My name was Roman.
Roman Varfolomeev.
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“128.”
An elderly man points toward the girl standing next to me.
“Failure. Her genes are completely useless too. Assign her to the longevity project center. Experimentation material.”
She was taken out, crying and wailing, yet to no avail. Next is my turn. I approach the table the girl previously sat at. The uncle scrolls through the documents.
“Truly unexpected. Who would think you would shine the brightest? You have scored full marks despite coming from the latest batch. Arithmetic, language, social studies, psychology… all perfect.”
He praises me while smiling. I smile in return.
“I don’t know where to assign you. Do you want to choose, 129?”
The uncle points at the five items lying on the table - an advanced level organic chemistry textbook, a Glock 17 of the model 9x19, a historical newspaper, a gray laptop, and an unassuming pill.
They each probably signify a choice. What path do I want to seek?
I like reading, as not much can be said about warfare. Politics is something I am unsure of, as the same can be said about computers. The pill implies freedom - suicide. Not that I care, but there is no hurry to die. They will not let me anyway.
Still, among these, I would prefer to choose the pill.
But I know the right answer. Silence permeates the room as I don’t make a choice.
“Great insight, too. Bravo.”
The uncle’s smile brightens.
The correct choice is not making a choice. I am being groomed as a chess piece. I have no right to decide for myself.
A pawn does not have the right to choose.
“But if you could, what would you want?”
The man asks, his tone deepening. This question is also a trap. I remain quiet.
A pawn does not have the right to wish.
“You pass with flying marks.”
The uncle then shifts his head and nods at the muscular man standing beside me. His face is filled with seriousness. Though it is elusive, I also feel tension coming off this muscular man.
“Assign him to ‘Red Iron’.”
…
This was the first mistake I made. At the time, I should have chosen the pill.
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It is April 2021. The command comes from higher-ups to prepare for another round of war.
I am sent on a mission to negotiate with a particular man. The mission is of the highest risk and importance, as its code name ‘S’ signifies.
I investigate my target. At first glance, nothing seems out of the ordinary. What is his background? Weaknesses? Motivations? After searching all the files possible, I finally understand why such priority is placed on this mission.
After preparing to the best of my abilities, I set up a meeting. He approves it.
My instincts tell me not to go. Something is not right. As a soldier of the highest caliber, my instincts have never let me down.
Yet I go.
…
This was the second mistake I made. At the time, I should not have come into contact with that man under any circumstances.
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The man has dark hair, with some white strands here and there. He doesn’t have a striking appearance, yet I can’t deny his intimidating aura.
With a light smile stretched across his face, and curiosity etched across his eyes, he looks at me.
It has been an hour since we started talking. He leads the conversation and asks me questions unrelated to our deal. His objectives remain unknown. I try to shift his attention to the deal at hand, yet he masterfully diverts the topic each and every time. Despite not having the slightest idea of what he is playing at, I go with the flow and adapt to everything he says.
He suddenly points a gun at my head.
“Roman, do you fear?”
He casually calls me by my name. From the very beginning, I couldn’t understand a thing. My preparations are all rendered useless, as this man doesn’t behave in any way I expect him to.
If this man kills me, the state would definitely kill him back. I am a chess piece, yet not a mere pawn. This man will not shoot at me.
Hellion shoots at me.
Why?
“Roman, do you fear?”
A piece of my left ear was torn apart as blood started gushing out of it. I feel pain, though I stay quiet. I try to piece out the puzzle pieces yet no picture forms in my head. Though it won’t take a genius to understand that if I don’t answer, he will shoot again, won’t he?
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“Yes.”
I lie to him with a straight face.
“No, you don’t lie to me. You lie to yourself.”
He tells me. Finally, an understanding dawns upon me. Being overly perceptive, I have a knack for reading other people’s minds. This condescending attitude he’s showing toward me… He’s mimicking me, isn’t he? This man can read my mind.
Curiosity gets the best of me. Do I fear? I seek an answer, the humanity in me prevailing and clouding my judgment.
“What do I fear?”
He smiles as he points at himself.
“Me.”
His response baffles me. I do not fear him. Yet I get an underlying tone that there is more to it than meets the eye.
“Could you elaborate?”
Though unprofessional, I still ask. He gives me a nod.
“What do you think an individual is composed of?”
An individual, huh. It is not a mere somebody, but an individual. An individual implies that it is someone who is unique. The question is abstract, and there are many different angles to approach it from. I shake my head as I indicate to him that I can’t come up with a definite answer. I give a vague answer.
“Indefinity, perhaps.”
“Definitely.”
He nods his head in approval.
“But not quite so.”
He adds. At this point, my confusion deepens. I wait for him to elaborate further. He then elevates three of his fingers.
“First, an individual must be intelligent.”
Well, that’s a given, I thought. To differ from others, to differ from the horde of ignorant people living in society and feeding the people in power, one must know the workings of the world. If you are not knowledgeable, your perception of the world can easily be mended by others’ will. Thus, it is required for an individual to have knowledge and an ability to utilize it - intelligence. I nodded in understanding.
“Second,”
He says as he lowers his second finger.
“Creativity. To be more precise, a creative mind.”
I furrow my brows in an attempt to indicate to him that I do not understand. He then continues.
“Suppose you have knowledge, and are intelligent. Intelligence helps you distinguish left from right, and right from wrong.”
He pauses for a moment, his smile washing away from his face.
“And what if you understand? A simple understanding won’t change shit. You must apply what you know, bend the rules into your own, and dye the world in your colouration. Passive knowledge is as good as no knowledge, and no knowledge is as good as shit. So, in conclusion, your head is full of shit, you shithead.”
I am at a loss for words. Does he want me to change sides? Just what is he planning and why is he telling me all this?
“Because, you are under the illusion that you are a player.”
Hellion read my mind again.
“You were just a plaything. You are a plaything. But now, you can use me. Listen to my offer as you will not refuse it.”
Definitely, I won’t fall for that. Whatever he comes up with.
…
In the end, I can’t refuse. The offer is too tempting. It is not disadvantageous for me in any way.
“So, what is the third thing?”
…
This was the third mistake I made. At the time, I should have…
Well, does it really matter anymore?
I am currently drifting in darkness.
Who would have thought that there is an afterlife.
If there is hell, I am definitely going there, along with that bastard.
I close my eyes. Just as I am about to fall into slumber, something abruptly disturbs my peace. I feel a suction forcing me out of this void.
As I open my eyes… Wait, eyes?
Ah, my body is in its place.
What was I thinking? Ah! So, as I open my eyes and observe the surrounding area, I see nothing but stars. It then dawned on me that I’m hovering in the cosmos.
As I turn around, I see a throne. On it sits a mighty presence.
There's a girl with an ethereal presence. Her hair cascades down in a waterfall of silvery white. It's long, reaching beyond her shoulders, and appears soft, almost like wisps of cloud in a serene sky.
Her attire is a contrast to her delicate complexion and luminous hair. She's clad in what seems to be a flowing black gown, adorned with what could be sparkling sequins.
She wears an intricate headpiece, golden in color. Her jewelry, a collection of chains and pendants, drapes around her neck. And there, in her outstretched hands, she holds a globe, cradling it with tenderness.
The globe itself is alive with color, a miniature earth, swirling with blues and whites, the greens and browns of landmasses barely visible. Her eyes are downcast, her expression unreadable
“Oh, hero, you have finally arrived.”
Her words flow like a gentle stream, clear and mesmerizing. There’s a warmth within, the one that beckons like a soft light in darkness. Her voice stirs my soul, beckoning me to heed her message.
Is she perhaps a deity? I can’t help but wonder. But more importantly, what does she mean? A hero? Me?
“I am the Goddess of Life, the guardian of the universe and progenitor of all life.”
Her voice soothes my heart and calms my mind. I attentively listen to her following words.
“But my powers alone are not enough anymore. The universe is nearing its end.”
For me, the world ended just a moment ago. So, I am not taken aback by this.
“You must help me save the world.”
So this is what it is about? It sounds interesting. Why not?
But something doesn’t sit right with me. What do I need to save the world from? So I ask her.
“From what?”
“Prevent the revival of the Demon Lord.”
Demon Lord? This sounds like one of those cliche fantasy stories that I have read on Earth. Still, something just doesn’t sit right in my mind. I have a bad premonition.
“Who is that Demon Lord?”
Why do I ask that? Instead of asking about the world or the demon's whereabouts, my first question is his identity.
“You know him well,”
I had an inkling this would be him. How do I put it? The very moment she pronounced the word ‘Demon Lord’, he came into my mind. This might seem like a joke, that a mere human can be considered to be on par with gods.
But for me it is quite the opposite - it is a joke that any god or demon can be considered on par with him.
And certainly not me.
I know better than anyone. That man is a disaster, a catastrophe. And certainly, this Goddess of Life is destined to perish if she has to rely on me. No, this whole universe will surely perish.
To hell with being a hero, I will just live my very last days in complete peace in a remote area and watch the world burn at the hands of that madman.
I remember the question he once asked, about whether I feared him or not.
‘Я ж не ебанат.’
She still continued despite the obviousness of the devil’s identity.
“The Demon Lord of Destruction…
...
...
...
Hellion.”