2.5 million years ago, the Terra Universe thrummed with an intricate web of energy and despair.
Among the stars, in a secluded lab hidden within the mighty mountains of a forgotten world, the Hypno Gang flourished.
Renowned for their dark experiments, they sought to reprogram human essence itself.
Their pièce de resistance turned out to be Shinjiro Satoshi, the subject of countless modifications, enhanced way beyond any known limits.
Shinjiro was born from their desperations, rising from the ashes of failed trials and demolished hopes.
Beneath the glow of fluorescent lights, men and women thought they were witnessing the dawn of a new age, the perfect soldier, engineered to survive in an unforgiving universe.
They had given him strength, speed, and cunning; however, they stripped away his emotional core, believing that true power lay in the absence of weakness.
The moment the test tube shattered like glass under pressure, his icy blue eyes flickered open.
Shinjiro emerged, not as a weapon of justice but as a harbinger of chaos.
No sooner had he taken his first breath than darkness swirled around him, forming blurs of motion as lab personnel, who had grown complacent in their brilliance, became mere shadows in his path.
His movements were fluid and calculated.
A flash of cold steel, a dagger, the only piece of himself they had given back was the art of silent destruction.
It hung on the wall like a trophy of their hubris, designed specifically for him.
With one swift motion, he unsheathed the dagger, its blade gleaming with malice under the sterile lights.
As Shinjiro stepped into the brightly lit corridor, he felt the ominous pull of purpose, an unfamiliar sensation that felt more like predatory instinct than emotion.
He moved among them with precision, cutting down those who had once believed in his potential for greatness.
Each life extinguished resonated in the still air, a chilling symphony of his emergence, leaving behind nothing but echoes of terrified gasps.
Yet, as he progressed through the labyrinth of twisted metal and fading hope, a nagging sensation gnawed at the edges of his consciousness.
Was it anger, confusion, or some distant memory of humanity?
It overwhelmed him as he caught glimpses of faces, fearful, pleading, broken.
He paused, gripping the dagger tighter, feeling something deep inside him stir, though he could neither understand nor name it.
In the depths of the facility, he stumbled upon a small chamber where the data of his creation lay on screens, streams of coloured code flickering like fireflies in the dark.
While the world outside crumbled in his wake, this room held the remnants of who he could have been. He approached the console, a façade of logic against the whirlwind of violence swirling within him.
It was there, amidst the rows of data, that he began to understand emotions had been stripped from him, but echoes of them remained,, memories of laughter, pain, love, betrayal.
These were fragments housed within the sterile walls, swirling and beckoning him to remember.
But with every pulse of recollection,
a battle waged inside him.
Would he embrace a past that no longer had a place in his new existence, or would he continue down the path of relentless destruction?
Suddenly, alarms echoed through the facility, and red lights flared around him.
The Hypno Gang's remaining members in that location then mobilized, desperate to contain the situation they had unleashed.
Shinjiro's heart, a heartbeat he barely remembered, quickened.
In that moment of panic, Shinjiro made a life changing choice, a flicker of brightness was breaking through his frostbitten soul.
Instead of continuing his rampage, he turned away from the door leading to freedom.
Instead, he dove deeper into the data vaults, searching for answers, seeking the remnants of the emotions that had been ripped away from him.
He needed to find who he was designed to become, the man buried beneath layers of steel and violence.
As he accessed files that revealed graphic accounts of his upbringing, he encountered Dr. Ayumi Takeda, the lead scientist who had believed she could reshape mankind's fate.
Her log entries resonated with fear and ambition, exposing her grappling with ethical dilemmas while sculpting him into a weapon.
Shinjiro glanced back over his shoulder.
He spotted a girl right there.
She looked like death itself, pale and grim.
He raised his arm fast.
He blocked her sharp kick with ease.
Then he ducked low.
He spun on his heel.
His foot slammed into her face with raw power.
That kick launched her hard.
She flew back and crashed through three huge mountains.
Rocks tumbled down in clouds of dust.
She rolled far across the rough ground.
Two figures rushed in. Antares and Ash grabbed her.
They stopped her wild roll just in time before the girl hit the fourth mountain that was a head of her.
"You okay? Who did this to you?" Ash asked.
His voice held real worry.
He cared about her health, no doubt.
The girl nodded slow. She shook off the daze.
Ash stepped up. "I'm Ash, the monarch of radiation and the cosmic king. This is Antares, king of destruction and the monarch of dragons."
The girl then stood tall. "I'm Riko Yokoyama, the monarch of death."
Antares scratched his neck.
He eyed the broken mountains. "That guy must pack some punch. He hurled a monarch clean through three peaks like that."
Shinjiro popped up again. Murder burned deeper in his eyes.
Cold rage twisted his face.
Riko, Ash, and Antares dropped into fight stances.
Fists clenched.
Bodies tensed.
The air grew thick with threat that was about to arrive any second now.