Rogues Gallery Vol.1

The Husband

My Love,

I'm hiding this letter once it's done. It's not because I don't love you. It's not because I'm scared of whats to come. It's simply because I know you. I know how you think, especially when your working. Once you start a project it takes forever to finally pull you out. It's like a black hole: swallowing you up, no sign of letting go or spitting you out. So for the sake of both of us, I decided to write this letter, because I know how deep you get into your work and I want you to remember how much I love you. How much you love me so that you never lose sight of the man you are.

AAAAAOOOEEEE. AAAAAOOOEEEE.

This is the emergency broadcast system. There have been several super villains sightings in several districts of Gotham. Areas affected include Slums, Docks, and Industrial. If you live in these areas, lock your doors and windows and do not open them for anyone other than the GCPD. REPEAT. Do not open your door until told otherwise. We will now return to your regularly schedule program.

AAAAAOOOEEEE. AAAAAOOOEEEE.

Gotham City, The Bowery, Midnight

Harold Calor had only been in Gotham city for a month. When his employer had asked for him to come from Bludhaven to help work on expanding his empire, Calor had thought he knew what he was getting into. He knew all about the cities bat problem. He knew that there were crazy super villains roaming the streets. He what he hadn't known was that it would get so damn cold in the middle of June. Yet, here he was, cowering in the middle of an alley, ice coating the walls, breathe coming out of his mouth in a mist. He didn't dare move. He didn't want to end up as a popsicle like his two goons. There they were, standing at the entrance of the alley, guns pointed, eyes wide, mouths open in an endless scream. And there, standing between the two goonsicles, was the metal man.

The tinman scanned the alley, suit hissing and clicking. At the top of the suit, a large glass helmet, the inside frosted over with glass, likely contained the metal man's head–if he even had one. In the creatures right hand was a large sci-fi looking gun, like something out of Star Trek. Calor had seen what that gun had done. He wasn't going to sit around for an encore. Slowly, not wanting to draw attention himself, Harold rose to his feet, heart racing. Harold wasn't a very thin man–last time he'd been to the doctor, he'd nearly broke the scale–and the ice crackled loudly beneath his weight. His eyes squeezed shut in terror, his heart feeling like it would burst at any moment. Cracking one eye open, Harold Color saw the metal man turn his way. Through the frost covered glass, bright red eyes bored right into the gangster.

The ice cracked and broke as the tin man strode down the alley at a speed that didn't seem possible with the kind of suit he was wearing. A gloved hand grasped Harold's jacket, slamming him up against the alleys back wall. The robot held him there, seemingly staring into his soul. Harold stared right back, too terrified to speak.

"Do you know how cold it has to be for a person to get frostbite?"

The man's voice was emotionless, intelligent and as cold as the ice clutching the alleys walls. Harold's terrified eyes scrunched into confusion.

"W-What?"

"Frostbite." The robot man–there was no other way to describe him–adjusted the gun at his side, twisting a dial down as far as it could go. The gun hummed dangerously, a layer of frost covering the barrel. "It is an injury caused by the freezing of the skin and the tissues beneath said skin. There are four stages to frostbite, each one ranging from rather mild to excruciating pain. Usually it takes about 30 minutes for frostbite to set it in."