Not all know what it is I do. It’s better that they don’t.

I am among those who were selected to study the Guardian Ascended, to do whatever necessary to discern the nature of their Ascension and recreate it synthetically for our soldiers.

The first time they brought me a subject, I got sick to my stomach. But then I got to work at his deconstruction. That was the last time I let my work bother me.

He cried out miserably, demanding to know why it was he had been chosen.

“Perhaps you should ask the Vigil,” I responded, making some adjustments and avoiding his pleading gaze. “As for me, I would tell you it was all chance. You happened to fall into our nets. But you are the one who believes in divine purpose, Guardian. Not me.”

“This is not the will of the Vigil,” he muttered. Then, he stared at me soberly and asked, “But why do this?”

I stopped my work, looked him directly in the eye, and said, “Because there is no other choice. You and your kind left us with no other choice. The world is ending. Consider it your last great act of heroism you may have at last been a part of preventing it.”

He seemed to consider my words. Then, he slowly shook his head and said, “This is heresy. We will all burn.”

I paused for a long moment, and then, as I powered up the device, I said, “We may. But if we succeed, many others may not. That is our sacrifice.”

His screams were terrible. At one time, they would have shaken me. But when I remember the cries of our dead and dying in Meridian and the sound of the world breaking as Regulos ate out its heart, I find it curiously easy to block out the memory of his cries.