I lived a long time ago. Longer than you could possibly imagine. I can barely remember my name, the one my mother gave me at birth, the one forgotten by your histories as anything other than myth. I am constantly plagued by the idea that I myself am nothing more than a myth, a construct who owes its existence to the sadistic minds of men. But I know this cannot be true, for the minds of men have long since passed from this world that is no longer mine. I would like nothing better than to join them.
I was the illegitimate son of what you would consider a nobleman. My mother was not particularly exceptional in any way. In the years following her death, I often wondered why my father had risked his reputation for her, and lost it after my birth. He died, broken and alone, long before the breath of adolescence had brought me to life. I became a homeless thief, and I stopped thinking about anything other than where I would steal my next meal.
Crime flourished, becoming a government more powerful than that the citizens had elected. Pollution turned the skies of my city unnatural colors, and putrescence floated in the air like a breeze of death, depressing the hopeless populace even further. But, as I said earlier, I didn't care; the sky held no food or money, and crime was the way in which I survived.
At least, until that two-faced man forced me to change. I don't know how he found me- I didn't remember who I was then, and it still seems ridiculous that he could find me when I couldn't even find myself.
He took me in. He taught me. In time, be became the closest thing to a father I would ever find. After he trained me to a standard he found acceptable, we fought the crime that ruled my city with an iron fist in the same way it fought its battles: under the cover of the unnatural nights, at any level of society it occurred.
After a time, my mentor-father took in a new apprentice. I knew it was time to make my own way, and although I always had his financial support, I look back with bitterness at the break. I left, replaced, his teaching echoing in my mind, painful reminders of a second father's departure from my life.
I drifted until I found a city in need of my talents, a city whose clear skies were in contrast with my mind at the time. I protected it, determined to show my mentor my superiority to his new recruit, to no avail. I worked tirelessly, but no word ever came.
Eventually, I encountered a girl who pledged her partnership with the condition that we expand our partnership to include other of our ilk, so as to save the world should she lose control of her remarkable powers.
I agreed, two reasons at the forefront of my mind. My mentor would be impressed by my initiative, and the explosive growth of the city under my stewardship prevented me from being as effective as before.
Before long, a third member joined my stoic companion and myself, more human than either of us, although he lacked most of what would identify him as such. It amazed me to see him, nearly all things human removed from him, and he remaining a monument to human resilience and strength. He proved his loyalty until his death, a death with broke my heart then and now stays as a specter in my head, reminding me of my failures and failings. I can feel my hand trembling over my heart, although it feels as though I no longer I have one.
The fourth member of my team arrived by accident, a failed circus sideshow running away from those who would take advantage of his rare talent. He came to this life a naïve child, and left it a cynical, bitter old man.
The final member of my legendary quintet had remarkable strength and power wedded to a childish reverence for all life, no matter the circumstances. She could never hide her feelings: she was as transparent as glass, although far more beautiful. We grew to love one another, despite the difficulties of several betrayals around us and a barely aborted marriage on her part. We made it into adulthood, my mentor old and forgotten, my new family a shining example of heroism.
The fifth and I married, and had children, half-alien to my world, and entirely alien to hers. When I could still feel anything other than a numbing pain, I loved them more than I could have possibly imagined in my days on the streets.
However, as they grew up and my beloved grew old, it became clear I aged not at all. What I thought was perfect health was merely a cover for the reality: unwanted immortality. Not immortality as you know it, through magic or some other mystical process. I suspect it was on one of the many missions I took into the lairs of made scientists. Exposure to...something.
My first and only love died, and what seems like a moment later, my friends died. My children rejected me as unnatural, and lived out their lives with their green eyes trained on anything but me. It was the most alone I had ever felt. I was alone, my first friend, the dark stoic off to a peace denied her in life, my mechanized brother forever shut-off, and the green innocent scowling to himself even in death.
Most importantly, she died, sorrowful that she could spend no more time with me, and would leave me alone in my eternal youth...
I continued to fight the battle I had fought since my teenage years with a hollow heart. Even a vigilante must fight for something.
It was then I stopped believing in a God. You can hardly blame me. Everything worth living for was gone.
So I lived, lacking the courage to end my own life, and keeping the wound of her death open and festering.
I gradually stopped protecting the city that was my eternal home-I never made a conscious decision to do so, it just happened, as inevitable as the death of all civilizations.
Your histories teach that I was a legend, made up to show the tragic solitude of protectors. Don't try to deny it, I know it's the truth. I know more than you could ever hope to find in the minds of your most brilliant scientists, historians, or artists.
My existence is a gray portrait of loss. My city used to stand on these very grounds. It died, destroyed by the ravages of time, and my people died, poisoned by their own cleverness.
You see the sky now? That is what it looked like innumerable years ago. Then it became red, like my blood, like the Sun now. You couldn't possibly understand how much I've seen.
Did I mention I did once attempt to end my pitiful existence, hoping I would be able to join my beloved on the other side of death? I failed, as is obvious, but not for lack of determination; it was lack of cooperation on the part of my body...I cannot die. If you were to rip me into a thousand pieces at this very minute, I would heal, scar less. Of course you don't believe me. Who would?
You cannot possibly see that I was a member of that fabled race, human, who died at their own hands? Then you cannot believe any of what I have told you here. I have wandered an eternity, looking for death.
You put me on display, study me, as zoos and scientists did in my time, an oddity that must be explained.
Remember, I will see your race die, and another rise up in its place, watching time circle back onto itself, and I will remain forever, Robin.