Prince sat in the corner of his room staring at the empty space that was his room. The only items lying around were his sword and staff, they were all he needed. There were no windows or lights so the room was pitch black. The light hurt too much, he could stand artificial light in moderated amounts, but sunlight made him wince in pain. He stood up and paced around the dark room, for some reason he could see as if it was clear as day in the room, it must be a side effect of his new form. He had seen himself in a mirror once after his revival and he was too horrified to look again, he was a walking deadman. He could remember clearly still, the smiling grin of a skeleton looking back at him through the mirror, it's eye sockets dimly glowing with an unnatural light. He did not breathe, he could not feel his pulse, and he could not sleep. It was torture, sitting through the night, not feeling or doing anything.
He started to hear commotion from outside his dorm room, it seemed people were finally awakening, he had survived another lonely night. Cautiously he put on his clothes, the clothes of the time he was in, he had acquired them as soon as he realized the date in which he had returned to the realm of the living and had made sure to show nobody what he truly was. Not even his teammates truly knew what he was and he'd like to keep them guessing, at least until he could personally come to terms with his new life. He was a "hero" now, whatever that meant. He had joined rather half-heartedly and was still skeptical about the whole idea of being on a team of crimefighters. Such a thing was bizarre to him, but this day and age saw it as the norm for those with abilities outside of the usual norm, he reminisced at the thought of him stepping over the heads of the regular human plebeians, a pleasant memory, but only a memory. Now he would change his ways and serve the common man by protecting them from harm, it was all he could do to atone for his past transgressions.
After putting on his sunglasses, tying the bandana around his face, and fastening his gloves, he sheathed his blade in the sheathe fastened to his back. Pulling on his hood as he picked up his staff, he walked towards his door and opened it. He flinched and raised an arm to Procter himself from the light that greeted him. It did not hurt with all his protective clothing on, but he still was not used to it. He turned the corner and saw the gathering of people. He saw the original titans and his new comrades in arms gathering in the Ops room. Syre, Press, Abigail, and Alexander had already awoken. "Good Morning." His voice was deep with a soft echoing whisper that followed every word he spoke. It seemed without functioning vocal chords his own life force created a voice for him and the result was a malevolent sounding one.