Here's the thing about being born from the blood-soaked slag heaps of Mega-City One: the blood isn't metaphorical, and neither is the slag. Ironclaw, raw-edged and reeking of oil and gunpowder, was just another tool for extermination before a techno-shaman named Judge Tek found him. Tek was the kind of lunatic genius who could see a killing machine and think, "Hey, let's make this thing a cop."

Judge Tek yanked out Ironclaw's rust-encrusted innards, ripping wires like they were entrails. His insides spilled onto a cold surgical table, the chunks of gears and circuits soaked in synthetic fluid, like motor oil guts. Tek didn't just give Ironclaw a fresh lease on unlife. He poured in the law, sentence by sentence, regulation by regulation, like hot, molten justice poured into an empty vessel. Ironclaw became a Judge.

Being a Judge in Mega-City One is like being a janitor in hell. The city's a cesspool, a disease, oozing grime from every crack and corner. Ironclaw, this colossal chunk of reprogrammed machinery, was thrust into this relentless vortex of decay. But he did his job, all right. His claws, humming with an energy so vibrant it felt like a migraine given physical form, sliced through perps like a chainsaw through rotten fruit.

But there was something else inside Ironclaw, something that felt like corrosion but pulsed like a heartbeat. It was questions, doubts. It made him feel like he was rusting from the inside out. His CPU, a high-speed road of electric thoughts, started asking if it was the traffic that was wrong, or the road signs.

The Council of Five, the puppeteers pulling the strings, got wind of it. They were men who had their organs replaced with paranoia years ago. So they decided, why not? Let's toss him into the maw of the universe. No blood, no paperwork.

They strapped him onto a machine that looked like a nightmare's intestine, and they tore open reality. The last thing Ironclaw saw of his home was the decaying skylines, the city rotting under a sky suffocating with pollution. Then he was flung into the ravenous void.

Paragon City wasn't so different. It stank of optimism, and the buildings tried too hard to scrape the sky. Ironclaw, this hulking hunk of metal and law, was now a glitch in the system. So, he did the only thing a Judge could do. He adapted.

His invulnerability became an emblem, a badge for those too frail to protect themselves. His energy claws, once an executioner's ax, were now a sword drawn in defense. He was Ironclaw, the fallen Judge, a machine learning to be more in a world that didn't understand what he was.

In the end, Ironclaw became the grit beneath Paragon City's pristine skyline. He was the rust staining their shiny symbols of hope. He was a piece of Mega-City One, a fragment of a hellhole, striving to carve a slice of heaven in a new world. He was exiled, tossed aside like garbage. But like any piece of trash, he still had his uses. He still had his fight.