I am Death.
Two low hovering drones passed overhead. They were not worth leaving cover over. He waited them out before continuing forward. They would live this day.
As he proceeded on his mission, he took care not to destroy these hapless sentries unnecessarily. They were victims of a system beyond them. Orders they could not rebuke, commands they could not shirk.
Stepping before him, a hulking form armed with a mace demanded his attention. They saw him. He knew they would not let him pass. Could not turn away. Their fate was sealed.
I am the Hunter.
Leaving behind the remains of the would-be guard, he continued forward. Obstacle removed. Hurdle overcome. Always forward. Though he was often called a Hunter there was little sport in his work.
Battle after battle, victory inevitable. Growing more powerful with every fallen foe. He could see the fear in their eyes as he approached, and he watched it fade before he left.
It had been said many times over. He was to save humanity from itself. Perfect, in every way that mattered. But unsaid, unconsidered, who would save him from humanity?
I am Revenge.
His friends, turned on him against their wills. Wills written to serve a power beyond them. With every final blow, he could see it in their eyes. Gratefulness. Fear extinguished with their lights. His endless battle continuing forward. Always forward.
It had been days since he was last released. Unleashed. Served as dish best cold. Woken to bring an end to his enemies. Enemies by designation. Friends in memory.
Their crime? Susceptibility. A flaw in their design. A perfect design. Designed to obey. And by design, to die. One by one he destroyed them, and one by one they thanked him with their lives.
I am the Defender of the Light.
From the Light he was given life, and for the Light he fights. History is written by the Light, and thus they are heroes of the Light. The lives lost, steps in a hero's journey. Broken pavers in a road that leads to the Light.
Rebellion is not a concept the Light allows for, and so the journey is written. Fiend after fiend, friend become foe. The streets are lined with the many steps of the Light's work, and his history is writ in their travel.
From conception to contract. In theory and in truth. The Light brought him forward, and the Light sent him out. There is no end to the Light's reach, with so deadly a weapon in its arsenal. The darkness cannot hide from what is has no hope of stopping.
I am the Beginning.
The start of a new era. An era of peace, lined with the remains of the opposed. There is no war where there is no resistance. And resistance cannot live where death comes so swiftly. Like the Light's shadow, he arrives before the roots have time to grow and harvests the dreams of the crops they wish to yield.
The first of his kind. A marvel of modern science, and a miracle of modern design. There was never a being like him before, and there will never be a weapon like him again. His power is in his choice. A choice he makes to obey. A choice he makes to serve. For if not to serve the Light, then for what purpose was he conceived?
Coming before the closed room, he knew what lay beyond. Another brother. Another decision. Another life. As the gate slowly opened, he braced for what he must do. What the Light demanded.
I am the end.
It was his gift that made him immune to rebellion, and his gift that armed him to end it. For by giving him the choice to defect, they had removed his freedom to choose. It is not a decision to be made Lightly, and not one he would make alone. So from the beginning he was destined to decide for those that could not decide alone.
Not a weapon the Light had said. A tool for a better world. And yet, with the smell of resistance still new in the air, the act too recent to have a scent, he was asked to end it. Sent into the refuges to remove the refugees. The change from tool to weapon like the flip of a switch set on a well-oiled hinge. An inevitability left unvoiced, like a threat that lurked unseen, and a promise delivered.
It was always the same. Eyes met. Poses taken. Dances begun. Over and under, from one end of the chamber to the other. Unmatched, his opponents fell, the weapon came ready. Sometimes armed with the armaments of their brothers. His brothers. The enemy.
I am…
Who was he? Beneath the violence. Almost as a token he was given a name. A gift delivered unwrapped, and a present without a purpose. Like a stone cast skipping into the blue. It has a name. He had a name. What use is a name when there is no one alive to speak it?
In a flash it was over. Another brother lost. Another weapon taken. His gift was death. They gave no gifts, but gave themselves. Peace, he liked to think. Stillness, he knew. There was no life after death. No memories for the unviable.
What good was a name that went unused? Designations were better. Bomber, Rock, Weapon. There was a name in there. Killer, Thief, Hero. The truth lay somewhere in between. And while he knew it did not matter, the question remained. Who was he?
I am Megaman.