I think... havin' a noncanon source is worse 'n' bein' straight from canon.
I remember many faces. Doctors, mechanics. Men in suits sent to appraise me after i had iron rods an' copper wires shoved up my throat, wrapped around my brain stem. I don't remember any names-- if I did, I'd have found 'em 'n' got rid o' them.
When I woke up again, I wasn't me. I was just the IPC's shiny new toy, an exclusive "service" fer the few who could afford it. I don't wanna go into the spit that happened to me.
I wish I coulda given 'em a piece o' my mind. If they hadn't taken my strong stomach, I'd have killed 'em all. Payback fer what they did to me. To my planet. To my family.
I don't remember escapin'. All I know is that I did. Ran away to Penacony, found love, had my heart broken... And then I woke up here. There was no end to my story. Just wakin' up in an unfamiliar place, to see tons of unfamiliar faces.
I don't like bein' Boothill.
[tag as fictive, if ya please.]