A boy sat alone in a room mostly empty except for a bed, a chair, two cots that were stacked upon each other, and a large machine that the boy had awoken in. Oh, and there were a few paintings in there as well. Now the paintings were unimportant; they were there to remind the boy of years gone and the past. The room was more of a bunker, completely metal and COLD. The boy looked to be about 5’4, not tall but not short. He passed his hand through his charcoal black hair it was curly and unruly. He wore a brown jacket and a grey shirt, his face was covered in dirt and scorch marks from the part of the machine that often exploded.He was a good mechanic and anyone who meets him knew that. He wasn’t muscular in any shape or form. The only thing he had that most people acknowledged was his brain. But this isn’t just about the boy, this is about what is going to happen to the boy next after he sat down to read his book: the day his life would start and also end.