Cyrus was, not to spite his athiesm, a truly divine person. He was wonderous and incredible to the point that it does not surprise me when the environment concerning his death is completely shrouded our rehabilitating government. Chances are, you've never heard of him if you're a housewife: this unique Reynolds changed the face of history many times. His death came as a tremendous shock to the intelligent community, and don't let those words just pass you by: Cyrus was well respected by the thousands of scientists that worked for him, the soldiers he commanded and fought among, and by the hundreds of doctors he has trained in well respected cybernetic and genetic techniques.
Born in 2001 of Benjamin Reynolds and Julia Wertor, he lived most of his early life in British Columbia, outside Dawson, learning English, French, and Spanish in later education. He visited Alaska frequently, and voyaged with his father across the globe. Benjamin, a proficient but not wealthy electrical engineer, worked all over Earth, being hired by dozens of respected companies throughout his career. Thus Cyrus was well exposed to a rich environment of nature and technology. This would help him often in the future.
Passing high school in Alaska, where his father moved when he was sixteen, he ignored the opprtunity of college instead to enlist into the ranks of the Triconian army, where he would train and fight for many years, notably among his friends that he met there, Dylan Sterling and Steve Hawk. (For those of you stoned, the resective leader of the Triconians, and the chief of the Thrash Warriors.) This also opened the door to him to further his education, and weapons development. He felt that the crash-course Army style was more his pace than college, he told me.
For military training, he chose the field of cover and intelligence operations where he only hinted at the the missions that he had accomplished, and assassinating. Cyrus himself revelled at how he even survived that most intense period of his life.
By then he was thirty-one. He had not settled, or even married, but he spun to me yarns of the most dangerous girlfriends anyone could have. After nearly getting killed by a hit man hired by one such girlfriend, he decided that he ought to calm down. He was called to one more mission before he quit that line of work though. This time he was called to recover a ship of stolen weapons captured by the Rigellians. Well on to success with the mission, he suddenly was confronted by the reason the weapons were stolen: they were for a terrorist squad hired by the Rigellians to attack a Triconian outpost for secret technologies. Gaining this information, he was suddenly wanted by Rigellian secret service...DEAD.
Racing across the planet of Castor, setting up decoys and getting shot at in public, where he finnaly was caught in a firefight in a shopping mall and wounded, he faked his death and fled planet. He laid low, surviving on nature for many months on a well hidden planet now known as Cyrus's Star.
After that incident, with the help of the Triconoan government, he made a quiet and small entry back to the gallactic scene, where he jioned the navy and worked his way up to admiral, ten years later...