you yourself have supported.' Vikrum had always remembered that, and he still believed it.

'I'm sorry, Victoria,' Vikrum mumbled as he began to undress in the upstairs empty stockroom of the Bull Ring restaurant. 'If I can. I'll make it up to you, but I can't ignore my duty.'

He pulled on the whole of his superhero suit. The suit was made from the finest, most durable reinforced fabrics and materials available. Yet, somehow it felt just as comfortable every time he wore it. It was more comfortable than his pyjamas and made him feel more like himself. The suit was more than just a suit, he told himself as he looked at himself in the mirror. The suit was the truth. The suit was who he truly was, deep down, he was more than just Vikrum, the businessman. He was Buleta The Bull Sastro, saviour of Leicester and son of India.

He looked at his pager. The police report had bleeped at least a dozen times. It read that there were a gang of thirty strong gangsters down by the canal, and all of the other messages were calls for backup.

He took out his smartphone. The coordinates on his pager appeared to be correct. At least ten minutes on foot, even by Sastro speed, but if Sastro tunnelled, he might be able to get there in time before there were any severe casualties.

Buleta prodded one of the horns of his suit. It drew blood, the same as it always did. He licked the blood and waited. Anytime in the next two minutes, it would happen. The froth. The burn. The fury. All of it would come and fuel his ferocity towards evil and carry him to where he was needed. For whenever Buleta tasted his own blood was when he was his most dangerous and most powerful.

He counted down from thirty. 'Thirty. Twenty-nine. Twenty-eight. Twenty-seven. Twenty-six. Twen…'

'What…the…fuck…' whispered a familiar voice.

Vikrum turned to the door.

There she was. Victoria stood there open-mouthed, yet she did not move.

Vikrum, entirely unsure of how he should think of himself at this moment, Vikrum or Buleta simply glared at her, completely lost as to what he should say or think. 'Um,' he said. 'I'm The Bull.'

Victoria's eyes rolled until they were all white. She fainted and dropped to the floor. As she fell, Vikrum's perception was so keen that he saw her fall at a mere five percent of the speed she truly fell. It was enough to see and be happy enough that, as she fell, she was not hurting herself.

Vikrum looked at her on the ground. 'Five,' he said, and his blood was at melting point. 'Four. Three.' The muscles were swollen. 'Two' The horns had sharpened. 'One.' The rage came true. 'Bull Rush!' He cried, and as he leapt from the window, he dived, horns first into the ground and burrowed his way toward his foes.