From Prometheus to 12
Disclaimer: All recognizable characters from Death Note are copyright Tsugumi Ohba, Takeshi Obata, and Viz Media and all recognizable characters from Battlestar Galactica are copyright Ron D. Moore, David Eick, and the SyFy Channel. I don't own them, I just examine their possibilities.
Author's Note: Contains the lyrics to "All Along the Watchtower" written by Bob Dylan and "Gaeta's Lament" by Bear McCreary.
"Are you familiar with the story of Prometheus, Quillish?"
Watari kept his gaze on the wall of surveillance monitors in front of him.
"Naturally," Watari said. He didn't need to say any more, that answer would be enough.
He didn't want to look behind him, though he now he had to keep his gaze locked on the corridors of Taskforce Headquarters lest his look stray away and go all the way back. It was no use resisting.
Watari slowly swiveled back in his chair. His guest took a dramatic draw from his cigarillo and slowly exhaled.
"I knew that," the other man said, leaning back in his chair. "You are, after all, an educated man; well versed in ancient literature and mythology…among many other things of course, making tea the least of them."
Watari gave a stiff smile.
"Why do I have a feeling that I know where this is going," Watari said, though he knew he knew better than to ask that question.
"Where is it going?" his companion asked, taking another draw. "You are generating this conversation after all. I am merely here as a sounding board."
"Though you are here," Watari said.
It was almost as if he had to remind himself of that. He had grown used to this man's sudden appearances in the most sensitive of locations in the building, almost as if he expected him.
Perhaps he had gone beyond the point of exhaustion already and was now interpreting his hallucinations as reality, though he had already seen things in his lifetime that would make the average person go mad. One needed a strong stomach to be in every position Quillish Wammy had been in; his current life as Watari, the assistant to the world's greatest detective to his former life as one of the worlds leading inventors. Solving cases and creating miracles would take its tool after a while. Most men his age had retired long before now, most of his colleagues were already dead or being fed through straws.
Progress had never been pretty, which was probably what this "gentleman" was trying to dig out of him.
He liked to think of his companion as his subconscious; a subconscious that wore a dapper black and white pinstripe jacket and slicked-back hair. This one's British accent should have been answer enough; though somehow he doubted he was actually from England.
"Or that is what you are interpreting," the man said. Watari still had not asked him his name, though he did not feel comfortable doing so. "But I digress. I know you know the story of Prometheus because I can tell you have been playing it over in your head for the past thirty years. You just can't bring yourself to admit it yet."
Watari looked back at the monitors.
"Prometheus was the man who stole fire from the gods," Watari said. "When he was caught, the gods laid him before a great eagle to have his liver eaten out, regenerated, and eaten out again."
"I believe you are missing a part of the story, though you do know why that is," the man said.
Watari simply looked at him, he was floating into dangerous territory…as he was supposed to. He was his "conscience" after all.
"You also repeatedly tell yourself what the secondary title of Mary Shelley's 'Frankenstein' has to do with all this," this one continued.
"'The Modern Prometheus,'" Watari said. "And I am aware of why you are bringing this up as well."
"Yes it would seem I am being rather obvious. However why are you willingly talking about it? I believe it is a subject you have tried to avoid for a while now, pretend like your affairs have been normal."
Watari kept quiet for that one.
"Because perhaps you are willing to face it, face what you have done without guilt, without reluctance, because deep down with all this business of death gods and killing notebooks you know this story is about to end."
Watari sighed hard. It was almost fate that he saw L walking through the hallway just then. He gazed at him, no longer able to hide his true fear.
"They let you keep him because they had no reason not to," the man said, Watari could smell the smoke on his breath and feel the perspiration on his face. He was leaning right in as if to taunt him. "A pity you came to love something that is far from human."
"He is mine, he always will be," Watari said, realizing his voice was increasingly strained.
He turned around, finding himself alone in an empty room filled with monitors and equipment.
"Well none of Higuchi's associates remember seeing him with any black notebooks."
"What about sheets from the notebook. Hey shinig…I mean say Rem are individual sheets of the Death Note effective as the whole notebook? You know, can they…umm…kill people too?"
"I do not know. Shinigami have never had to use the Death Note in such a way."
"Damn this is the third time we've gotten the same answer."
"Aizawa, just be thankful we have this important resource. My apologies, Rem, this situation is rather unique to all of us."
L blinked a few times and lifted his head. It was only now he realized he had been staring blankly at his monitor for the last five minutes. Aizawa was talking now; his mind hastily jogged and tried to keep up with the conversation. It was as if he was tuning it out.
"Are you okay, Ryuzaki, you look a little out of it," Light said softly. L could feel the cuff of his shirt brushing slightly against his elbow.
"I am fine," L answered. There was no further pressing it.
L started to ask himself the same question. Maybe he was falling asleep where he sat, a rather common occurrence. Doing this on the cusp of the Kira investigation, however, would have been a little more inappropriate.
He actually had been sleeping a little over the past few nights. When Higuchi was captured, when the power of the Death Note was revealed, he had gone four nights straight without even a nap; even though a power similar t Kira's killed him right after he was apprehended. Nevertheless, the past three nights he actually lay down and slept for a few hours.
Perhaps it was the calm that came with some solid answers, perhaps finally being rid of Light's constant presence took stress off him.
He was sleeping, though he was hardly sleeping well. He was falling into REM sleep and dreaming, though his dreams drained him more than any sleep could replenish.
That dream about the firing squad was especially…no; thinking about it now would be a bad idea.
"We can conclude that Higuchi did not use the Death Note in front of any of his associates," L said, pulling himself out of his funk for a moment. "It is likely he used it in the privacy of his home or office. I would ask if you saw him using it, Shinigami, but I have a feeling I already know the answer."
"He obviously used it, though I cannot say when," that voice said, otherworldly yet sounding almost human.
L wanted to look back, though for some reason the sight of those pale white bones and those cat-like eyes made him uneasy. Shinigami, gods of death, shouldn't exist let alone be standing a meter away.
Then again most people looking at him for the first time backed away and averted their gaze slightly. He wasn't exactly handsome and he knew this; seventeen years of constant work would inevitably take its toll on a person.
In the end though he was just another human…
…why did he have to convince himself of that for a second?
It was an idea that seemingly came out of the blue. Now he knew he was overwrought.
He brought a hand to his face and gently nibbled the tip of his thumb; he was trying to keep himself focused, though the attempt wasn't working as well as he thought.
They were talking again. He tuned out the conversation and stared at his monitor. It was as if he had heard all of this before and it was going nowhere.
There's too much confusion.
He shook his head again. Chief Yagami mentioned sealing off more offices at Yotsuba. Now he was becoming more a part of the conversation.
He tried to return his concentration, though it gradually drifted away from him…like music floating in the air.
Why was he hearing music now: mournful orchestral melody, no a melody with a dissonant electronic background?
Where the hell was it coming from?
L pulled his head up again. Someone asked him a question. Matsuda…Matsuda asked him about testing the ashtray they found in Higuchi's apartment for burned pieces of the Death Note. Probably one of the most thought out questions that ever came out of Matsuda's mouth. He remembered answering the question and he remembered Matsuda nodding in response though he couldn't remember what he just said. The music drowned out the answer.
Where had he heard that song before? It was so foreign to him yet so comfortably familiar.
It was a lament passed around the sailors of Aquarion; they would sing it on deck during storms. At least that's what grandma used to tell him; she sung it with the rest of her crew on her fishing vessel and brought it to her little grandson on Picon.
L nibbled his thumb harder. He had to wake up; his mind was producing stories that seemed logical enough at the moment though were the figment of a tired imagination. He would tell the Taskforce he had another matter to attend to and go and try to get an hour of meditation. That was all he needed right now.
He couldn't get up; the music was taking his focus.
Grandma taught him the lyrics; she would sing them to him. Mother would make a comment off to the side about the song being too sad for a child. What did they know, they were too busy in the labs; everything was a scientific formula to them even their son.
He was sure they were working when the Colonies were attacked. Why did he suddenly feel responsible?
Because my blood is moving through the veins of a frakking skinjob.
L tried not to bold upright, though this was all becoming too much. He took a few deep breaths and slowly stood up from his seat. Running out would look too suspicious. No, in truth he was ashamed at himself; the great detective L was the picture of authority and control…exactly as he had been programmed…no stop that. He needed to leave now and ground himself.
There must be some kind of way out of here.
"Isolate Higuchi's second office on the 25th floor," he said, the conversation somehow coming back to him. "Look for any notepaper scraps and have them thoroughly analyzed. If he did let any pages fly out, regardless of whether they are effective by themselves or not, they need to be found."
A few yeses followed. No one asked why he was walking away and toward the door. They probably were tired of wondering. Ryuzaki has his own unique way of doing things, but never forget that he's human. Or at least looks it.
He couldn't walk away fast enough, the beats to two songs in perfect harmony making his pace.
"Is it just me or is boyo not looking very good."
Of all the times this bastard had to pop in his brain it was now.
Watari's eyes were glued to the monitors, his nails digging into the plastic upholstery of his chair.
L was practically hobbling through the hallway. A result of his already poor posture, that had to be…no. He stopped, one hand going to the wall and holding himself upright.
His head was spinning, the thick mane of spiky black hair pressed against the wall. He took a few deep breaths to center himself; focus on a point and breathe, it was the standard beginning of meditation.
The mixing, discordant songs came to a happy truce.
The tune suddenly caught under his tongue, he hummed it lightly.
"…and wish no more, my life you can take."
Picon was a floating cinder in the galaxy, every person on the planet, mom and dad in the labs, vaporized after…
"…to have her please just one day wake."
And he would escape the holocaust that he…that his people…
"To have her please…"
His lips moved like he was saying something, no…he was singing something
"…just one day wake."
The hallway was spinning. L took several deep breaths and closed his eyes.
The guns were aimed at him, an older man in a uniform with a sad expression standing behind them.
L's eyes sprung open and he shoved himself from the wall. He stumbled a few times, though he had to get to his room, any room where he could be alone and get himself together.
Watari forgot to breathe for a moment. Finally he took a long, heaving breath.
"He has been overwrought, poor boy," Watari said. "This case has been everything to him."
"And yet the point of his existence is to act as a walking computer," his companion said. "Never tiring, requiring little rest, little nourishment, capable of hours upon hours of calculations."
"He is still organic, he is not made of metal and steel," Watari said, his blood starting to warm. "He bleeds like any human, he has the same basic needs of any human, he has no reason to think he is something other than human."
"Though he's not human."
"He's better than human," Watari snapped.
"That's right science built you a better son, or should I say four better sons though he is your favorite. It could be said he is your firstborn; the first one you designed, the first one you engineered, the first time where you went from contributing calculations and alloys and took a front seat role in playing God."
His companion was being especially blunt today, the snark taking a bit more of a sharp edge.
"It was a noble endeavor and I was proud to play my part in this miraculous experiment."
He wasn't offended by his companion's patronizing chuckle.
"You think you are ethically clean in all of this."
"One's ethics can only take them so far in advancement. Yes I will admit it, the project would be considered highly unethical. Though no living humans were harmed."
"Yes there were farms of captives for experiments unlike your predecessors."
Watari pretended he didn't hear that. There were no predecessors; their 30 years of work was the first of its kind.
"We created life, no we perfected it."
"The bioengineers created the flesh, you and your colleagues fused it with technology to create a race of perfect beings who can never become sick, are slow to tire, and upon death are downloaded into a new body. All so they can become perfect members of the workforce. All of this you did willingly with a company with known affiliations to a bizarre, intergalactic cult and a laundry list of shady practices."
"It's not my place to judge their religious affiliation, though their ranks were composed of scientists of the highest order."
"The ones who suddenly brought you a substance that made it possible to fuse flesh and technology."
"The Georges Meteor. Yes, we used a substance not normally found on earth though space is an endless reserve of materials. Every space program in the world should be looking more into harvesting materials out there."
The man paused for a moment, crossing his legs and playing with a thread on his trouser cuff. Watari tried not so smirk. It was as if he had just reminded himself of the pride of his long work; his greatest effort, 30 years of experimentation lead by the world's finest bioengineers.
"I believe that meteor contained chemical substances that appeared to be a perfect fuse of human DNA and advanced fiber optics. Did you ever wonder what in this or any other galaxy would produce something like that?"
"The cosmos work in mysterious ways," Watari said, a small smile leaking out.
The man nodded. Watari still needed to ask him his name; or else he could name his own hallucination.
"You know what," the man said thoughtfully, leaning forward in his chair. I believe you are ready for the truth."
Watari cocked a white eyebrow though he remained expressionless.
"I would just lead you to the cold hard facts in a roundabout way, though both of us know we are rather pressed for time. What if I told you that was no true meteor at all. Would you think me mad?"
Watari couldn't help but snicker. He was talking to himself already, the question was rather comical.
"What if I were to tell you it was a piece of debris, or to do you one better, it was a piece of debris from a spaceship."
Watari raised his eyebrows but said no more. He wanted to know where his companion…no where his own mind was going with this.
"Now, and humor me for a moment," the man continued, putting up a finger, "what if I were to tell you that about 150,000 years ago a fleet of spaceships went into the sun. They had no passengers; well save for one poor soul who had no choice but to lead this caravan. Metal reaches a million degrees and melts, becomes one with the sun, that's the end of that. But ships would bump into each other in the beginning of their destruction and little pieces would fly off into the universe. Eventually they would become like meteors, just another piece of intergalactic flotsam and jetsam."
"A plausible theory," Watari said, though he tried not to laugh. This sounded like the doctrine of one of those "intergalactic cults;" life on earth was sown by falling spaceships.
"The substance known as the Georges Meteor that our friend the French farmer found in his field back in 1973 was none other than a piece of a spaceship. A military ship, in fact, actively at war with a race of…"
"Robotic beings, 'Cylons' I believe the name was. I have read the doctrine of the 'cult' you speak of. The Children of Hera who all believe mankind is a hybrid of human and android DNA. Rather dull reading if I do say so."
"Not just androids, biological automatons exactly like your precious little boy out there."
Watari's smile slightly faded. It was ridiculous…though why did it make sense?
"In a galaxy far, far away, those humans and those androids, those 'Cylons,' engaged in decades of warfare that would eventually wipe out both their civilizations. That meteor was a piece of a human military ship."
Watari leaned back in his chair. This was sounding more and more ridiculous by the second.
"Do you know what would happen if they found an enemy on their ship? They would bring them to a hangar deck where they would already have been severely beaten, their blood and broken skin, their DNA, seeping into the floor. They would then be isolated in the hangar and the doors opened, sucking their bodies into the vacuum of space killing them almost instantly save for a few lingering moments of painful death."
"You're telling me that meteor contained material from that alleged hangar deck?"
"In a former life that meteor was that hangar deck, or perhaps several hangar decks compacted into one small rock. Though matters get even more complicated. What if I were to tell you human prisoners were also executed in a similar manner. Regardless of how they did die, whether pushed out an airlock or beaten to death before their bodies were sucked into space, their blood, their DNA coated that deck."
"If your story is true, the assumption would be more automatons were executed than humans," Watari said, now craving tea and a moment alone. "If human DNA, or at least DNA from your version of a human, were in abundance more than automaton that would mean the chances of producing another pure human or a human/machine hybrid would be greater."
"Yes, that is correct."
"Though L and all my other boys, are pure organic machine."
"They are indeed automatons, though there is always a possibility that a strand or two of human DNA ended up in their in their genetic make-up. It is not enough to undo your noble design; however it is enough to wreak havoc in subtle ways."
"Physical characteristics, they might look and sound similar to a certain human. However, remember your boy and others of his race have high mental capacities; they have the ability to project images, such sensitivity might make them receivers of images as well. They might develop some synapses similar to the human whose blood they were built on, possibly even memory."
"Telepathy is a fairy tale, friend," Watari said.
"You would be surprised what your perfectly programmed boys are capable of. You might even find a spiritual presence within them."
Watari couldn't help but laugh.
"Humorous, I know," the man…no the hallucination said. "Though just to humor me this time, ask L how his dreams have been."
Watari said nothing, there was nothing too say.
"I don't believe I ever got your name," Watari said at last.
"I am the one in your mind," the man said. "Though you may call me Gaius."
Watari nodded, blinking once and seeing Gaius had vanished again.
His leg ached; a pulsing burn running down his shin. He reached for it, hand massaging his knee then going to mid-calf. There was nothing further but a cracked and bleeding stump.
L casually looked down, the skin peeling and red around where his leg ended. Somehow this didn't surprise him.
You want to know who did that? One of your kind did that, single shot right below the knee.
This was all in his head, how the hell could he respond to something in his head? What was he supposed to say anyway?
His eyes trailed over his body. He was wearing a blue uniform, the style reminiscent of any number of Asian or Eastern European militaries.
L's eyes went forward almost on instinct, facing down the barrels of a number of rifles he did not want to count. This felt familiar.
He looked among the officers, a part of him expecting to see the old commander. Instead Light Yagami was behind their ranks; smug grin across his face as he raised his hand to give the commands.
You want to know the shitty part of being a skinjob? The fact that "skin" is still part of the equation.
Light looked like he was trying to contain his mirth and maintain a professional demeanor.
Skin and bullets don't mix, neither do skin and weird notebooks. I don't know if your new makers brought back resurrection technology, and gods willing they didn't, but you're frakked no matter how you look at it.
L wanted to ask him who he was, ask what was happening to him. There wasn't going to be time for that now, there never would be.
He was almost disappointed when he bolted upright in his chair. L found himself almost wanting to feel every bullet going into his body. Though something in the back of his mind said that would be happening soon.
L was walking down the hallway early this morning. Watari did not like the look on his face, nor the way his gait drooped a bit more.
He paid attention to his position, seeing he was making a casual beeline toward his location.
At last, he was in front of the doors to the main console and the door behind him swung open.
Watari slowly turned around, seeing L facing him; hands in his pockets, eyes down to the floor.
"Ryuzaki," he said. "What's wrong?"
L remained silent, contemplating the floor tiles.
"Is there something you want to talk about?"
L sighed hard.
"It's a little hard to explain," L said at last.
Watari kept his gaze on him, giving him plenty of time to think things over.
It was his dreams, wasn't it? Watari tried to block out the thought though Gaius' words lingered. That's what he was going to say next, though L tended to be very quiet about his deepest emotions. Androids were capable of feelings to some degree; it was a remark on how complicated their programming was and those of his kind were especially deep in thought.
"I need to have this out or else it will continue to weigh on me," L said.
Watari nodded for him to continue, trying to keep from sweating at what he might hear.
"I have been somewhat charged since Yotsuba became a player in this investigation," L said carefully, his usual thoughtful monotone grimmer than usual. "After Higuchi died, I had brief peace. I now feel that peace has been fading day by day. My concentration is not what it was, I have been having nightmares. I just feel like I am walking the precipice of a cliff and am waiting to fall. Perhaps I know there is some new development ahead in the case, though this feeling is not good; it is in fact the complete opposite."
Watari's blood ran cold. This speech sounded familiar; he had heard it before from his fellow engineers and a few times from other automatons. There was a point for many of L's kind when they started to realize what they were. It was like a proverbial adolescence; a period of self-doubt would set in and eventually they would "wake up;" they would realize they were not human. It was a significant complication; the model would have to be watched carefully lest they become hostile or self-destructive.
Or maybe Gaius was right; for some reason that was an even more frightening thought.
"This entire case has been one uncertainty after another," Watari said, trying to sound as reassuring as he could. "Death has been hanging over all of us. You are a tough man, cold, logical. It is only expected that the pressure would make itself known. I do have confidence in you, you will lead this into the right direction."
L looked at him, nodding at his words. Somehow he knew he was being patronized. Watari never spared the kind words with him before, though now he wasn't listening; he almost felt too disgusted to listen, but did. It was a simple act of respect.
"You are absolutely right," L said. "I have not been handling the uncertainty well, I need to have more confidence. I need something to eat now."
"Would you like me to make you something?"
"Not right now, I just want to grab something small."
L slowly turned around, for some reason taking one lingering look at Watari before turning away.
He had a bad feeling this would be the last time he would ever see him.
"Ryuzaki, I just received word from the President," Watari said over the phone. "The United States is willing to offer two death row inmates to be used in an experiment involving Kira's power."
"Good, Watari. We shall make the arrangements."
L hung up almost immediately.
Watari looked at the monitor for a moment, watching L and Light Yagami walk toward the main control room. The smell of English Leather was becoming more obvious.
It was only inevitable he would visit again.
"So that 13-day rule will be finally tested," Gaius said behind him. "You are aware there will be some people unhappy with this development."
Watari sighed hard. He really didn't want to turn around and face that smug bastard again. Might as well humor him, he liked being humored after all.
Watari swiveled his chair around. Gaius was standing in front of him, arms folded on his chest.
"Kira will not be happy, probably not Light Yagami," Watari said. "This likely means he will be caught."
"You know your lad is walking into a trap," Gaius said.
"I think my lad knows what he's doing," Watari said.
These were fruitless words and he knew it; a last minute denial to the building reality. L knew it, Watari knew it too.
"Is he immune from the Death Note," Watari asked, out of desperation maybe though he asked anyway. "He is not human after all."
"He is humanoid," Gaius said. "One of his kind is shot, they bleed and die like anyone else. You did give him a name."
"But he does not have a human lifespan," Watari said.
"But he does have human biological processes," Gaius said.
Watari sighed. Somehow he felt helpless. Gaius was right; it was likely he was walking into a trap.
"Though if this body dies, he is downloaded into a new one," Gaius said. "You know the routine. I doubt he would be able to retain the title of L. Though you have Models 13 and 14…excuse me 13a and 14. There are two M's after all, fraternal twins as you like to call it."
"But he will still find out what he is," Watari said.
"I believe he is already close to that knowledge," Gaius said. "And you know that."
"You have been a good father to him," Gaius continued.
He gazed at him thoughtfully. Watari nodded back; a warm sense of validation at last in that simple gesture. Somehow he knew what the next events would be. Somehow he accepted them.
A searing pain burst through his chest. He doubled over, falling on his knees.
In a Death Note somewhere, the name Quillish Wammy had just been written down.
The pain was getting worse, his breath seizing. He managed to come back to his desk, his body numb, his mind frantic. One finger went to the back of the keyboard and pressed a red button. The screen went white with the words "All Data Deletion."
His body was collapsing under its own weight. He managed to look at one surveillance monitor, looking directly into L's scared face.
"It…was…worth it," he gasped.
Watari tumbled to the floor. He looked up for a moment at Gaius, seeing him give him an understanding smile.
Watari smiled back, then closed his eyes.
Don't act so surprised. Prometheus is having his liver eaten out now.
Though I'm, as you say, frakked, L thought to himself.
He could almost hear a small chuckle, it was all focused on in the midst of panic and noise surrounding him.
"Where's the Shinigami," he barked.
All he wanted now were answers; his emotions were numb.
There's too much confusion. I can't get no relief.
"Everyone, the Shiniga-"
The order had been given.
The bullets ripped through his chest.
He felt his hand open, the spoon clanging on the floor. Soon his body was falling, losing stability on his chair, and plummeting.
Why wasn't he bleeding? There should have been buckets of blood bursting onto the flight deck. His body was not tied to the chair this time; he fell freely and not falling backwards in a confined heap. He was free from the chair, not melded to it.
Grandma used to sing him one song, a song she and her fellow sailors sung during dangerous times. He tried to sing a line, though his lungs drew no air.
No, not his grandmother.
Do I sense and imminent breakthrough? Death has a tendency of bringing those about.
He looked down at his own body, seeing a plain white shirt…no a blue uniform. The pins on his collar were for a lieutenant's rank.
The floor was approaching, as were another body and a set of arms. His hip hit the floor hard, though the rest of him was cushioned.
His arm wrapped around a white shirt, a mop of brown hair hung over him. Light.
He briefly looked back at his own arm, seeing the patch on the blue uniform.
"Battlestar Galactica, BSG 75"
His sleeve was white again, his hand clutching light's shoulder against the agonizing pain.
He was dying, his name had been written down likely by Rem.
Light knew what was going on. He leaned into his face, mouth curving in a smug grin. Kira, Judas, his executioner. The charge was mutiny. He took over the ship and went straight for his superior though his superior stood for nothing; only bloodshed…
…Bloodshed his predecessors had wrought, blood shed that lead to their destruction.
Yet somehow he was here now.
All of this has happened before.
All of this will happen again.
He…wasn't really going to die. Just this body.
Good morning, Number 12. About time you got a clue.
We need to have a talk.
L gazed at Light, the pain was going away and replaced by beautiful peace. His grip loosened on Light's shoulder.
He allowed his eyes to gradually close and let the world become black.
A bright light surrounded him, as if someone turned on a wall of fluorescent lights.
You know what you are. I want to hear it.
"What would you have me say?"
You know godsdamned well what I want to hear. Say it!
He didn't know how the word came to him.
"Now what the hell are you?"
An unwilling participant in your creation.
"Treason will get you that. I hardly see how that involves me. That was 150,000 years ago."
Yet you're here now. Another group of frakheads decided to play at being gods. There was no one to tell the first people of this mossy planetoid not to make the same mistakes, but they did anyway and perfected it. They didn't even make the buckets of bolts first; they went right for the fleshy toaster models.
"And that's how your civilization was destroyed." So much was coming to him. "The robotic servants could not stay cooped up, the pitfalls of artificial intelligence. Though that is why you mutinied, the enemies got a little cozy didn't they, formed last minute alliances?"
And that's what brings us here now. But I am the one to get the last laugh; they never were able to get rid of me were they? They brought back Cylons, and frakked up and brought back me..
"That is because my body is hosting your DNA; I could go so far and call you my daddy. But I wouldn't go that far; Felix Gaeta sounds just fine to me. "
A chuckle rang through the brightness, L joined in with one of his own.
The lights gradually lowered, revealing a dimly lit space and a man standing in front of him; complexion darker, hair shorter and with more of a curl, though it was otherwise a close resemblance to himself. Same disheveled hair, same dark circles around the eyes from exhaustion.
Both of them stared at each other, analyzing everything they were seeing.
"The tone of our voices is also similar," L said. "Interesting development."
The wonders of DNA, so amazingly inconvenient.
L stared at him, seeing the death glare in his direction.
"The ideal thing to say would be we can learn from each other," L said. "If history repeats itself, we both have some understanding of what happened before."
Gaeta just glared at him, his gaze gradually softening.
I suppose we're just going to have to live with each other.
The lights returned with a vengeance, fading into a series of red particles. L felt himself floating.
Cold, viscous fluid now surrounded him. He held his breath and forced his body upright, his head reached the surface.
L's lungs heaved the new air almost a searing ache. A few breaths became whimpers became low screams. His stomach lurched, every sense assaulted.
He also registered another sensation; a pair of hands massaging his shoulders and a female voice whispering in his ear.
"It's okay, it's okay, brother, you're safe."
He slowly calmed, his breath evening out and his heart slowing down in this new body.
He took a few more calming breaths and slowly opened his eyes. He was naked, immersed in a wide tub filled with wires and thick fluid. A woman was leaning over him; curly blonde hair dangling down over the shoulders of a lab coat. Her fingers ran through his wet hair.
"Watari," he said.
"I'm so sorry," the woman replied.
L's head went back. Watari was gone, he would have to mourn in his own time; he would mourn after he had a few more answers.
He looked around him, seeing himself in what looked like a warehouse. Several more tubs surrounded him. More Cylon bodies waiting for download.
It was starting to make more sense, though there was still much to learn.
"I want a shower now," he said.
The woman smiled.
"Of course," she said.