[ WP ] What does n't kill you makes you stronger . It actually kills a weaker you from a parallel universe , raising the average strength of all the different versions of `` you '' .

They called me the strongest man in the world. Or the Survivor, or Immortus. Really depends on who you're talking to at that moment. Personally I've tried to call myself String Theory or Reset, but it just wo n't worm its way into people's heads. They told me that it did n't make sense as name. If only they knew. 
 
 If only they knew. 
 
 Today I was stopping another of the King's Men, Percival, or Pele -- I can never remember their names through the god awful faux-British accents they kept on putting on. Always straying between some bastardized version of Cockney and Geordie, oddly enough. I usually tried to work it into my banter, but after the first few times, they stopped talking to me altogether. Now when they see me, they just try to slice me with their mono-molecular swords. 
 
 Which suited me just fine. 
 
 But I'm getting besides myself -- I was on my way to stop Percival from robbing a local bank, the kind with a miniscule vault. I bounded past the police blockade, that ostensibly was set up to stop him from getting away. Funnily enough, when these were up, civilian casualties plummeted. Curious. 
 
 Again, when I got my eyes of them I felt a pang of envy. I was jealous of his gun metal powered armor that was styled like a knights armor -- something about it eye-catching compared to my gold and black jumpsuit, a stylized black `` I'' in the center bridging the yellow border between the two black pieces of my torso. Him being nearly 15 feet tall, and his sword the size of a goddamn person also helped with first impressions. I though I was stealthy in my approach, but he turned when I was still half a block away. Their Gadgeteer had probably installed some sort of bio-scanner or camera system. The perks to working in a group I guess. The street being cordoned off for two blocks. 
 
 `` So, good sir are we --'' 
 
 I could n't react as the powered armor bounded towards me in a massive leap, falling on me with the sword slicing through my collar bone, an instant of pain before my vision began to fail me. I felt my eyes close. 
 
 And then I opened them. I'm tough, really tough, but the swords are one of the few things that can still kill me. Just how I like it. 
 
 Perci-whats-it jumped up to rooftop level, and this time I bounded to the side from the middle of the street into an alleyway. I crashed in a dumpster for my trouble -- I'd have to somehow blame him for the damage in the incident report. He was on my in a moment, shoving his sword through my gut, the dumpster crumpling beneath us. I feel my bowels void, and darkness swims in my vision. I feel my eyes close. 
 
 And then I opened them. I ca n't remember how many times I've died, each a distant memory. I thought about how it looked from the outside if they remembered. At first I though I was some sort of precog, until I notice my strength going up bit by bit. Then I hit me. They happened to me. Or some version of me. The version that people see drawing from bits of their essences to get stronger. Or something. 
 
 Do n't give me that look, the best scientists on the planet have n't figured it out, and you expect some guy who coasted through college to understand it? Oh right, the fight. 
 
 So Percy bounds toward me from the street, the point of his sword aimed and my gut. I kicked the ground, going up a full story above the roof I had been aiming for, trying my best to roll as I hit the gravel. It cut into my ears and face, leaving streaks of red along my face. I really had to get a more covering mask -- this domino mask, it really was n't cutting it anymore. 
 
 I saw a metal hand grasp the ledge of the roof, hoisting up the massive massive body that was attached to it. I felt the roof practically groan under his weight, and I decided what humiliated defeat I'd give him this time. Just needed to get Gawain and I'd have gotten the whole set. As I dashed towards him, I saw him balk for a moment, before he readied his sword for my head. Death had n't scared me for a long, long time. 
 
 I limbo underneath his swing, sliding to deliver a kick to his knee. I had gotten strong enough at this point, that my blows tore through metal like tissue paper. Even whatever materials the King's Men were making their armor out of, but the Heroes Association kept on making it out to be high grade. 
 
 Never stopped me. 
 
 He toppled to the ground, the roof shaking under the weight. He wildly swung his sword in my general direction, but I saw it coming from a mile away. I grasped the suits wrist, planting a foot on his chest to rip his arm off. Most people think just because you're strong, leverage is n't important. I was one of those people once. Learned that lesson the hard way. Kind of. It's hard to tell when your mistakes hit a reset button. 
 
 With two limbs denied to him, as he flailed around, I leapt into the air, four, maybe five stories, above the roof. As I fell to the ground, my fist rocketed out, and my vision was filled with dust. We went careening through the individual floors, landing in a drab grey concreted room. Landed in the basement again. 
 
 I took to tearing the armor off, see if Percival was still alive. Hopefully they improved the shock-absorbers. Lamorak, he looked like an eggplant last I saw him. I finally got through the metal to see a woman, maybe in her late 30's, one side of her head painted read. I held my breath for a moment until I saw her chest rise and fall a few times. 
 
 Could not have a dead body on my hands. There are things even a rest button could n't fix.
