"A regular After-Fall Sherlock Holmes! Suave, handsome, and possibly insane."


Cinder grew up as one of the first members of a test generation. That much he remembers. He also remembers the accelerated training he went through for five years to be as skilled as he is. What he does not remember, however, is anything beyond that. One minute men were coming into the room to speak with him and the next, he was waking up in a Remade body without any clue as to how he had died or how he had gotten there. Turns out something happened with the experiment. They had been released, dubbed “The Lost”, and probably insane.

But Cinder wasn’t crazy. He knew that much. They had done something to him during the lost time. He was more aware of his surroundings. He seemed to be able to think much faster than before. Wounds deflected off him much easier than they used to.

What had they done to him during that gap in time? Was he ill? Had he been at the brunt of horrific experiments and was now walking around with some ticking time bomb? Or perhaps his very being had been altered in ways he could not understand. Had he been tortured to death? Some people might call it Hypochondria, but he knew what it really was: the truth. He wanted to know what was wrong with him.

The only place he found solace from the questions that haunted him was in his research books. Study of transhumanity. Anatomy, Psychology, Medicine. He found that understanding his situations, surroundings, and feelings from a strictly scientific perspective gave him unusual clarity, and his tendency to spout it off was just a side effect of his being out of touch with proper social rituals and unsure how to react. He could improve that … it certainly didn’t mean he was nuts.


Pick-up Crew EndingNotYetWritte