It wasn't normal was it? The feeling of dread riding throughout the universe like a tidal wave. Like life itself was being snuffed out so quickly one couldn't possibly fight back against the oncoming storm. It was as if Death itself had been given it's final order as the dark shadow of the Abyss began to swallow our universe, every universe. Our Multiverse. Of course, despite what one might think this wasn't exactly an ending, nor is it really a fitting place to begin a story such as this. Our story, as strange as it may sound. Starts with a boy or well, a man really in some dingy deadend job in retail, bored out of his mind with only an hour left on the clock. It starts with him and one day, however far away it is, it will end with him. His name is Connor and this is the story of how his life was ripped apart.

It was just an ordinary Sunday for him, working his ass off for a boss who didn't care and a workplace that paid him far too little. One might forgive him if he happened down a darker path of crime but that wasn't the life he wanted to lead. He was aware of how hard life was, especially for people less fortunate than himself. In fact, he hated himself to some extent, deeply and terribly due to the fortune he had been given at birth as a white man. Was it a monetary fortune certainly not, but it was one where he at least had food on the table, clothes on his back and a roof over his head. He got to have a school education, even if it was only at public schools where bullying and harassment was a daily occurrence. Connor wasn't smart or nerdy like all those other books would have you believe he might be. He had scraggy long hair, deep brown eyes and was at the age of 19.

Connor was more or less just average, with far less than stellar looks and an incapability to truly stand up for himself. It wasn't like he hadn't tried, but he'd been beaten so often and so regularly that fighting back eventually became something of a dream, one that would never be a reality for him as far as believed. Of course his anger and resentment at those around him for not bothering to even try and assist or help would grow day by day into a constantly looming voice in the back of his mind, urging him to kick that child, punch that man, break that window. Of course nothing ever occurred, Connor had a good enough sense of right and wrong to know not to listen to that voice.

However, when it told him to save that woman in the alleyway he saw on his way home one day he couldn't help but listen and finally give in to the voice in his head. Of course it didn't end well for him and not only did Connor receive many cuts and bruises from his encounter but his ego had been shattered along with his self image. Though that voice deep inside his mind only got stronger from the beating, urging him to get to his feet, brush himself off and get home. To make something to help him, a suit of sorts to protect him should he need to step in again, an alias, another mask besides the one he wore each day in his public image.

So for the months to come, in his spare time and when he could, Connor would begin to fashion the suit he was to wear, this heroic identity that refused to leave his conscious mind alone enough to rest. A ski mask, a black long sleeved shirt, a black leather jacket, his jeans and steel cap boots and not to forget the black gloves that had been pulled over his hands. A red diamond-like patterning adorning the back of the jacket now as Connor fashioned a name for this identity, this other life that had begun to consume him from within. 'The Redback' is what he called it, his so called magnum opus among other things as his days began to fill with regimental training and exercise alongside his work.

Connor couldn't risk losing again, not to some petty street thug, not when there were people around and at risk from the dangers of these criminals that so easily roamed the streets of his block, of his city, of his country. A guilted duty to serve and protect had clouded his vision now, of course one might consider the Police Force, but… when had that ever really done anything for the safety of the people, drug dealers, sex offenders, murderers all went free without even a day to their names. The Court didn't put them away or administer justice like it was supposed to, so Connor in his clouded judgement decided he would continue to put those criminals to the doorstep of the police in the meantime.

To ensure that maybe, one day the court would open its eyes, that the government would wake from its long slumber and see how its people suffered below it, in its shadow where it dared never to look. It was something unspoken and unseen, the whole thing was regarded as taboo by those who sat aloft in their seats of power and wealth, many of whom even assisted with and committed the crimes that hurt the people they needed to serve. So after months of practice, training and creating Connor would finally prepare himself, sending himself out onto the streets one night to search and protect.

When one searches for danger as we all know, one will surely find it and that night Connor once again found himself splitting up an argument between a thief and a young boy making his way home from the shops, groceries in hand. The thief, also young, turned his knife to Connor and drove the knife forward, piercing the leather jacket but luckily not the long sleeved shirt beneath and so Connor moved forward punching at the ribs, the arms and admittedly towards the face soon enough bringing the young man before Connor to his knees. So Connor pulled the thief to his feet and dragged him through the streets before throwing him to the doorstep of the station, disappearing into the night before he could be seen himself and with that his nightly errands began and the tale of his endeavours began to spread.