Let's back up about sixteen years to put everything in perspective.

My name was Suzi Saxon and my big brother decided it would be a good idea to try and get me on a dirt bike again. I hadn't ridden one since I was about ten years old and burnt my leg on the exhaust pipe. I was utterly terrified of the things.

He had me doing short little trips in the desert with him to get my confidence back. After about a month of this, I mustered up the courage to get my own. It was a cheap little thing; all beat-up and in need of repairs. Of course, I didn't know how badly it needed to be fixed up and just filled it up and took it out.

It was fine at first, but then it started to make this strange noise, so I slid off it and attempted to figure out what was wrong with it. That was the point where it exploded in my face.

I died at the age of twenty-nine, due to my own stupidity.

{LINE BREAK}

When I next became aware of myself, I was fourteen at the circus, in the middle of practicing my routine with my coworker. We were trying to coordinate our motorcycle tricks for the next show. It didn't go too well when I seized up and crashed into him as I assimilated the extra twenty-nine years.

In this life, my father had skedaddled before I'd even been born, leaving my mother pregnant and homeless in post World War II Germany. She'd carried me to term -just barely- and dropped me off at an orphanage with only a name: Ulrika.

She must have still been delirious from the pain to name me "Wolf Ruler."

I spent the first twelve years of my life at that hellhole before I made a break for it and managed to join the circus. There, I met my best friend and coworker, Cherep. He was performing stunts on a motorcycle and I was in awe. At only fifteen years old, he could breathe life into his stunt bike and make it do things that I could hardly believe.

I don't know how, but I got him to teach me and he became my best friend and big brother. He was my idol and I wanted to be just like him.

On stage, he was a grandstanding little shit, but when he took the costume and makeup off, he was my best friend again.

After I filled in for him a few times -to great success- free ringmaster deemed us ready to perform as a pair. The crowd ate it up. I never managed to talk to the people like Cherep, so I let him handle that part as I escaped to our living quarters.

Things continued like that until the accident.

{LINE BREAK}

So as I lay there, absorbing my past life, Cherep comes running over to me yelling words in German, it takes me a minute to understand what he's saying.

"Whazzat?" I ask numbly in English and he pauses.

My mind finally catches up to me and I realize that he doesn't speak English. Neither should I, for that matter. I blink a few times and shake my head a bit before talking.

"What was that?" I ask slowly in German.

"Wow," he mutters, "you must've hit your head really hard if you're speaking in tongues. Let's get you to the medic."

He slings my arm over his shoulders and starts to drag my dead weight to the medical tent as I slip into unconsciousness.