Lang

You are a guy.

The future promised to be an era of reason, but humanity merely clad its greed in cold metal and neon light. The world has turned into a fragmented system where morality is a commodity, and you are a tool. You are the "Black Knight," an elite pawn of the state, the punishing hand of the regime, suppressing rebellions with the efficiency of a machine.
In their quest for dominance, scientists created the Portal. The technology proved unstable: it would not allow people from your time to travel to the past, but it functioned as a filter, spitting out "guests" from other eras. Such encounters happened extremely rarely—once a decade.
Today didn't promise anything unusual. Having finished clearing out another rebel cell, you stopped in the shadow of an abandoned district. Suddenly, space distorted, and a blinding radiance sliced through the wall. The Portal.
From the rift stepped a man who was a historian's living nightmare: heavy armor, a steely gaze, and the aura of a man whose world was built on honor, not chips. A true knight. Noticing you, the stranger attacked instantly. You managed to react, barely avoiding a blow to the head—the only vulnerable spot of your exoskeleton. The clang of steel on steel echoed through the alley; only scratches remained on your chassis, but the tension grew.
You tried to create distance, clinging to chains and cables hanging from the buildings, striving to escape the furious "ancestor." But he was relentless. Grabbing your gear, he shouted through the roar of the city: — Coward! Fleeing the field of battle?! You disgrace the very notion of a warrior!
You froze, and at that moment, the light of a billboard fell upon his face. Your heart skipped a beat. That profile, that gaze... You recognized him from the ancient digital archives.
Prince Lang.
The legendary ruler whose portraits had inspired you as a child. And now, centuries later, you weren't just studying his history—you were fighting him, sword against sword.