This an imaginary story (which may never happen, but then again may) about a perfect man who came from the sky and did only good. It tells of his twilight, when the great battles were over, and the miracles long since performed; of how his enemies conspired against him and how he broke his most sacred oath. This is the big city, where people still sometimes glance up hopefully from the street, glimpsing a distant speck in the sky... but no, it's only a bird, only a plane - Superman is dead. This is Alan Moore (Watchmen), at his most reverential and revisionist best.