November 14, 1948
Gotham City

Victor Karlov had believed in God once, a very long time ago. He felt no connection to his faith now, as he stumbled through the back alleys of Gotham in the pouring rain.

Victor barely felt anything from the neck down, but knew already that his body was shaking. The cold had long since cut through his jacket and overalls, and was now working its way throughout his entire body.

It was the desperation that would forever curse him. He had no shelter, no food, no money, and no life. Victor was a man lost in the world.

After hours of shifting through the rain swept city, he found himself standing under the local movie theater awning. He rubbed his frozen hands together and breathed heavily into them. Looking down into a puddle at his feet, he was taken aback at the man he had become. Victor's six foot three frame, once large and intimidating, had now grown wide and sulking, giving him the appearance of a man worn by time. His fingers and hands were dirtied by years of grime without proper care. A tree trunk neck still held up a large, square-jawed Russian head. However, his blond beard was now grizzled and wild; his shoulder length hair was tied back and kept in a dark grey wool cap.

Finally, he could take his life no longer. From his rain soaked jacket he pulled a Stechkin APS pistol. The Russian-made weapon felt good in his hands; it was one of the few handguns large enough to fit his massive palms comfortably. He slipped a metal casing of twenty bullets, more than enough for any job.

Victor held the gun at his side, so that the folds of his jacket covered it entirely. His body was shaking with anticipation, he couldn't bear to wait another moment. He had been denied true happiness all his life, and if he wasn't given a chance, he would just have to take someone else's.

The first man to walk out of the movie theater caught Karlov's eye. He was wearing a suit, which wasn't uncommon for a man in Gotham's business district. However, Victor noticed the quality and overall clean look of the jacket. This man had money, or at least he was trying to pretend he had money. He emerged holding a middle-aged woman's hand, and was accompanied shortly thereafter by a child, perhaps nine or ten years old.

Victor knew it was his time to strike. His training from the Russian KGB fueled his aging body now, as he took off across the pavement and was in front of the man in two large steps. Before he could react, Victor grabbed his left arm and twisted it. The gun was buried in his neck before he was completely turned around. He now held his hostage with his face towards his wife and child. Victor was taken aback by the woman's shrill scream.

"Empty his pockets!" He yelled. Victor was surprised by the gruff, hoarse tone of his voice. He had not spoken English in almost two days, and he had not heard his own voice for almost twenty four hours.

People began spilling out of the movie theater now, and a large commotion was occurring. Women screamed, men grabbed children, and a large group began running around the parking lot.

The wife, now bubbling with incoherent words and tears, began emptying her husband's pockets. She put his wallet, keys, and two cigars on the pavement in front of her. Victor then pointed the heavy gun at the woman. She let loose a scream, and her husband reached for the gun from within Victor's grasp. The Russian expected the move and threw the man to the ground. The sharp, wailing sound of sirens now cut through the downpour. Victor knew that it was now or never. Grabbing his stolen gains, he kicked the woman over and leaned his hand down. With two sharp cracks of his pistol, the man and woman were dead.

Turning around to escape down the alley, Victor once again noticed their son. He had been so stunned and quiet that Victor forgot completely about him even being there. Deciding that he wasn't worth a bullet, the Russian pushed him to the ground and ran into the night.