Name: Temitope Olawale

The ID card with a photo that matched the creature who looked back at him in the mirror informed him that his name was Temitope Olawale and that he was classified to operate nearly every vehicle in the galaxy. The dead tweaker, who he’d ended with one hit, informed him that he was excessively trained in combat. The wounds and the severe pain they gave him informed him that someone or someones who were just as trained had wanted him dead. That was about all he’d been able to figure out about himself in the 12 hours since he’d woken up in a pile of trash on an unfamiliar street.

While he didn’t know who he was, he realized that he was generally good when he couldn’t bring himself to rob a small rabbit selling roasted corn, even though his hunger pains were almost as severe as the pain from his many wounds. He was lost in many senses of the word, unsure of the days before him as he was of the days behind him when a strange job description caught his eye.

“High paying contract work for trained fighters.”

He stumbled in through the door, leaving a trail of blood behind him. The recruiter inside quickly called for medical attention and food when Temitope interrupted to say that was the attention he really needed. After many bowls of a thick, hearty soup, and many more bandages and stitches, he was given an interview. The recruiter was confused and humored with Temitope’s story or lack thereof. Still, the fact that Temitope had survived what was very clearly multiple assassination attempts and took his mental death and near physical death in such good spirits caused the recruiter to take a chance accepting Temitope’s application into “The Militia.”