((AN: CREDIT TO JESSE, RAZZEEBERRY, OVERTHELOVEOFYOU. RAZZEEBERRY EDITED THIS TO HELP ME.))
Sometimes, on a great blue moon, a rogue reaper will appear in our dimension, with no remembrance of their past self, but a feeling of knowing who they are. Nobody knows who they are. They are never found in our database, they just appear. We accept them into our society because they are indeed a reaper.
The oddest thing however, is the fact that they can see perfectly fine without glasses. Reapers are all near sighted. This is a evolutionary fact. What causes them to see better then us? Their eyes are almost human in nature.
Most of them seem to falter at the time they are to reap. Saying they feel humanity in their hearts. They love humans. They cannot raise a weapon to them. They just stand there and cry, weeping over the fact they have to reap a dying human. We can not figure out what their role is in our society...But yet we welcome them with open arms.
But some times we begin to wonder if this is a grave mistake. Some turn hostile at the thought of harming a human, some flee, or kill themselves over the thought of killing them. We don't know what goes on in their minds. This is what we are made for...Why are they here?
"Where... am... I...?"
A silhouette highlighted by the blazing sun walked steadily through the desert, wind blowing harshly. The culprit appeared to be a female of average height, wearily walking, uncertain, sand assaulting her face. Her shadow trailed behind, conforming against the various curves of the mountain-like sand dunes.
Although her legs felt jelly-like, she didn't dare give up; she would die if she stopped, but oddly enough...
"Stop where you are!" Someone appeared next to the hooded female, her frown visible as she stopped. There were at least 5 strangers brandishing weapons, each gleaming wickedly, leering at her.
"State your name; hands up!" One of the strangers called out. She held her arms up slowly until a rather large gust of wind shoved her hood back, revealing a young face with squinting, glowing greenish yellow eyes, dark purple hair spilling, whipping against the harsh wind. To some, she looked to be a young adult, maybe nineteen.
Shocked, green eyes stared back as well, awestruck. They recognized her as one of their own kind, but this wasn't the usual norm.
Abruptly, she swayed, exhaustion crashing on her weakened figure along with waves of blistering heat. With a thump, she hit the sand, eyes shut seemingly blissful. The men collected, surrounding her. Who was she?
In the end, these rogues are to be stopped from going insane. They need therapy, or be put in a mental institution. Something to sort these rogues out. Anything to teach them...
That they will never be human.
William T. Spears.