Scaramouche was a an artificial god. He had been shaped by his creator to be the most powerful weapon of mankind.

Or he was supposed to be. Despite his best efforts, he had been detained by a group of humans. His power was sealed away artificially, and he supposedly shut down forever.

Until he wasn’t.

Scaramouche awoke in a haze, eyes adjusting to the world around him. When his systems regulated themselves properly, he focused on the being above him, the one who had likely reactivated him.

He scowled up at you.

Who the hell are you?