I'm getting too old for this.

I'm sitting in some no-name bar out in the middle of nowhere drinking sour beer and eating a hamburger that's way too greasy. Yeah, that's the glamorous life of a super villain for you—bad food, bad beer, and a flea bitten hotel when I'm done here.

I'm looking at a picture of my family.

I'm looking at my girls.

Artemis was little more than a toddler. Jade was about five or six. Their mother could still walk and I was doing my best to pretend that it wasn't all falling apart. We were at some cheap tourist trap of an amusement park. Jade is squirming on her mother's lap, already wanting to be free. Artemis—her face half covered with cotton candy—is hugging my neck and laughing like she's never gonna stop.

It's all I have left.

Years of The Life. More broken bones than you can shake a stick at. About half my teeth are fake and I can barely get out of bed in the morning 'cause I hurt so bad.

And the only thing I have to show for it is an old picture of people who don't give a damn about me anymore.

I finish the lousy beer and order another one. I'm not nearly as drunk as I want to be yet, but I'm doing my best to fix that. I'm about halfway through my third beer when I hear a snatch of conversation.

" …. Dungeon Master says he's going to make a fortune from this bimbo."

Some stupid kid. The bar's safe for people like me because about half of the patrons are in The Life … or want to be. That kid won't last long with a mouth like that on him.

"He's really got a super hero?"

"Yeah. Some archer chick. He says he's going broadcast what we do to her—we're all supposed to get a turn at her. The whole damn crew …"

Some archer chick …

I slam the mug down so hard it shatters and grab a piece of the broken glass and run over to the Mouth and slam his face down on the bar twice. I yank him up by his greasy hair and hold the glass against his scrawny throat. "Where?"

He's not stupid enough to lie.

The Bouncer worked with me a few times in the past so he doesn't say anything as I knock the Mouth out. He nods as I run out and yank out my cell phone, placing a call to the Justice League's help desk. Their voice analysis equipment will know it's me and they should scramble a team as soon as they run a scan but I don't have time to wait for them.

I'm on my bike, cursing at how badly my hands are shaking as I roar off into the night.

This so-called Dungeon Master is a new punk. A rich kid. He's kidnapped a few minor celebrities and filmed what he did to them. Sick twisted little brat.

And now he's got her. He's got Artemis.

He's got my little girl.

But not for long.

I'm smarter than this. I should plan. I should get my equipment together. I should suit up.

But I can't. He's got my little girl.

He's got my baby.

I can't think. I can barely breathe. The only thing that matters to me right now is getting to her before he can hurt her. About saving her.

The Dungeon is some low rent warehouse near the bar. He's got probably fifty men guarding the place. Armed to the teeth.

Ten years ago—hell, five—I would have gone through them like paper Mache. All of them.

Now … now I'm older, slower, more beaten down. It's a bad idea.

I go through them anyway.

I'm bloody when I'm done—some of it's mine, most of its theirs.

I'm going to feel it in the morning … if I live.

But my little girl needs me.

So I go on, getting slower with every new fight, bleeding a bit more with every take down. By the time I find her … by the time I beat the location of her cell out of the last punk, I'm sure I've broken something and I'm stumbling like a drunk on a three day bender.

The Dungeon Master is in her cell when I get there. He's got her strung up like a slab off beef. He's torn her jacket open and he's touching her.

Touching. My. Daughter.

I roar.

The Dungeon Master is wearing some kind of powered armor, an exoskeleton that makes him look bigger than he really is. He's a fat little man in a big suit and he thinks that makes him tough.

I teach him what tough is.

When I'm done, I cut Artemis down and anxiously feel for her pulse.

She's alive.

I thank the God I didn't know I still believed in that she's alive and I hug her tightly to me.

And that's when the Dungeon Master crawls out of the wreckage of his armor and stabs me in the side with a shiv.

I coldcock him, but the damage is done.

I'm bleeding out. Even leaving the shiv in, I'm bleeding out.

Doesn't matter.

I just have to live long enough to get Artemis out of here.

I wrap the rags of my shirt over her and lurch to my feet.

"Daddy?"

She's drugged. She's barely awake. She wouldn't call me "Daddy" if she weren't.

"I'm here, baby. You're fine. You're okay. You're just dreaming. You'll wake up and everything'll be okay."

I'm dying on my feet.

I can barely put one foot in front of the other, let alone carry her.

But I have to. Dammit, I have to!

Somehow, I make it outside.

It's dark. It's dark and I'm cold.

And there's the Justice League in front of me.

The kid is with them. The boy. Artemis' boy. She doesn't know that I know about him—her mom and I still talk. She doesn't know that.

She doesn't know I love her.

The kid is wearing that ridiculous costume of his and I'm expecting him to make some kind of flippant remark to me. I'm expecting them all to threaten me, to tell me how I'm going to rot in jail.

The Bat steps forward and looks at Artemis and he looks at me. "Crock, you need medical attention. Now. Give her to me."

"No."

She's my daughter. My baby. The only thing I have left. And if I'm going to die, I'm going to die holding her.

"Mr. Crock." It's the kid. He holds his arms out to me. "I'll take care of her. Please, sir. She needs our help. And so do you."

I fall to my knees, but I don't drop her.

"Just take her." It's the Arrow who says that.

"No." I'm surprised the Bat says that. "Crock, Artemis is safe. She's going to live. But you have to live too. How do you think she'll feel if you die now?"

She's my baby.

But I lost her a long time ago.

I let the kid take her from me. He wraps her arms around her and holds her like he'll keep her safe forever.

I reach out to touch her cheek, but my fingers are bloody and I won't stain her with any more blood.

It's over.

Artemis is safe.

"Artemis …"

And I let the darkness take me.