For nine years his name had been growing in infamy. For the last five almost every soul on the planet had known who he was, and almost all of them feared him. It had been bank robberies at first, but soon that wasn’t enough. He needed more than he could buy with money.

Now the world was at his feet, but the world didn’t know why. People thought that the slaughter and the iron fist were the means, and that power was the end. Power was the means. Not a single person still alive knew his origin story. They wouldn’t feel differently if they knew. Maybe a little pity, but he didn’t want that. Besides, they shouldn’t feel differently. It didn’t matter. The time machine was almost ready. Soon.