This Universe...

Prologue:

Who am I?

I am Jazzi. Right?

Well, I am now.

But, I am also many other things...

I never really used to ask myself that question. Only now that I've grown older, and things have suddenly changed, I'm starting to wonder - to really wonder. Who am I?

So I start to think about this logically. Since that's the best way to deal with things. Logically.

Well, I'm a girl.

I'm seventeen years old.

My hair is long and black.

My eyes are blue - uh, wait, gold. They're gold now.

But... no, this doesn't quite answer my question.

I've been asking myself: how can I ever really know who I am?

And after some thought, I've come to some kind of conclusion. That being; one must know the past in order to better understand the present.

So, I try to remember. I think, as far back as I can, to my earliest memory.

You know, I imagine I would have grown up to be a sheltered person, living a sheltered life, on a sheltered planet. That is, if I hadn't stumbled upon my change of fate.

Fate in the form of a shuriken, actually. A sharp, shiny piece of metal that, at the time, had been bigger than my own hand.

I had been young. Very young. But I remember picking up that shuriken, looking at it.

I remember that old scrapyard.

Why I was there, and what I was doing there - I don't remember. Only three things really stand out in my memory of that day: the shuriken, the old scrapyard, and the eyes.

I'd held up that out-of-place shuriken, and had been curious. So I had gone exploring, picking my way further into the old scrapyard.

And then I'd found him. Or her. I never actually found out who they were... But their face had been almost completely covered, and all I could see was their eyes. Eyes, I remember, that looked cold and empty.

The eyes of the dead staring into the eyes of a child.

I saw death at a very young age. Too young to perhaps fully understand the blank eyes and the blood stains, but old enough to sense the morbidity before me.

I gasped. I didn't scream. I didn't even back away from the body. I remember kneeling there amongst the dirt and scrap metal, stunned. The sharp, silver shuriken still resting between my small fingers.

Then strong arms circled around me from behind, and before I knew it I was being lifted up. I didn't squirm. My eyes didn't leave the lifeless body on the ground. Then I was carried away, until I could no longer see those cold and empty eyes.

I found myself cradled in the strong arms of a man. He was dressed in black. His face was hidden behind a black visor. I only saw my own stricken reflection as I searched for his eyes.

He didn't say anything. He just kept walking as he carried me.

And I remember feeling strangely safe.

I don't know what I had been thinking... He could have been dangerous. But then, I had only been a young child.

Wrapped in his arms, I rested my little head on his shoulder, and closed my eyes.

My earliest memory.

But unfortunately, recalling this memory only leaves me with more questions than it does answers.

Because, if knowing the past helps one to better understand the present... then how can I understand myself now if I don't know who I was, where I came from?

Why was I in that scrapyard on that one fateful day? What was I doing, where were my parents, my family? What role did I play in the world I lived in?

Who was I, before all of this?

Who am I?