It started off like any other evening. I grabbed the opportunity at a few extra hours at the steel plant in King's Row. The typical hike to my meager apartment included keeping low and quiet, ducking for cover at the sounds of someone desperately trying to keep what little money they had from being taken from some robber. The night was unusually still and much cooler than it had been for this time of year. I rounded a corner, right into a rather large confrontation between some heroes and the criminal element of King's Row. I veered off to the side and took cover.
In the midst of the battle, a human-like shape of black energy and glowing eyes had suddenly appeared. The figure had something in it's hand that gleamed oddly from the streetlamp. It fired this pulsating blast of purplish-black energy as one of the heroes jumped in front of me. The hero took the brunt of the attak, but some of the energy struck me as well. As I fell to my knees in pain, I saw the hero fall to the ground, not moving, as the mysterious attacker seemed to fade out of existance. I can still recall the look of pain on the fallen hero's comrades as one of them picked me up from the floor.
When I came to, the first thing I remember is the doctors placing a sheet over the fallen hero in the bed next to me. And then it hit me: this burning desire, this uncontrollable...hate and need to destroy. I wanted to crush the doctors that came to check on me, the nurse at my side, the grieving comrades looking through the window. Then I looked at the body of the hero next to me, and I closed my eyes. I could see the darkest black inside, and I grabbed a hold of it. I was determined to be like that hero. I would become the essence of what he did for me. I would become the protector. Do not ask me my name, for that is no longer who I am, and I wish not to remember. I am the Darkness that heals.
