I'm filling in for Aditi, Sanzo had said, and suddenly that comment made a little more sense.

"Do you remember things?" he asked, pitching his voice instinctively low. "I..." can't even think about remembering things without feeling sick to my stomach "...don't."

But was that entirely true? He frowned, folding his arms and tucking his head down, chin to chest, scowling at the floor as he thought. "I know some stuff -- I know I'm left-handed, I know I used to be a smoker, I know I've got these scars..." He unfolded his arms long enough to hold up a bare forearm for Cho to see where the tan flesh was decorated with pink lines indicating deep slices and scratches, and one pit that looked almost like he'd been shot with a ping-pong ball. He held it up at chest height for a few seconds, then tugged at a stray lock of his hair. "And I know this is natural, somehow, even though as far as I can tell I'm Chinese."

He tucked his hands back in his pockets and regarded Cho curiously. "But that and my name, that's about it. I thought that's all any of us got."