The fog began to creep in around him, swirling at his feet, and Terry felt a shiver run down his spine. The hooded figure’s words echoed in his head, a promise, a warning. “The power of Legion is real, if you’re willing to accept it.”

  He looked out at the crowd, their cheers still for Valor, still for their hero. Terry knew that if he wanted to change that, if he wanted to make them see him, to fear him, he’d need to embrace what he was. Not Terry Starr, not the overlooked wrestler from his old life—he needed to become Legion, truly, completely.

  With a deep breath, Terry turned, stepping through the ropes and making his way up the ramp. The pain in his body was nothing compared to the fire in his chest. He would make them remember him. He’d make them all see.

  This wasn’t over. Not by a long shot.

  He stumbled his way to what he hoped was the locker room. He must of been in the main event cause it was already empty, everyone gone home already. Turning on the tap he wiped away the facepaint of Legion and removed the contacts. Now in the mirror was just blue eyed Terry Starr.

  "Power is real huh?" Terry shook his head. "Well I'm ready for it, spooky man." The room remained dark and silent, not even the sound of footsteps seem to answer him. He sighed deeply, before standing up like a shot. The pain. He was still in pain. Everything hurt. this wasn't a dream. This was real.

  "Wake up Terry! Come on!" He pinched himself which only added to his pain. "No, no, no, no." The room went still and silent once again. This was reality now. Terry needed to think of what to do, and to do it fast.

  He went through a list of what needed to be done in his mind. Place to stay, well the arena would be good enough for now, at least it had a shower and a roof. Food. Hopefully there were concession stands here. Makeup and facepaint. Here Terry's heart almost sank realizing if he couldn't find this stuff fast the story of Legion might be over before it started. A deep sigh escaped his lips, when he heard a locker door open.

  Quietly. Stealthily. On tip toe, Terry made his way over to where he heard the noise. A locker was left open, creaking back and forth. He didn't feel great about snooping inside but it was a emergency. As he neared the locker there was a envelope stuck to the inside door. His name was on it. With a quick grab of the hand he opened the letter.

  'Dear Legion, L-E-G-I-O-N,

  You have to see that this world is different. You can no longer be Terry inside that ring or outside. Legion needs to grow, Legion needs to be strong. Become one and the same. Inside the locker you will find all the things you could ask for to keep your appearance up, plus your first check in real Heartland dollars. Win and it goes up, lose and from here on out you get nothing. Be the gimmick. We are Legion. For we are many.'

  Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

  Terry stared at the letter, his eyes wide, his breath catching in his throat. "We are Legion. For we are many." The words echoed in his mind, twisting around his thoughts, wrapping around his fear. He read it again, his name scrawled in bold letters, his stage name, not the name he was born with.

  His hand shook slightly as he turned back toward the locker. He opened it wider, his eyes scanning the contents inside. Just like the letter had said—there were supplies, all the makeup, facepaint, and even a set of fresh black tights. But more than that, sitting on top of it all, there was a small stack of bills. Money that looked different from anything he’d seen before. Heartland dollars.

  "Heartland," he muttered, trying to wrap his head around it. This wasn’t just a town—this place had its own currency, its own rules, its own version of reality. He felt his heartbeat pounding in his ears as he touched the money, feeling the weight of it between his fingers. It was heavy, both physically and in what it represented.

  Terry took a deep breath, his mind racing. This was real, more real than anything he'd experienced before. Whoever had left this letter—they knew him. They knew Legion, what he was trying to be, and they expected him to do more, to be more. They wanted him to become Legion, not just on the outside, but on the inside too. There was no room for Terry Starr here, no place for doubt or hesitation. He had to become the persona he’d created, the demon in the ring—the one that struck fear, that demanded respect.

  Slowly, he closed the locker, the contents still rattling slightly inside, the creaking echoing in the silence of the locker room. He held the letter in his hands, his eyes scanning the words again. Whoever wrote this knew exactly what he wanted, and they were dangling it in front of him like bait.

  Power. Glory. Recognition. The chance to never be overlooked again.

  The thought terrified him, the idea of losing who he was completely, of Legion consuming everything that was Terry. But at the same time, a part of him craved it. The power, the confidence, the freedom that came with being Legion. It was intoxicating, and now, in this world where nothing was certain, it was his only chance to survive.

  Terry clenched his jaw, folding the letter carefully and tucking it into his waistband. He looked back at his reflection in the mirror, the blue-eyed, bare-faced man staring back. This wasn’t what the crowd wanted. This wasn’t what he needed to be.

  He reached for the makeup, his hands moving on autopilot, applying the black and white, intricate designs that turned Terry Starr into Legion. He covered his face, layer by layer, until there was nothing of Terry left—just the demon, the painted figure that would fight, that would win.

  When he finished, he looked at himself in the mirror, his breath steadying, the fear in his chest replaced by something else—determination. He was Legion now. There was no Terry here. Not in this world. Not anymore.

  He opened the locker again, pulling out the black tights, the gear that would define him. He dressed quickly, his body still aching, but the adrenaline masking the pain. He had a place to sleep, he had what he needed to keep Legion alive, and he had a way to make money—to survive. It wasn’t ideal, but it was a start.

  Terry stood up, the makeup now in place, the black of Legion staring back from the mirror. He clenched his fists, the knuckles raw and bruised, and nodded to his reflection.

  “Alright, Legion,” he whispered, the words barely audible, but filled with conviction. “Let’s show them who we are.”

  He turned away from the mirror, making his way to the door. The arena might be empty now, but tomorrow it would be filled with faces—people who would cheer, boo, and judge everything he did. He would give them something to remember, something they’d never forget.

  "We are Legion. For we are many." The words echoed in his mind, a mantra that would guide him forward.

  No more Terry Starr.

  Only Legion.