So, this popped into my head and I thought why not? Happens in the distant future because I needed Danny's acts forgotten, and consequently he is immortal.
They all noticed that he never took off his shirt among them, even when they were all dripping wet or sweating profusely. He never removed his signature black tank top around them, and when they were stripping out of their uniforms it was always underneath. There were quite a few theories amongst them as to why, but they all fell flat and a few were absolutely ridiculous. They ranged from embarrassing birthmark to abnormally protruding belly button. But no one believed any of them. He was too confident in himself to feel embarrassed about bodily abnormalities and much too responsible to have a much regretted tattoo. That had been another theory, that he had inked his skin with something horrible and concealed it, but while that may be believable with some of them, the man only had a touch of visible ink.
It was a tattoo that wrapped around his wrist in looping lines. On the point where his middle finger's tendon met his wrist, an elaborate S wrapped around a plain D, and encircling that was a loop of chains that continued down both sides of the joint. But the most surprising thing about it was the inscription done on the chain; it read "My eternity belongs to the only one who is patient enough to wait forever for me to join her." When he was asked about it, he said he got it a long time ago, and when one of them asked if he regretted it he responded with a no, saying that she was the only one for him and she was waiting for him to rejoin her.
But no, the reason for his adversity to the removal of his shirt was not likely a much regretted tattoo. Honestly, nobody really even had an idea as to why he wouldn't. Sure, he probably had embarrassing tan lines; but they all did, maybe he had a strange birthmark; but his six-pack would probably make up for that, perhaps he had too many scars that told stories; but again, they all did. And because no one could figure out a plausible reason for him never taking off his shirt they dubbed him Mr. Modesty.
It was a scalding hot day in the Nevada desert when they found out the reason Mr. Modesty never took off his shirt, and most of them would say in hindsight it would have been better if that day hadn't come, but not because they would rather have not found out Mr. Modesty's reason, but because of the situation that they had found out in.
It had started out routine; their task had been to clear the red desert soil of any mines the initial team had missed. They were pretty relaxed but excruciatingly hot and each of them had discarded all unnecessary articles of clothing (Mr. Modesty's definition of unnecessary stopped at his black tank). They were only supposed to clear about a hundred more yards when the worst thing they could imagine occurred. No one heard the subtle click of a detonated mine, but they all heard the painfully loud detonation, and saw a young soldier named Clark on the ground at the newly formed crater's edge. Mr. Modesty had been the closest to the young man, and he was the one to assess the damage the mine had done and take control of the situation. Clark's best friend Henrik had run up to him and his face had paled at the sight. He was frozen until a hand grabbed his shoulder and his eyes fell on a blazing blue gaze, Mr. Modesty's rough voice issued a question. "Henrik, I need you to straighten his leg as I tie a tourniquet. We need to stop the bleeding, can you do that?" Henrik nodded his head slowly and carefully grabbed his best friend's foot. He had flinched as the bones in his best friend's leg fell into place with a click and nearly fainted at the sight of red on his hand. By now the others had gathered around and all of them watched Mr. Modesty's from behind as he ripped off his black tank and tore it into strips that he tied tightly around Clark's leg. They all were sickly fascinated by the patchwork of scars across his back and found it strange that all the scars they had would only equal about a quarter of those on this section of the man's skin. But each put aside the thought as Mr. Modesty turned his head to look at them. "Guys, I'm going to stand up now. My skin may be unsettling in the front, but I need you to remain calm, all this is ancient history. We need to take care of Clark, and then you can all freak out." Internally they each scoffed, how could they be any more freaked out after seeing poor Clark here? But each of them was incredibly grateful that they had not reacted out loud, because they were more than a little unsettled by that sight. They had expected many things, but what greeted them was horrifying. His front was just as scarred as his back, but one thing stood out and sent shudders down their spines. It was a vivid red Y that stretched from his collar bones to a spot about an inch below his belly button. The middle fell on his diaphragm. It was painful to look at and they were all wondering how. But they took Clark as more important than their questions and didn't break the tense silence until he was safely carried to the medical bay. They formed a loose circle around the blue-eyed man and Henrik took a tentative step forward. "Where did you get that?" The man's blue eyes glittered darkly.
"Well, it's a long story, but I guess it started in a basement with a pair of mad scientists who were so obsessed with their research that they never considered the consequences of putting deadly equipment in the basement of their family home."
To most, that was the day referred to as the one where Clark was released from duty while Mr. Modesty became Scars, and to a select few, it was the day they learned of the personal history of a man named Danny Phantom.