Ashton stared into the cracked mirror of his dingy apartment bathroom, the fluorescent light buzzing overhead like a swarm of angry insects. His reflection looked back at him—haggard, eyes shadowed by exhaustion, a wild beard and tangled hair framing a face etched with regret. With trembling hands, he picked up the clippers and began shearing it all away. Clumps of hair fell into the sink like discarded memories, each snip a step toward severance from the life he'd led.
"I don't want to do this shit anymore," he muttered to himself, his voice raw and broken. "It's beyond me."
He tossed the clippers aside and grabbed his old boxing gloves—white and black, wrapped in frayed tape stained with sweat and blood. Stepping out into the cold night air, he wandered into the nearest alleyway, the city's distant sirens wailing like a funeral dirge. With a final, defiant hurl, he chucked the gloves into a overflowing dumpster, watching them disappear amid the trash. The past? It was a blur now, dissolving into fog every time he tried to grasp it. Fights, chaos, power he never asked for—it all slipped away, leaving only emptiness.
Back in his apartment, he collapsed onto the sagging couch. The ancient TV in the corner flickered to life on its own, its static hum piercing the silence. A news anchor's voice blared: "This green hoodie guy has caused unprecedented destruction in our city—buildings toppled, streets in ruins..."
Ashton's heart pounded. He grabbed the remote, flipping through channels frantically. Every station echoed the same story: analysts debating the "impact" of the hooded vigilante, survivors recounting tales of energy blasts and impossible feats. It was him. All of it. The weight of it crushed him, but before he could process, the screen warped, a swirling green portal erupting from the glass like a vortex of emerald fire.
Without thinking, Ashton lunged forward—or was he pulled? He tumbled through, the world twisting into a kaleidoscope of shadows. He emerged in a dimly lit chamber, surrounded by hooded figures in dark robes, their faces obscured by masks. "You are the destroyer," one hissed, lunging with a glowing blade. "The one who disrupts the balance!"
They swarmed him, attacking not just his body but his very identity—whispers of doubt echoing in his mind: *Who are you? Hero? Villain? Fraud?* Ashton fought back instinctively, his fists crackling with latent energy. Punches landed with thunderous force, sending assailants sprawling. He dodged ethereal strikes, countering with bursts of raw power until the figures retreated into the gloom. Panting, he clawed his way back through the portal, collapsing onto his apartment floor.
Home. He needed normalcy. He lit a joint, inhaling deeply as the smoke curled around him like a shroud. But peace was fleeting. In the predawn hours, a massive explosion rocked the building, shattering windows and sending tremors through the streets. Sirens wailed immediately, closer this time. Ashton bolted to the window—flames licked the skyline, debris raining down. The TV flickered again, the portal reappearing. No time to hesitate. He dove in, emerging onto a rain-slicked road under a stormy sky. Footsteps pounded behind him—cops, shouting accusations: "That's him! The green hoodie bomber!" Bullets whizzed past as he sprinted, heart racing. They thought *he* caused the blast? Ridiculous, but the chase was real. Spotlights pierced the night from above—a helicopter thrummed overhead, its rotors slicing the air. In the cockpit, a figure in crimson armor smirked down: Red Leader, the shadowy overlord who'd orchestrated so much of Ashton's torment. Ashton ducked behind a crumbling wall, breath ragged, planning his next move.Red Leader descended, the chopper hovering as portals ripped open around them—doorways to other universes, flickering with alien landscapes. They clashed through the voids: one moment in a neon-lit cyber-city, the next in a barren wasteland under twin moons. Ashton teleported behind his foe, landing a solid punch to Red Leader's jaw, the impact echoing like a sonic boom.
But the fight shifted. Suddenly, they were in a boxing ring, the ropes taut under stadium lights, a roaring crowd blurring into nothingness. Red Leader grinned, his eyes gleaming with malice. He struck first—a brutal hook that split Ashton's lip, blood spraying across the canvas. Another blow to the gut, then the head. The inner music—the adrenaline-fueled rhythm that had always driven Ashton—cut off abruptly. Motivation evaporated, replaced by primal survival. Kill or be killed. Ashton's eyes narrowed. He surged forward, channeling every ounce of fury into a counterpunch. His fist connected with Red Leader's chest, the force propelling the villain backward. Red Leader smashed through the ring's barriers, hurtling into the cityscape beyond—crashing through skyscrapers, glass shattering in cascades, until he slammed into the pavement below, cracking the asphalt.They took to the skies, weaving through the urban canyons, portals flickering like strobe lights. Red Leader fired energy volleys, but Ashton dodged, building his power. With a guttural roar, he unleashed a blinding blast—a torrent of plasma that engulfed his enemy, sending Red Leader spiraling into the abyss. As the dust settled, Ashton hovered above the wreckage, chest heaving. The portals closed, the chaos fading. For the first time, the blur of his past felt like a chain broken. But in the quiet aftermath, he wondered: Was this the end, or just another beginning?