The last cold night in November.

The coldest night.

I can feel the cold now in my bones.

It's not like the cold is entering me.

It's more the heat is going.

The last heat of that humid sultry summer is dying.

Cold is always there.

Heat just dies.

Maybe that's what it's waiting for?

The last of the warmth to go.

Perhaps when the last flicker of warmth dies, so do we.

<"Detective been informed by the President back up on way. E.T.A 24 minutes. ">

"Understood. Inform the President message received. Keep com link clear until back up arrives."

<"Copy Detective. Over and out.">

Twenty four minutes that means I have less than eight.

Let's hope this undead god with super hearing falls for our little parlour trick and doesn't fly away.

I know he doesn't give a damn about my back up.

He doesn't give a damn about anything that's what scares me.

He could destroy this world faster than I can snap my fingers.

Something tells me all this thing wants is just that.

Make our world as dead as him.

It's only deciding when.

Well before the virus Luther knew the truth about Super Hero's.

The power of gods giving to men will they abuse that power?

Damn right they will, it's the one constant truth throughout history.

Power gets abused.

If someone gonna give you super powers does this mean you'll never be bad again you'll be super good until the day you die.

Like hell.

But we take it for granted that superheroes are super good.

The last thing we want them to be, is the same as us.

Sometimes their not the same.

Sometimes they're worse.

Yeah. I was Robin and I bet you think you know my Origin story.

Well, they oughta give a free gas mask with every comic, for the bullshit in them.

Sure it's true I was the youngest member of my family acrobatic group "The Flying Graysons"

Also I was barley ten on the night Bruce Wayne seen us at the circus.

As for this idea that my family was gunned down and Wayne made me his ward more bull.

Bruce needed someone he could trust to protect his back.

That night he seen what I could do.

He seen a kid who with the right training and conditioning would make the perfect obedient sidekick puppy and wouldn't steal his spotlight.

My father had used the name Grayson because it made us sound American.

But our fathers real name is Guerrero.

Ricardo Guerrero de Ayala at your service.

We were Mexican proud Latinos and that night it wasn't gangsters that came for my family.

It was a visit from the department of homeland security.

Somehow my father was linked to the drug cartels?

Immediate deportation faced my family and our father was looking at hard time in a Mexican prison.

The following morning in detention my parents got a visitor.

One Mr Chill representing the Wayne foundation.

He offered to help my father fight this injustice.

Their lawyers will defend his case.

They could do Jack shit about my family been deported.

However because I was the only one born in the states they strongly advised making me a ward of Bruce Wayne.

To sweeten the deal they guaranteed his son will receive the best American chocolate sundae education with collage on top.

My father said No.

He would not see his family split up.

My Mother convinced him to swallow his pride.

They where gong back to the barrio at least one of their children will be safe from drugs and the crime cartels.

The last advice my mother gave me was to be good for Mr Wayne do as I was told and I'll never be poor again.

She did not know that there is worse things in life than been poor.

I would have been safer in the crime ridden slums than I was with that man.

By the time I was seventeen I had been shot stabbed and had more bones broken than a retired rodeo cowboy.

I had had enough.

He could keep his Neverland cave and all it's toys.

He knew I wanted out and I was all set to go quietly. Then I saw him grooming a new Robin.

I couldn't let him do it.

So I went to the papers and blew his whole operation.

It was all over.

His identity was out and for my reward I became the most hated superhero on the planet.

'Robin the brat wonder. The bitch who sold out Bat Man.'

It must be true after all they printed it on the cover of NewsTime magazine.

I was now cut off, on the streets and a name so poisonous the fire department wouldn't piss on me if I was on fire.

The only one who gave me the time of day was police commissioner Gordon.

He even took me in and got me into the one place I was overqualified for.

Gotham police academy.

Deep down I knew he did it for payback on the Bat Man.

God knows Gordon had a right after what he did to his daughter.

Whatever his reasons. I was just grateful. Owe that man big tim-••

- what the F•¥k!!!

Choking like a vice grip squeezing my throat.

Flying super undead is lifting me off the roof.

Second time tonight I've been strangled to death.

He's floating holding me up over the edge of the building.

He's looking me over.

"So what has you spooked that you need to x ray this booty out. Something your super hearing picked up?"

He stopped and gazed into my head.

"You found it. Give the Ghoul a cigar. It's a homing Beacon for the nuke ten seconds behind you."

He dropped me.

I dangled on his wrist.

"Can't get rid of me that easy Boy Scout!"

8 seconds.

Curiously he gazed at the handcuffs I managed to slip on his wrist after he picked me up.

I hung from them over Gotham.

6 seconds.

Gotham my broken down, crime infested, garbage filled , sweet and sour home.

I'd say good bye but I'm afraid your coming with me.

3---2----1--

He no longer felt the cold.... .