Bishoujo Senshi Sailor Moon

Spirits Born and Angels Sing

By LuckyLadybug

Notes: The characters from the series are not mine, Dr. Portman, Paula, and the story are! This is a very old story of mine, which some may remember as Back from the Grave, but I am completely overhauling the small bit I had written. It takes place in animeverse shortly after StarS has finished, and it will focus a lot on telling anime versions of some manga events. In some ways I feel that the Generals were gypped in the anime, both by having them have green blood (making it seem that they weren't really human) and by not having the stuff about them being Mamoru's protectors in the past. Therefore, I shall endeavor to expand upon their histories. I am also throwing in a few elements from the live-action version of the story, but not too much. Mostly just Zoisite enjoying the piano and being a bit more mysterious. Thanks to all who have offered plot help, especially Dagron and Kaze, and thanks to Kaze again for the awesome title!


Somewhere near the coast of Oregon

towards the end of the battle against the Dark Kingdom

Dr. Alice Portman smirked to herself as she leaned back in the metal chair on the balcony. Slowly she took a sip from her glass of cold soda and looked out over the nearby shore, watching the waves crash against the beach. They seemed angry, as if they were taking out their frustrations upon the shore and the rocks. She supposed she should be frustrated, too, but she was not.

She had just come from a meeting of her fellow scientists at the laboratory where they worked. They had told her that they were letting her go, that they could not hold with her ideas and her practices any longer, and that she was giving all of them a bad reputation. She had calmly accepted it, having known that this day would come. But she had told them that one day her views would be the accepted methods, and that they would then regret their actions.

She was always looking for new ways to study other people, especially their minds. She felt that the key to humanity's future was in understanding how the mind worked. That in itself was not frowned upon. But what her former colleagues found despicable were her methods, most of which involved taking psychological torture to its utmost limits. She often seemed to forget that she was experimenting on living, feeling humans, treating them worse than guinea pigs or lab rats. Recently there had been a scandal due to one of her "experiments" losing his mind, and that had been when the other scientists finally put their foots down and had told her that this could no longer be tolerated.

She still did not see what all the fuss was about. After all, the subject in question had volunteered to be part of her tests, despite knowing that there were risks. But apparently the scientific world at large believed that she should never have started developing such practices in the first place. From now on, she would have to work in secret. But that was alright. She had already been preparing for that day, and her current location was actually a laboratory she had constructed for her use.

Perhaps soon she would find her perfect test subject, she mused thoughtfully to herself. She wanted someone who could withstand the torment for a long time, and not quickly cave under the pressure. It seemed to her that most people gave in too soon. But surely not everyone was so weak. If there were not strong-willed beings, it would seem too impossible that the human race still existed. And she was determined to find some of these strong-willed beings, no matter what it took.

She pushed her chair back and stood up, preparing to walk down from her balcony and take a late-night stroll through her backyard. It was always pleasant at this time of evening, and she acquired many ideas from her walks. It was an ideal time for pondering.

The other scientists who don't believe in what I'm doing are fools, she said to herself in firmness. They say I take my experimenting too far and that someday I will get in trouble. They're all just afraid of what I might discover. Cowards! All of them are cowards! And, she decided, they were probably just concerned about someday being overshadowed by her research. Most people only cared about being recognized and acknowledged. But she simply wanted to better humanity, and felt certain that this was the way to go about it.

By now she had reached the yard. As she took another step forward, she nearly tripped over something that was beginning to materialize right in front of her. She grabbed onto a nearby tree for balance. "What in Heaven's name . . ." she murmured.

The woman trailed off, staring in disbelief and shock as an apparently dead male body began to appear from out of nowhere, the gloved hands clutching at a strange weapon lodged deep in the bleeding chest. His shoulder-length whitish-silvery hair billowed out around him, and a fringe of bangs fell over his closed left eye. He was attired in a gray uniform and a white cape, both of which were torn and splattered with a strange greenish substance that must be his blood. He looked as though he would be a formidable enemy to encounter, were he in good health.

Dr. Portman's mouth opened in a silent gasp and she immediately dropped to her knees, trying to remove the object from the man's flesh. "It looks almost like a boomerang," she remarked in surprise, carefully placing it on the ground for future examination. "But so sharp. . . ." She had never seen anything like it before and she took great care in laying it down on the grass without getting cut herself.

"And what is the meaning of this blood?" she frowned, studying the green hue. "What could cause this phenomenon?" Had the boomerang released some sort of coloring into his system that was responsible for it? No human could have green blood without something having been done. Perhaps he was not human at all. Or if he was, perhaps he had been experimented on already by someone else.

"Dr. Portman? What's going on?"

The scientist looked up at the sound of her assistant's voice. "Come here, Paula," she directed, though she was certain Paula would not like what there was to see. She was a very sensitive girl who was the type that could faint at the sight of blood. But Dr. Portman had found her useful in the past, and therefore she had been kept around in spite of her shortcomings.

Indeed, Paula's eyes widened at the sight before her and she clapped a hand to her mouth as she came closer, apparently trying desperately not to scream. It was such a shocking, terrible sight, with all of the strange blood and the serious wounds. From his expression the victim was obviously in pain. And Paula was sickened, whereas her employer simply looked intrigued.

"None of that," Dr. Portman said sternly, bending over the body and searching for signs of life. She ignored the blood spilling onto her hands and listened for any breath or heartbeat. "Take that weapon into the lab and have it tested." Never did she look at Paula as she was doing her examination. She had been around the younger girl for so many ages that always she could seem to sense her feelings on matters such as this.

"But . . . but . . . doctor . . . where did he come from?" Paula exclaimed, still staring at the man's form in horror. The strong face held so much agony, and it did not seem to be altogether physical. What had he been through? And how had he wound up here? It did not make sense at all! It was not possible for someone to appear out of seemingly nowhere.

Dr. Portman began to ignore her, as she had become accustomed to doing over the past few months. "Tis a pity if he's dead," she muttered. "He looks as though he would make a very interesting test subject for my latest experiment. Perhaps he's the sort of person whom I have been looking for." Carefully she pulled back the cloth of his torn jacket, trying to get a better look at the wound.

"Another experiment?!" Paula cried in alarm. She felt her insides twist at the thought. That was the last thing this person needed. He was already so badly hurt, and might not even survive, and Dr. Portman only cared about her experiments. "Doctor, don't you think that we should just take care of him and then let . . ."

She was interrupted as the dying man gave a gasp and softly began uttering a strange-sounding name over and over. At first Paula could not catch it, but then she realized that it was apparently the name of a certain mineral, and she was confused.

"He's still alive," Dr. Portman said with a nasty smile, looking up at Paula again. "Help me get him inside. I'm certain that with the advanced methods I've developed, we can save him." But of course she wanted something from the man in exchange for saving his life. Not for years had Dr. Portman shown an actual kindness to anyone for the sake of kindness. And once she began her experimenting, he might wish that he had perished.

Paula stood stone still, her gaze fixed on the man. Here was a real person. He had lived, had loved, had now been horrendously wounded. And Dr. Portman only cared because he was a new possible guinea pig! It indeed seemed a worse fate than death.

"Well? What are you waiting for?" Dr. Portman snapped with impatience. "Assist me! Now!"

Biting her lip, Paula finally turned and walked back to the building to retrieve a gurney. Every step felt heavier. Why could they not simply help the man, instead of having this cruel plan to torment him further? Maybe she should call an ambulance once she was inside. Dr. Portman would not be able to stop them from taking the man with them. Of course, Paula would no doubt be punished for such an action. But at least the stranger would be safe.

The electronic doors slid open as she stepped up to them. Making her way inside, she looked to the telephone resting on the desk to her right. She would just go to it now and dial. It would be a quick call, less than a minute. Then she would not need to worry about the man. She picked up her pace, hurrying to the device and grabbing up the receiver. Her eyes widened. There was not a dial tone.

"Somethin' wrong?"

She froze at the sound of Dr. Portman's henchman's voice. The receiver dropped into the cradle as she turned to face the broad and dangerous man. He was eyeing her with suspicion. Did he know what she had tried to do? Could he have even disconnected the telephone service, on the doctor's orders? But . . . Dr. Portman would not have had time to give such an order.

"T-there's a man outside," she said at last, "and he's badly wounded. The doctor sent me in here to get a stretcher. . . ."

"Maybe you should do it then, instead of messing with the phone." The man leered at her, wheeling a gurney into view.

Paula's eyes narrowed. She would not be intimidated. "I thought maybe we should call an ambulance instead," she admitted, watching as other lackeys began to wander into the room.

"If the doctor wants to treat him herself, then that's what'll happen," retorted a second man. "Are you going against her wishes?" They began to wheel the stretcher to the door.

Paula followed them. "I only want what's best for him," she said.

"She's not going to like your insubordination," smirked the first.

"I'll tell her myself," Paula answered.

But she fell silent again as they arrived at the spot. Dr. Portman was still bent over the motionless form, and as she straightened and moved out of the way, Paula's heart caught in her throat. His injuries were worse than she had thought. And the greenish substance that she had not known what to think of must be blood. It had to be, but why would a human have green blood? Would average doctors even know how to deal with this? Maybe Dr. Portman was right and only her methods could save him. Maybe, once he was recovering, Paula could tell him about her superior and she could help him escape. But for now . . . now it likely would be best for him to stay here.

And so she observed as the doctor's thugs supported the injured man, lifting him onto the stretcher. "What could've happened to him?" she exclaimed at last, sadness in her kind eyes.

Now Dr. Portman gave a sadistic smile. "I intend to find that out. Among other things." She looked at the man's uniform as she and Paula moved to walk alongside the gurney. "Hmmm. A high-ranking officer of some sort, it seems," she remarked. "But he's obviously not from around here." Pausing at the door, she looked back at her assistant. Her eyes were stern. "Don't forget the weapon," she said in a clipped tone before going inside.

Paula knew better than to argue when her employer got like this. With a noticeable gulp the younger woman went back for the boomerang, picking it up gingerly with a scarf. Saving him from Dr. Portman's madness seemed an almost insurmountable task. But she would try.

Dr. Portman reached to switch on the lights as they arrived at the operating room. The man was quite still on the gurney, the only indications of life being the slight rise and fall of his chest and the audible rasp of his breathing. He would need immediate care if there was any hope of saving his life. And she would also need to test his blood for the type. It was possible that she would not be able to give him any kind of a transfusion, due to the odd color of his life-giving substance. It all depended on what was causing it.

With a wicked smirk she crossed the room to the gurney and leaned down, unbuttoning the man's uniform coat to get a better look at the wound. "Hurt badly, it seems," she mused. "Who are you? Where are you from? And how did you magically appear in front of me?"

Slowly the man's ice-blue eyes began to open and he stared at Dr. Portman with an eerie and vacant gaze. He was obviously delirious. Again he uttered the strange name and the woman realized that he thought she was the one to whom the name belonged.

"That person isn't here," Dr. Portman told him, her tone matter-of-fact. "You're in the care of Alice Portman now, my friend, and I would recommend that you cooperate with me."

Her patient gave her a confused look as he began to slip into oblivion once more.

"Yes, you should rest," Dr. Portman smiled. "And when you have started to recover, then I will begin prying into the secrets of your mind."

She turned, never looking over her shoulder at her lackeys. "Prep him for surgery," she directed as she walked to the adjoining room.

"Right," nodded the first henchman. "Oh, and boss? Your assistant was trying to call for an ambulance when you sent her in to get the stretcher."

She paused at the doorway. It was not surprising. Paula had grown so disapproving lately of what they were doing. She had suspected that something like this might happen, if she were ever to attempt something such as what she was now planning. Paula would not like it at all.

"Deal with her," she directed, "after you finish with him." A cruel smile slipped over her features. "But don't kill her. Who knows. Maybe she can be useful herself." With that she passed into the room.

Behind her, the lackey sneered. Oh, how he would hate to be in Paula's place. And the man laying on the gurney was not going to have an easy time of it, either.

Who knew—one of these days, the doctor might discover she had created a monster.