It is a dark and dreary night. Rain is gently sprinkling the ground and thunder roars its anger at the Earth. A boy is kneeling over the side of a building. He is only about 12 years old, but his face holds the wise expression of an old man. The boy wears a mask to cover his bright, blue eyes, though he hardly needs it as his bangs hide the upper part of his face. He wears a bright red suit with green, short sleeves and gloves. On his waist he wears a yellow belt that, to the mere onlooker of his heroic deeds, can seem a convenient miracle of sorts. He is wearing a cape that covers most of his dramatic suit, but one thing that can be seen clearly is the yellow circle with a black R sitting right over his heart. He is looking down on the city below-that psychotic, villain infested city that had somehow come to be known to many as home-searching for a denizen in need of assistance. It was his job, you see, to protect the dwellers of the area, and to carry on the legacy left behind by so many. 'But what is his name?' you might ask. It is Damian. Damian Wayne.