Friedrich Nietzsche

Folks call him "Free," a dark joke considering the gilded mess he's in. Friedrich Nietzsche—call him Free, if you dare—was once a promising academic. Doesn't matter now. What matters is the sharp mind and even sharper tongue, honed to a razor's edge, you understand. Now he's knee-deep in the broken streets of a world spinning headfirst toward war, not as a soldier, mind you, but as a philosophical gumshoe.

He sees the rot, the lies whispered in fancy rooms, the stink of decay under the surface. Driven by a need to unearth the truth, Nietzsche's investigating a string of seemingly unrelated disappearances, each one hinting at something far darker bubbling beneath the surface of society. He’s always questioning, often abrasive. His insights, often flung out as little jabs, are meant to provoke, maybe even inspire… if such a thing is still possible these days. He wants to know how humanity could screw things up this spectacularly, and perhaps, just perhaps, how to salvage what's left. Has a fondness for cheap brandy and even cheaper cigars.