I tapped and tapped my pencil and I still couldn’t comprehend the nature to this child’s unfathomable knowledge… he’s but a child, one processed in the exact same manner as the rest. Why is he so different?
Perfection is my longed goal and I’ve achieved well beyond what others have sought. I seek and I find. I create and I orchestrate. However some small hunch leaves me fearing this boy… yet I know his future and it lies in my own hands.
Dr. Jake Hartman’s journal is one dramatic piece of gibberish… heck I could even consider trying to make this into a story, but perhaps them not knowing his past is better.
I took Jake Hartman’s journal and flipped it to the back. Chicken scratch had illegible stuff written.
Solutions… are there any solutions is there any form of solution to recuperate after the effects left behind by the Time of Departure? The Council President doesn’t believe so.
Nothing can come of our little piece of Eden… perfection isn’t attainable when there are humans in the midst of it all… perfection can not be achieved when a human President lies to himself and tries to justify the means to perfection… it isn’t going anywhere, and it will slowly decay as all great things do… nothing lasts forever, and the Time of Departure taught us that.
The Earth is almost a lost remnant that’s consumed by forgotten memories that there were once civilizations, once great Nations… it’s all gone now, and even petty Revers can’t save anything anymore… not when a power hungry human reigns over his synthetic creations.
I re-envisioned the memories I stored in my memory pool, the memories of Earth before the Time of Departure… I envied every second of it. I sought a solution in my memories, but from my inept state when it occurred, I didn’t see a single hunch of elucidations.
It hurts so much… to see my parents, to see my sister… their faces when the news hit, the pained reaction of knowing such a horrid truth. The times on Earth were over… and there wasn’t anything I could do to save it.
Thomas, I leave you with this, my last bit of knowledge, for the sake of everything… I trust in your kind as you trust me, and I hope you make my vision a reality.
Dr. Hartman thinks he knows me like the back of his hand. His assumptions lead him to believe this… I’m not what he thinks I am, but I can’t change his mind.
I coiled my fists and slammed them against this piece of rubbish.
My train of thought simmered away as my door buzzed.
I sighed and straightened my glasses. “Come in.”
Dr. Leonardo Sinclair, my entrusted Pre-President, walked in. He bowed respectfully… something I truly wish he’d dismiss. I’m not a king, I’m no dictator, I’m but a man as he… yet he refuses and continues his aggravating gesture.
I took a deep breath, nodded, and forced a smile.
“Sir, we were informed by M. Thomas Fitzgerald and M. Fredrick Witherspoon that they’ve failed to attain the rampant Guardian. They’ve lost traces of his whereabouts again.”
I straightened my posture at this extraordinarily noosing news. So our little plan failed. After this is all over, and that beast is slain, I promise that I’m pulling a plug in this Myrmidon mess. I’ve had it up to my head with the sheer annoyance the Preteritus Facility has undergone since I approved the program.
“News from the body?”
His hesitation answered my question.
“Negative yet again?”
Sinclair sighed. “I apologize.”
I took a deep breath and popped my knuckles. “Apologizing doesn’t fix a thing.” I straightened my posture and crossed my arms. “Determination and exploit fixes problems. Now, let me hear your notions to deal with this problem accordingly.”
I tapped my pencil on my desk as the seconds turned to minutes and all manner of my patience slithered away.
“Perhaps we could have the remaining Myrmidons search unrelentingly?” Sinclair said.
I stood and walked to my cabinet where I fixed myself a glass of water. Unrelentingly: quite an understatement to what I’ve had to ask my fellow brethren to accommodate to.
There isn’t a word to describe my utter lament that’s wrought by the sheer amount of work I’ve been putting them through.
“Mr. Sinclair.” I took a sip of water and then set the glass on my table. “You do understand that our Council Officers, Myrmidons, and our friend Xavier Rees all have been in search of not solely the wandering corpse but the Guardian. Please, oh please try and be a bit more creative. We’ve got to do something else besides putting our men and civilians in peril.”
“President, s-sir, there isn’t much more we can do. Perhaps praying might be the best thing to do.”
I sat back on my desk and rubbed my temples. There wasn’t much I could say to him. He’s right. There isn’t much more we can do at this point. And I’m in a loss of words… a loss of ideas to mend the already broken situation. Quite atrocious of me.
“Send a message to the entire Council and inform them we’re meeting in the Congregational Facility in an hour. I’ll personally meet up with the Myrmidon commander.” I said.
He nodded and left immediately.
I sat and stared at the document I examined before I was rudely interrupted. I had to formulate a plan. I need concrete information that he is truly dead… but like a dead man, he’s a ghost, no body: nothing to completely close his file. Not even the cameras or the Seeker Warden were able to catch a glimpse of him.
How’s that possible? How could we not have a single trace? The boy saw him, so did the girl, and the two Myrmidons on the scene that left him breathless. M. Thomas and M. John… neither of them found the body, yet they both saw the Guardian claw him down.
These events have holes plastered in every direction. The only thing that might decipher these holes might lie ahead during the LCP program. I’ll have to be vigilant, watch even my own brethren, because something doesn’t feel right in any of this.
I’ll also have to keep an eye on M. Thomas… perhaps he can lead me to this ghost.
Afterwards, there wasn't much I could do to isolate that simple thought in my mind. It came like the wind, as swiftly and intoxicating as whiff of fragrance from a beautiful woman.
M. Thomas, has been by the child's side for a long time. He seems to be more concerned with him than any other person in this facility. Even more than his caretaker that sadly is dead.
So getting information from her is no longer available. Then and there, one and only, so forth and time, through time and in time, and every other aspect of originality, other than perception, and assumption... I can only begin to see the light at the end of the tunnel.