The city pulsed with neon and chaos, sirens wailing in the distance. Through the maze of streets, a lone figure darted, his tattered cloak billowing behind him. Blood dripped from unseen wounds, leaving a trail that his pursuers—costumed heroes with impossible powers—followed with relentless determination.

I was panting heavily, leaving a trail of blood, with some figures wearing weird costumes running after me, shouting and using powers that defied physics itself. They were adults wearing something so embarrassing it would make a middle schooler cringe. Honestly, they should drown themselves in a bucket of water out of shame.

I fumbled with the device on my wrist, cursing under my breath as it flashed yellow and orange. "Come on, you piece of junk," I muttered, willing it to work. But like everything else today, it seemed the universe had other plans. The damn thing had never failed me before, but of course, it would choose now to go on the fritz.

I was running through the streets, desperately looking for any opportunity to escape. At every intersection, new costumed figures would appear, forcing me down a single available route. It was like playing a twisted game of Pac-Man, except I was the ghost being chased by power-pellet-popping heroes.

From the residential areas, I found myself being herded into the abandoned part of the city, a wasteland of rubble and broken dreams. As I vaulted over a crumbled wall, my foot caught on a piece of rebar. I tumbled to the ground, rolling to absorb the impact. Pain shot through my already battered body, and for a moment, the world spun around me. I forced myself to my feet, knowing that a moment's hesitation could mean the difference between freedom and capture.

As I turned into what I thought was an escape route, I abruptly stopped my run. There, blocking my path, stood a mountain of a man. Blonde hair that defied gravity, muscles that would make a Greek god weep with envy, and a smile so bright it could probably be seen from space. I turned to run, only to find my path blocked. It was him—the most famous guy in the whole country, if not the world. All Might.

When All Might landed, his strength created a gust of wind that blew away the cloak I was wearing. My black and sleek armored suit was on full display, a little bit bulky, but battered and broken from various places. It had seen better days, that's for sure. The visor was cracked, revealing a single green eye that peered out from beneath the helmet. Blood trickled down my face, a stark contrast to my pale skin.

"It's the end of the road for you here, Legion," boomed All Might, his voice echoing off the alley walls.

I couldn't help but smirk beneath my helmet. "Well, if it isn't the walking advertisement for protein supplements himself. Tell me, All Might, do you get royalties every time someone buys a dumbbell?"

My quip caught him off guard. It was clear he wasn't used to villains with a sense of humor. I darted my eye around and observed that I was surrounded. Behind me, I could hear the rest of the hero squad catching up, their heavy breathing a testament to the chase I'd led them on.

Despite my battered appearance, I stood tall, forcing confidence into my posture. Come on, I have an image to maintain. I can't act like a coward now; my Uchiha pride stops me. (It's a joke, in case you couldn't tell. I'm not actually an Uchiha, though that would be pretty cool.)

"Surrender, kid," All Might said, his voice taking on a softer tone. "You can still walk down the right path. It's not too late."

I mentally scoffed at the mention of the "right path" by this government-sanctioned child soldier. But externally, I kept up my facade of nonchalance.

"Do you really do steroid abuse as the rumors say?" I asked, completely ignoring what All Might had just said.

"Wait, what?" All Might was caught off guard again, grumbling about why the conversation wasn't going according to the script. Poor guy, he probably rehearsed this speech in front of his mirror all morning.

As I spoke, I was frantically trying to activate the device on my wrist. I also tried to activate my power, which is called a quirk by the way, not superpowers—probably due to copyright issues with Marvel. Each attempt sent waves of pain through my body, a cruel reminder of how far I'd pushed my quirk. After all, it's just like a muscle, isn't it? My HUD display, flickering but still partially functional, showed a direct sniper aim trained on my head. This wasn't just a random chase—it was a meticulously planned trap, and I'd walked right into it like an idiot.

"Look, All Might is here!" exclaimed one of the heroes who'd been chasing me, his voice filled with awe and relief. I rolled my eyes. Fanboys, am I right?

"Finally, we can catch this villain," spat another, disgust dripping from every word. "How dare he attack public safety officers!"

I couldn't help but chuckle at that. Calling those pigs public safety officers? That's rich.

"Anyway, our work here is done," commented a third hero, already sounding bored. "Now I can go home and sleep." At least someone had their priorities straight.

All Might took a step forward, his massive frame casting a shadow over me. "Come on, kid. Get down on your knees. I don't want to hurt you."

I tilted my head, considering my options. Then, an idea struck me. "Say, All Might, I've always wondered something. Why did you decide to name your moves after cities in Neo America and the Federated States? You do know that when they were one country, they nuked two of our cities 400 years ago, and people living there are still suffering from the after-effects, right? Bit of an odd choice for a Japanese hero, don't you think? Or is there something you're not telling us, Number One?"

My question hit its mark. I could see the heroes around us exchanging glances, confusion and suspicion flickering across their faces. Even All Might, the unflappable Symbol of Peace, seemed to falter for a moment, beads of sweat forming on his brow. History isn't anyone's strong suit in this era, as it's not taught anymore before the quirk era, and I can proudly say I'm an expert in this field. It's amazing what you can learn when you're not busy flexing in spandex all day.

Now, I know what you're thinking. "Legion, you magnificent bastard, how did you end up in this mess?" Well, dear viewer, it's quite the tale.

Flashback to Hero Con, the biggest gathering of professional heroes and hero-wannabes in the country. There I was, dressed in my Sunday best, a press pass hanging around my neck, and a bag full of... well, let's just call it "special effects makeup" for now. I was conducting interviews, asking hard-hitting questions like, "If you could be any kitchen appliance, which would you be and why?"

But then, as I watched these so-called heroes preen and pose for the cameras, a thought struck me. "I wonder," I mused aloud, "what would happen if I threw this bag of mud at them?"

Now, in my defense, it was really good mud. Imported, even. And let's be honest, some of those costumes could have used a bit of earthy authenticity. Long story short, it turns out that heroes don't appreciate impromptu mud masks. Who knew?

But that's not the whole story. Oh no, we're just getting started.

Suddenly, Morgan Freeman's voice cuts in: "It all began billions of years ago, when cosmic dust coalesced to form our sun, a blinding beacon in the vastness of space. As planets formed and life emerged, the stage was set for a tale that would span millennia..."

"STOP!" I interrupted. "What happened?" asked Morgan, confused by the sudden interruption.

"Sorry, big guy," I cut in. "As much as I love your narration, we're going a bit too far back. Let me take over from here."

"Whatever," Morgan grumbled, his voice still somehow majestic even in annoyance. "I'm still taking the full amount as agreed. Union rules, you know."

Right, so where were we? Ah yes, the beginning. My beginning, to be precise.

Yokohama General Hospital, Year 2334.

The air was thick with antiseptic and anticipation. In a delivery room, a woman's screams echoed through the halls, punctuated by a doctor's encouragements.

"Push! You're almost there!" The doctor's words were nearly drowned out by the intensity of the moment.

Outside the delivery room, a tall man with wire-rimmed glasses paced nervously, wearing a trench in the linoleum floor. His brother leaned against the wall, a small, knowing smile playing on his lips.

After what seemed like an eternity—or about eight hours, if you want to be precise—the doctor emerged, beaming like he'd just discovered a new element. "Congratulations!" he announced. "It's a healthy baby boy!"

The new father, looking like he'd just run a marathon in business attire, rushed into the room. He first checked on his exhausted wife, planting a kiss on her forehead, before turning his attention to the tiny bundle in her arms.

And there I was, all wrinkly and red-faced, blissfully unaware of the world I'd just entered. A world of heroes and villains, of incredible powers and even more incredible corruption. A world that, little did anyone know, I was destined to turn on its head.

"So," my uncle spoke up, breaking the reverent silence that had fallen over the room. "Have you two decided on a name for my nephew?"

My parents exchanged a loving glance, then looked back at me. I'd like to say there was a moment of profound realization, a sense that they were naming someone who would change the course of history. But let's be real—they were probably just relieved the whole ordeal was over and they could finally get some sleep.

Little did they know that the tiny, squalling bundle they were cooing over would one day become the infamous Legion, currently bleeding and cornered in a dingy alley by the nation's top heroes. Life's funny like that, isn't it?

But that's a story for another time. For now, let's leave baby me to his blissful ignorance. After all, I've got a few more years before I have to deal with Mr. Star-Spangled Biceps and his protein-powered posse.

Well, then, every story has a start. This is mine, and let me tell you, it's not one of those happy-go-lucky, wish-fulfillment tales you might be expecting. No, this is a story of suffering—my suffering, to be specific. But hey, as they say, the path to heaven is carved through hell. And let me tell you, I've done a lot of carving.

But that's not when the actual story begins. It begins a little further back in time. To be more precise, the year 2053.