Solomon Grundy, Born on a Monday, Christened on Tuesday, Married on Wednesday, Took ill on Thursday, Grew worse on Friday, Died on Saturday, Buried on Sunday. That was the end of Solomon Grundy.
But this time he wasnt going to die so eagerly, Last time his death was something he wanted. His fate in that life already planned out for him, the Fate told him "This will be the last time Grundy you come back with any shed of intellegince. The last time you will be able to tell friend from foe. And the last time I will help you with your passing, after this the man known as Cyruss Gold is on his own." Then I went out in a blaze of glory for the world...yeah right, They threw my sorry ass on a barren planet an let me die. Left me their when I hadnt done a single thing wrong that time around.
Grundy stands at the front of Arkham Asylum. A large lamp post in on hand, his large hands gripping the post. Anger filling his vacant face. "And this time around, i came back as a moronic baffon with tendency's of intelligence. My mind is capable of speech an intelligent conversations but expressing it is almost impossible, unless i force my self to break through the bonds of silence." Pulling the lamp post behind him he thrusts his arm forward and it soars through the air slamming into the side of the Asylum. He smiles a moronic smile and walks back down the long road down back into Gotham. As he nears the end of the road he pulls a phone from his pocket and "Smile man....done it is."
He continues down the road taking a cigar from his coat pocket an lighting it, forcing a tune out of his bodies mouth he begins to whistle as the rain slams down onto him.
"Your a fool." He grabs the boys hand with the gun an forces him to pull the trigger. And moves forward the little knife digging into his thigh and his parts "Is that really what you think will defeat me. If so I think its best you go back to your team an do a little research."