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I. BEGIN
( out of the night that covers me, black as the pit from pole to pole )
You don't recall how you came into being. It wasn't as if you were humanoid at first, anyway. You were Eden -- a garden of promise and life and blessings and created by God. You were made complete, and that was supposed to be the end of that. You would shed light and beauty upon the two who lived with you, the ones named Adam and Eve. You would watch over them, and they, you.
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That is exactly what you did. You didn't much have a mind of your own to think of a future much less mind about the past you never had. You watched them through the eyes of the trees (and don't let anyone tell you the trees cannot see, for they do, and they are wiser than most) and you gave them the flowers you cherished most.
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This is a time that lasts forever. Forever, that is, until it fades.
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II. WALK
( i thank whatever gods may be for my unconquerable soul )
Adam and Eve are gone.
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And all that is left is yourself. You, and the animals. There is no one to watch. There is nothing to do. And you -- you have no purpose. So what is one to do?
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You wait. That is your first idea. You wait and wait and wait. Wait for them to come back. Wait for some desire to accomplish something. Wait until the vines choke the roses. The trees envelope the mosses and the roots squeeze the life out of the flowers. And then, you realize that waiting does nothing. They will not return to your splendor. And God -- where has he gone? He has abandoned you, too. Left you for those people he so loves, despite their sins. You cannot forget them -- you were made for them, after all.
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So you decide to journey.
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Where is Eden, they ask? Some speculate Babylon, others suspect it never existed. They say it lies to the east or that it was buried in dust. You hear these whispers of your disappearance as you walk among them, wearing their faces, trailing flowers in your wake. And if they turn, perhaps all they see is a dandelion in the cracks of the earth.
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III. BOND
( in the fell clutch of circumstance, i have not winced nor cried aloud )
You follow the people. You are among the first to cultivate, and where farmers do well and tend to their crops with care, you bless the plants there, allow them to flourish and grow. After a wildfire spreads, you come and bring back the grass and trees and meadows. You watch as the humans reproduce and teach one another and grow old.
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You wonder where Adam and Eve are.
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And suddenly, there is a man warning of a flood. Everyone laughs at him, but you listen. You are one of the few who listen.
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When the time comes, your roots are deep. You've taken the form of an olive tree, and in this time, you slumber. For forty days and nights, you are barely aware of the rainwater that surrounds you. Because you do not really care -- you only mean to wait this out, after all. And, finally, when the waters disappear, you find a dove in your branches. It takes a small twiggy portion, and then flies away.
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And you -- you go walking once more.
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✽✽✽
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Except, you do more than walk among them, more than act as a guardian or a deity. You talk. You listen. You act like a human, live like a human, and though you are anything but, you place yourself among the people and live. You create bonds -- though at first you feel nothing when scream at you, nothing when they confess their loves, nothing when they pass onto the next life. But gradually, oh so gradually, a spark flickers. And though it'll never become a raging passion, it's more feeling than the rocks have. And it means something -- it means you're alive.
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You grow, you learn, you adapt. Tears are nothing to you at first -- what use are they? They're a waste of water, you think. But over the centuries, you learn that you, too, can cry. You, too, can laugh and be happy and feel sadness. You're not quite as wooden as you think. (A joke said to you by another, one you'll never forget. And though the name is forgotten with time, the face remains)
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Names become meaningless. You know too many, and there's too many to remember them all. Your own is one you change easily for each era and each place you visit -- Adonis, Qu Yuan, Ash, Aristaeus, and Silvanus are among the more memorable -- but you cling to Eden as your one true name. Sometimes wander back, tracing the paths you've taken, and find the places of the past and find the graves, some unmarked, some under tombstones. You leave flowers in your wake -- poppies are your favorites for these places.
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Your life becomes a cycle of living among humans and watching as they pass, moving on when you can no longer stay, of loving and journeying and learning. It's a peaceful time, and you, being a neutral creature, are fine with this stagnancy.
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But humans want change, and so they bring it about.
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IV. FIGHT
( under the bludgeonings of chance, my head is bloody, but unbowed )
War. Conscription. You're torn from the peace you know and thrust into battle, sword in hand, armor on your back, shield on your arm. This...this is not what you know. Not what you'd thought would happen. But it is happening, and so you go with it. You don't particularly care which side wins (this all seems meaningless to you) but you have friends. And so, you fight to protect them.
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You enter battle first as a foot soldier, with leather armor and frilled helmet and the colors of your allies. And in there, you become a killer.
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Your blood bleeds brown, mixing with the blood of your allies which adorns your uniform. The red blood of mortals dries up in the sun as you fight and turns the ugliest shade you have ever seen. You are not the best fighter (slow, the commander remarks of you ), but you are at least capable with a sword. You know to counter and parry and thrust, and though you might not be as good as other fighters, you can hold up. But when you see your friend steps out in front of you to shield you from an arrow, you turn and watch them fall. And then, you yourself are cut by a blade to the back.
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But you don't care about the pain. You only see the face of the dead before you.
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And you become a monster. Because what man gets cut down only to rise again?
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The ground erupts with your fury, and a large, gaping hole widens, swallowing groups of people whole. The grasses and vines cling to the boots of the enemy soldiers, and though you are shot and stabbed numerous times, you heal and continue. You're numb to the pain, because all you can feel right now is wrath.
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When you return to base, you are questioned. You answer that the blood on you is the blood of your friends. That the ground gave way and you nearly fell into a sink hole. They deem it the work of the gods (perhaps Dionysus or Demeter working in their favor. You laugh -- their gods don't exist) and you are promoted. You now get a horse.
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Wonderful.
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✽✽✽
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You survive your first war, though doing so costs you the livelihood you'd made for yourself. You'd become too suspicious and too gloried in the eyes of the war generals. You learn to avoid conflict where you can -- it's a risk to exposing yourself, it's unnecessary and frankly, it's meaningless to you. But sometimes, you find yourself with a friend. Because you can protect them.
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You learn your fighting skills here. There are times you rise through the ranks, and others when you remain the lowest soldier. You're good with a blade, better with a spear, and when machines begin churning out weapons like guns and cannons, you learn. You do not like the kick of the gun against your shoulder, nor the spray of bullets that bring death so quickly and easily. It's your nature to be slow and methodical, and more often than not, you're later put to manage the horses or to act as a scout or medic. Your skill in battle might be daunting, but you're no fighter. You're no commander, no leader. The animals trust and listen to you, and you're surprisingly skilled with medicine (yarrow leaves are medicinal, make a poultice and mix it with the bandages).
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And when the war is over, you return to the battlefield once more, to bring back the uprooted grass and the burnt bushes and the toppled trees. And, you reclaim the dead -- ashes to ashes, dust to dust. You place flowers at the unmarked graves and whisper a silent prayer for the dead. Some are your dear friends. Others are your would-be enemies, but what are conflicts over territory for a being like yourself? You are a guardian -- and yet, you've killed so many.
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Perhaps you're no guardian after all. Just some immortal being without a purpose.
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And that stings.
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V. KILL
( beyond this place of wrath and tears looms but the horror of the shade )
Even with all your skill at hiding, you can be traced. A difficult task for those who don't know, but you can be found in the annals and archives of the library, in the books of old, in the bible, even. Perhaps it's your way of leaving a mark on the world, because after all, hasn't the world forgotten about you? Or perhaps it's your act of defiance, because nature will never fade away entirely. It will come back to reclaim its lost land.
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So when the men in black suits find you, you're not entirely surprised. They surround you, but they don't make a move. There's one, just a tad shorter than the rest, a male with blonde hair and hazel eyes and no sunglasses who steps before you.
"Hello, Eden," he says with a grin.
"I've got some questions for you."[break][break]
He doesn't ask the questions until later. He does tell you, however, of how you came to be here, of your life, of how you've wandered through the ages and walked with mankind. You're surprised at how much detail he has on you, and for some reason there's a spark. Just a spark, but it's one that sees that you've been recognized. And then, the man smiles, and it's a smile which is simultaneously cold and calculated yet warm and inviting. And he asks for you to join him.
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✽✽✽
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Blonde-hair later explains your job and your mission in further detail. Special Ops -- except, not quite just special ops, because there are others here, too. Others who have strange powers and abilities. There's only a handful of you who have these superhuman qualities (you're possibly the fourth) but they're there and training. It's a woman who teaches you about the sniper gun and with other tactics such as how to walk without making a sound or how to create loaded questions. But despite her ability (super strength is indeed useful and she's crafty enough to trap you even without using it) even she realizes you're not quite the same as the others she's taught. You're more vegetable than human, because you seemingly have no morals nor judgement of your own. You're obedient to a near fault, you rarely think to your own well-being (stepping in front of a blade during a match is not a good way to assure your superior that you are in your right mind. No doubt, the amount of blood that poured out of you scared her, and the fact that you regenerated without even flinching scared her more), and you cannot seem to truly see what is right or wrong.
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She's glad for the natural numbness you seem to have towards traumatic experience and difficult tasks, that you can carry out jobs with sound judgement, but even after you complete training, you don't really belong. The others are mortal. Even with their abilities, they'll eventually die. You, however, are not human. She's right when she says you're like a vegetable or a tree -- you're about as wooden as they come.
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You're assigned missions and you do your jobs quickly and faithfully. When you're assigned to a team, you're viewed as both a rock and an anomaly -- you work well, you meld in with the team, you're so damn reliable that it makes others squirm. But you're also distant, ancient, and frankly, the others don't really know how to interact with one as quiet and neutral as you. But you're well-enough liked and you've adapted enough to human society that you can do things like joke and comfort. You become one of the best members in the Ops, using your powers only to get yourselves out of a pinch or to protect your team. In terms of skill, though -- you are, by far, the best marksman they have. The best sniper. They value your skill and your power, but they can't keep you shut in like they can the others -- you're allowed more free reign, simply because they can't chain you down or track you with the same methods. But you're a complacent fellow, and frankly, this is your new home. This is the new place for you to guard and protect -- your loyalty goes to your friends.
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But that's how you are when you're neutral, content even. When you're angry -- the enemy
runs.
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Because an angry god is nothing to laugh at. You turn cold, dark. Your eyes, eyes that never seem to settle on just one color, burn gold. And the ground erupts with all manner of thorns and ivy and vines and they choke the life out of your enemies and bury them in the ground, whether they be dead or not. The Ops have only seen you angry once or twice, but it always happens when one of your closest friends dies in battle or has a gruesome death. You're unforgiving, wrathful, and it's these rare moments that make your allies glad you're on their side.
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But despite how well you do at your job, there's always this slight unease. You still hold on to that frail idea that you're a guardian, a protector, a shield, but you're killing people to do so. Is that right? Is that false?
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And slowly, ever so slowly, you take another step towards humanity.
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VI. HEAL
( and yet the menace of the years finds and shall find me unafraid )
You find yourself before the higher-ups, the ones in charge of the Ops, and you stare at them unwavering. Decisive.
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"I refuse." That is your answer to the next mission that's handed to you. They stare back, bewildered, uncertain. Because in the decades that you've been there, you've never disobeyed a single order. You continue,
"I no longer wish to kill."[break][break]
The room's in an uproar before you can even say your next thoughts. A third of them are willing to listen to what you have to say. The rest are in states of denial, because you're one of the best soldiers, you can't just
quit like that. But you wait for silence, and your own silence and stony gaze is enough to quieten the room. There's a heaviness in the air that reminds them that you are not quite human, and that they cannot keep you on a leash like the others. That you are a god and that you will do as you see fit.
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The room falls silent, and frankly, it amuses you. Because you have no intention of just leaving, and it's funny how their first reaction is to believe it as such.
"I will heal," you say, and at that, the corner of your lip twitches upwards by the tiniest fraction.
"I can do that much."[break][break]
✽✽✽
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Turns out, you're a pretty good medic. You've got steady hands, a calmness suited to situations just like this, and you've got a knowledge of medicinal plants which is astounding. It takes some time for you to be qualified enough, and you spend much of your days watching the others and reading medical books, but you eventually reach a level which is deemed fit for duty.
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More often than not, you're assigned as a field medic. A back-up in operations, because you have both a skill in healing and killing, and to have you there often helps ease the minds of the higher-ups. You're fine with it that way, because then you can protect those right in the midst of a fight. And you've saved the mission more than once by being there, whether it be by replacing a sniper or acting as a decoy. The monstrous, living decoy that regrows lost limbs and walks out of demolished buildings unscathed. However, the enemy's learning -- they've set up far more explosions now than before, and frankly, you've never liked fire. It's like the one thing you cannot bear to be near because you're part plant, after all. Fire and nature simply don't mix very well.
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And though you're a medic now, the times come less and less that you're called upon. You're given a bit more freedom, because as handy as you are, technology is coming to take over the work that humans originally needed to do. Drones and security cameras can do the scouting. Herbal medicine is getting out of date -- use the prescription drugs and the shots and various other chemicals, they say. Don't use infused yarrow and willow, because that's not guaranteed to work --
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You become kind of forgotten. Not really forgotten, but it's almost as if you're no longer needed. You're old news -- there's others with powers suited towards killing. There's medics with that same purpose, too. You're more like an overseer, ensuring that everything works out fine. And as new management rolls in, many of them consider you a relic. Because you're an old thing of the past, and frankly, they don't know what to do with an immortal being. Some of them even suggest you retire, and go live in the countryside. You give them strange looks because retirement is for those past their prime, and you very simply do not age.
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But it's obvious that it's time for change. And though you've never been partial to it, preferring to stick to the old ways and to remain static, you make a move because this time, it's necessary. You hand in a letter, get the paperwork sorted, and though you know this means you'll always have one of the Ops keeping an eye on you, at least you'll see the world from a normal perspective. You wonder if the world has forgotten Eden or not.
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And so, you go walking once more.
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VII. LIVE
( it matters not how strait the gate, how charged with punishments the scroll )
You live life as you did before. You're a wanderer, staying in one place only long enough for a human lifetime before moving on. Names change. Faces age and pass on, and you leave flowers at their graves. Sometimes, you bless the willow trees that hang over the gravestones. The trees can talk, after all, and you're the only one you know who can listen to their voices.
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You prefer living in the country. It's open, wide, and the wilds run freer there. But there's fewer people and one feeling always comes back when you're out there too long. Because you're alone.
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There's one time when you decide to live in a garden. However, you live as a cedar, right on the edges of the property. But the owners decide that you shouldn't be there, and so you leave the cedar in your wake and apologize to it before finding another place to stay.
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Your occupations change. Florist. Gardener. Farmer, Psychologist, Janitor, Cop. The latest one is a ranger, ensuring the hunting rules are not broken and that nature is left alone.
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It's your day off when you suddenly find yourself elsewhere. The sudden shift from forest to concrete jungle is jarring, and you don't exactly have the best welcome. Upon your arrival, you're hit by a truck and brought to the hospital. Really, you're fine, you say, but the hospital trip is an excuse -- they put you in quarantine in hopes of determining just what you are. Because no mortal gets hit by a truck and emerges bloody yet standing.
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They send someone in to talk to you, first. Or at least, that's what they say -- the woman gives you a smile and pats your shoulder after telling you her name. You feel a prick in your mind, and that's enough to warn you. You've never met an esper, but you know something is wrong. Your eyes widen and the words to tell them to stop form on your lips, but it's too late. She falls backwards, gasping for breath, great spasms wracking her body.
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You know how to treat a seizure. Or rather, know how to respond if one happens before you. You push away the bed, you yell at the guards to open the cell and
help her and when she finally stops, they quickly escort her away.
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Of course it's only after failure that they try to talk. They ask you questions through the bars of your cell, things like why you never eat anything and only drink water, how you were fine after being hit by a truck, questions about your past, your name, where you came from. You answer the ones you can, and the others with vague answers. They leave, only partially satisfied, and you are left in your cell.
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You could escape whenever you wanted to, really, but you simply saw no point. You're in a strange place, a strange world, and you have no goal and no ambitions. Omega Five doesn't really know what to make of you. But you've told them you're a medic, you've told them of some portion of your powers, and that's enough to convince them that you can't truly be alone, but that you should join their ranks. They can keep an eye on you and make use of you that way.
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You're assigned to be a doctor. Helping out the agents that come, as well as whatever civilians that might pop by your office. You're to live in two worlds and guard the neighborhood against crimes. Because the island is a utopia and the peace must forever be protected.
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You take the job. But honestly, you couldn't really care much either way.
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✽✽✽
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It's been twenty years since that day. You've slowly gained more trust from Omega Five, though they place that in the jobs you do and not in your self personally. You're still an anomaly to them, but you're reliable and you do your work exactly as you've been told to do, so they don't pressure you. You're to continue healing people, watching people, and, if the occasion arises, to kill if they ask.
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But you don't really mind.
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VIII. REPEAT
( i am the master of my fate, i am the captain of my soul )
