My life isn’t my own. I realize that now. It is someone else’s, someone I don’t think I like. I know they did something to me back at that facility. Doppelganger and his people played with my mind. In the process, they wiped my memories. And without those memories, I am simply Ian Page.
But before I was Ian Page, I suspect I was a much deadlier person. I know now that I don’t age. Though I feel no older than twenty or so, it seemed I have been twenty for several decades. I was Ian Page back in the forties, probably just another identity worn by a man that lived for a hundred years or more. And I survive and thrive off the life forces of others. I can drain the life away from any metahuman I touch. It takes a few minutes, but I can pull the energy that fuels them. I can suck them dry and leave them shriveled dead husks.
Though the power has saved me twice, it still sickens my stomach when I think about it. I don’t want to be a killer, even though I know deep in my heart I already am one.
My name is Ian Page and I’m not a person. I’m a walking shadow.
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