X, The Legend
They call me a legend.
Even if it could, arguably, be true, I shall never think it such. I am no legend, no hero, just a soul that wanted to do only the right thing. Destroying enemies, eliminating threats that shook the foundations of life and peace, was my life then, now, forever more, as long as I can exist. After years of conflict, one grows accustomed to it, to the sad, hard life it is. Soon one learns to bear it almost passively, with seeming to not have a care.
I fought so hard, so long. Even legends deserve rest.
While my break is short, I survey the state of the world. Deep down I find myself ever so darkly amused, that the battles have become a dance floor of puppets versus originals. Copies of bodies and faulty programming, demented morals and bloodthirsty ideals. One original triumphed over a copy, and yet another copy triumphed over an original. The 'fact' that the original is better than a copied fake never looked more torn when Omega shattered to pieces, when his body engulfed my friends and killed all present but one.
They call me a legend, even if now they remember only my demented copy. Perhaps that insanity was in me, deep down, all along, and is legendary in its own right. I am exhausted, tired, and no longer wish to return to the manacles of the world. Haven't I, in all my legendary glory, done enough harm and good? I think, finally, I will step down.
Another legend can replace mine.
And then finally, we both can fade away into the folds of time, that hopefully will lazily, peacefully, pass all the rest by.