The Minmatar known as Simulacra Anarcheis begins only three years past. He woke up in the cargo hold of a Burst class frigate--stowed away on a small mining operation. How he got there, who he was, he couldn't remember.

When he opened his eyes in that cargo hold, Anarcheis had only one concern, namely, the grisly man standing before him, towering only inches from the ceiling with a chest as broad as a barrel of oil. His eyes swam with purple mist. White, frothy foam curled outward from the corners of his mouth, dripping onto the deck. Synthetic stimuilants.

"Did I hit you too hard, Sim?"

The large man held out his hand, smiling. This is Sim's first memory.