As the syringe's tip pierces through the pale, green patch of pockmarked skin on my arm, I draw the plunger back, eyes fixated on the void within the barrel, awaiting a sign—only to find it empty.
With a long, defeated sigh, I placed the sample among a cluttered array of older ones on her desk. Carefully, I scribbled some notes on a sticker sheet and affixed it to the latest vial. 54Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡVMBaAUq8sa
"Just... what am I?" I muttered, slightly out of breath, as I automatically reached into an unused bag for another syringe.54Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ7l5Ga34jRI
It had been weeks since our friend group disbanded. Ever since RubberBand left, we hadn't met up or spoken to each other. The burdens of our existence as Dafael angels—a mysterious state we barely understood ourselves—now fell on solitary shoulders.54Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡxUIjZFpLzc
We had fallen to the planet Kagal to accompany Kartheina after her sentence, becoming the first Dafael angels since the Dafael law was established in PN 1. To survive in the human world, the law demanded we adopt shells of unchanging human bodies. Kartheina's status as a princess was underwhelming to many Valancians; only Andre, Max, and I cared for her.
Max often reminded me that this change was necessary to prevent further tragedies, but even his reassurances felt hollow, a faded echo of our once-strong belief in making a difference.
Andre pushed us to adopt codenames to forget ourselves, to bury the past deep enough that it wouldn’t haunt us.
He introduced himself as Correction, named her RubberBand, dubbing her a savior to humanity. This set the stage for the rest of us—Max, taking the name LoggerHead, and I, Yoyo, becoming RoseBud—to continue this elaborate charade.
Codenames were a necessity, a means to protect our identities and mission. Yet, for Kartheina, it was more than a name—something went awry, trapping her in the consciousness of RubberBand. The separation of identities tore the group apart, leaving behind fragments of what once was.
In the end, we did all this for her, but ended up destroying ourselves. Our codenames and personas separated our real selves from what we showed RubberBand, and we slowly depended on our roles for any serenity. The names served as a shield but also bound us in a web of deception and purpose.
I still remember RubberBand's parting words.
"I cannot have you guys treat me like Kartheina; I am my own person, I have my own life!"
We three stood there, watching her shadow from a distance, wanting to catch up but lacking the strength. Her words left a void as palpable as the space she left behind.
In the quiet moments, I questioned if we had lost more than we gained. The sacrifices seemed increasingly futile. It had been only six years, and the inevitable happened.
She left us.
My past was gone, and the future seemed futile.
I had conducted numerous experiments on myself in an attempt to uncover how we as a species functioned. Was the blood we bled real or an imitation? Was the skin we bore human or fabricated? All the needles and scalpels I've used on myself might have painted me as a sadist, but the outcomes were always uncertain.
The results were always an error, a mixed bag that defied logical sense.
Upon my fall from grace, I meticulously copied the contents of my studies from the Technology Department in Valance into a handy notebook. This was my safeguard against the faltering of my memory or the erosion of my sense of self; a tangible reminder of my existence.
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Positive Union: An energy source derived from the positive thoughts of humans.
But what counts as a positive thought? It doesn't tread the lines of morals or ethics. Any thought that evokes a positive emotion qualifies. Angel Ethics focus on whether those thoughts grant you free will and constitute the person you are, as they assert themselves in our dreams every time we sleep. It's hard not to listen to those thoughts.
Thankfully, I was a Lesser Angel. My core thoughts—the ones that fuel the majority of my existence—were weak. This meant not many people thought of me.
This advantage allowed me to focus on my studies, observing others struggling to separate themselves from their thoughts or succumbing to them, while I remained steadfast in my quest for understanding.
I met Kartheina after I changed classes. No one dared to talk to her, a princess, but I approached her. I wanted to know how she lived her life with those voices in her head.
Yet she seemed stable, like me.
We eventually became friends, and she even shared her Union with me from time to time. Her thoughts were kind and courageous, unlike the pity I encountered daily.
Until one day, she was sentenced to fall to Kagal.
And that eventually led me to fall from grace, to stay with her, to seek answers.
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Union Conduction: To conduct Union is akin to controlling it, ensuring it doesn't stagnate and form crystals, which we call Aether Crystals. The process of conduction involves channeling the positive energy efficiently, maintaining a steady and harmonious flow.
I never managed to form any of these crystals, but Kartheina had to break some off time and time again. I wonder if it hurt.
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The memory of our unity lingered, a haunting echo of a time when we were driven by a common goal. Now, without her, we were shadows of our former selves, each bearing the scars of our shared journey, struggling to find our way in a world that had moved on without us.
As the world evolved, we remained trapped in stasis, struggling to keep pace with relentless changes.
My apartment's grey walls never seemed bland or depressing—until now. When we were together, they shimmered with the vibrant hues of possibility and peace. But now, lying on my worn, creaking chair and staring at the ceiling, they appeared more lifeless than ever. Even my holographic monitors, once vibrant, now seemed dull. The room that was a sanctuary of creativity and hope had become a stark reminder of the void left by her absence. The silence felt heavier, as if the apartment mourned alongside me.
We staged this performance for her, hoping she'd reciprocate out of sheer selflessness. Her departure felt like a betrayal to us and perhaps to herself.
Where do supporting characters go when the protagonist has exited the stage?
Still, we had to honor her wishes and trust her decision, despite the longing in my heart.
We must carry on this charade, clinging to the hope of her return.
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I am RoseBud... I am RoseBud... I am...
RoseBud, the technological genius.54Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡwvaGvg9pM3
