2. in the wrong place trying to make it right

My first priority in the morning is to cleanse my wounded hand.

I realise belatedly it is something I should've done earlier, as injuries on Earth are prone to infection. After just a night without treatment, flexing my hand has become a difficult task.

Additionally, my hand has become numb due to the lack of circulation and I find it is less likely I want to rid of the wound because it hurts. Rather, it is because the wound is a reminder of Ian's resistance and consequently the resistance of all humans—a notion I have been created to eliminate.

More importantly, it is a notion I should eliminate. Unnerved, I grit my teeth as I pull myself from my seating position in the bed. I grimace when I pass the broken shards of the glass window on the floor, having no current idea how I plan to explain that to the Seekers who seem to be Souls designed to live on conservative lines and angles.

Clothing myself with the assemblage the Seeker who had spoken to me yesterday gave me, I inspect myself in the mirror for a moment. I don't fail to recognise this human body would be appealing to others of the same species. It is quite well sculptured, with a fine facial structure and lean physique, complete with oceanic eyes and tousled black hair. This is my body now, I state to myself, determined.

Ian says nothing in response, but he communicates his disapproval effectively through the burn in my chest. I turn away from the mirror before I can speculate too much over the glisten which still resides within my eyelashes.

I exit my room and walk through the halls until I reach the department designated for the Healers. All the walls existent in the building are washed with a reflective and immaculate white, the cleanliness slightly unsettling. I have never seen my species so devoted to perfectionism. I suppose we do opt towards purity, but not a clinical superiority such as this.

I can hear Ian laughing quietly in the back of my mind, amused at my observations and claiming a victory in the way I have begun to question my species. I clench my jaw and resolve to reach my objective. I turn the knob of the door to enter the Healers' department, slipping on an eerie smile which mirrors the Seekers I had witnessed yesterday. I am becoming a Seeker. I will be a Seeker.

Fords Deep Waters meets my gaze from one side of the room. He is ordering the apparatus and I see the labels such as Awake, No Pain and Heal. I maintain my smile as I step towards him, announcing in what I hope is an affable tone, "One of those implements may become beneficial to me, Healer."

I lift my hand into his line of sight, but Fords seems to look past that entirely. His eyes are travelling down my attire, his scrutinising stare akin to a forensic investigator. My smile thins when I note he holds the same disconcerted expression as he did yesterday. I am now wearing the apparel assigned to Seekers and accordingly quickly make the connection. Fords isn't fond of Seekers.

Who in their right mind would be fond of Seekers? Ian speaks up for the first time in the day and I feel that he is referring more to me than to anyone else. I disregard his comment although my smile now becomes both thin and steely. It is as if he hopes to remind me of who I intend to become.

I motion towards Fords in a manner of someone waving their hands in front of someone else's face, just more delicately. "Fords?" I remind with a gentle veil over an impatient underlining.

He appears to snap back to reality, shaking his head in embarrassment and grasping a capsule of Heal into his hand. I can still see the shaky steps he makes towards me and the rigid posture of his body, like he has been attuned to being overly cautious around Seekers. Fords graces my hand into his as he sprays a flourish of the Heal substance onto my skin. It is a cooling sensation and I watch in silent amazement as the wound seals itself.

My smile returns, the steel of it softening. "I appreciate your assistance," I say smoothly, although it is clear he is questioning the genuineness of my welcoming expressions. "Such a minor mishap was clumsy of me." He mechanically turns around to return the capsule to its location amongst the array of apparatus, occupying himself with anything other than my presence.

I vocalise my thoughts, "Is there something bothering you, Fords?" The innocence of my tone is merely an attempt—the grace of it doesn't work well with the baritone of my voice, despite witnessing in Ian's memories the ability in him to transform his voice from deep indifference to undeniable sweetness. It seems my experimentation falls short as Fords just shakes his head, his back still facing me while he frantically orders the capsules.

I sigh inwardly and turn on my heel, striding towards the door once I remember I have a meeting with the Seekers this morning as well. Before I can close the door behind me, though, Fords' hesitant voice follows after me: "Has any progress been made concerning Wanderer, Glaciers?"

I stiffen in my steps. I can hear how he tries to make the word 'Wanderer' sound foreign and it makes me convinced that to Fords, she is anything but. I decide on a vague answer to his question, murmuring leisurely "Of some sorts."

I receive no response of word nor movement and figure it would be more fruitful to ask the Seekers about Fords' connection with Wanderer for it is very probable the information could be useful for my search. Ian is less than pleased with my thoughts as I make my way to the Seekers, a meeting which will serve as my orientation to become one of them.

One of them, Ian mutters, constructing the words so they sound like a disease. I fight the urge to become frustrated at the obvious difference between our two species. Humans are far too complex. There is right and wrong, good and bad. For Souls, our only function is to efficiently maintain ourselves with as little violence as possible. Maybe there is hypocrisy in that as we are relying on violence to oppress the humans, but if there is any downfall to me, it would be over-thinking.

Ian becomes exceedingly distasteful as this. You aren't thinking enough, he accuses, You're too obedient... A sycophant almost. I actually think your fear over-thinking about things because then you'd realise the faults of your species. Ian clearly has intellect—a philosophical understanding with the human condition which I will never be able to exhibit myself. Nevertheless, in my case, ignorance is bliss.

As it comes to be, my meeting with the Seekers is a one-on-one affair. My assigned Seeker is named Stygian Spades, the same from yesterday. I have an inkling that, as he guides me with arms too encouraging, eyes too intrusive and smiles too counterfeit, I am treated with a sense of importance unlike other Souls. There is also a hint of reluctant reliance, a dependence and need for me to reach absolution.

To be quite honest, I was eager to reach this absolution. I could predict Ian being pinned to the back of my mind would soon have a withering effect which would make me understand why the Seekers aspired to extinguish humanity. It wasn't because my species was necessarily cruel; it was because we couldn't comprehend the very idea of resistance. Resistance is an unknown concept and unknowns are commonly feared. So, you could say, we in fact feared the humans.

In this same way, I didn't want to discover what sort of influence Ian would have on my body if I continued co-existing with him. I figured once I accomplished my task as Seeker, I would be able to work towards another Calling. Consequently, I attentively listen to Stygian as he outlines what it is to be a Seeker.

"The rules are simple," Stygian states bluntly, his eyes like ice as he watches me closely, lips set into a thin line. "Eradicate the humans and salvage the Souls when possible."

The atmosphere is heavy between Stygian and I. I feel as if I am talking to a sharply diplomatic individual and any word I say may or may not be a step in the wrong direction. "When possible?"

Stygian shuffles the documents in his hands and looks at me with what I assume is meant to be a grim expression, but only gives off a fabricated impression. "Sometimes sacrifices must be made," he replies vaguely, and suddenly he is grinning with those shark-teeth again.

Stygian passes the documents to my side of the table, beckoning me afterwards. I pick them up with apprehensive fingers when Stygian denotes the documents as the current information gathered on Wanderer. There are photocopied sketches of what I assume to be topographic landscapes, along with typed notes and profiles of Wanderer and the humans she is alleged to be associated with.

I select the document with the picture of Wanderer. My eyes narrow in confusion. This is not the Wanderer I saw in Ian's recollections. The person in the picture bore a much finer facial structure than the image in my dreams. The Wanderer I knew had a softer face and did not whatsoever exhibit the dark hair, hazel eyes and sun-kissed complexion that this stranger did.

I discern this photograph must've been Wanderer's initial host, meaning she was reinserted into another human afterwards. Did this mean the Seekers had been long looking for Wanderer and suffered failure after failure? Was I being attributed to chase a mere shadow—a shadow whose impact is arguably only psychological?

I grip the document in my hand. It was all coming to fruition now. The Souls perceive Wanderer as the impetus for human revolution. Ian's awakening at my thoughts only cause me further emotional turmoil as I weigh the opposing sides. Revolution in most, if not all cases, is the overthrowing of the aristocracy. In this case, we were the despotic aristocrats and the humans were the revolutionaries, searching for the liberation we had ripped away from them.

Ian is quiet as he listens to me and the strange harmony disperses through my veins. I trace the unfamiliar photograph with my index finger. "This is Wanderer?" I question to Stygian, despite already knowing the answer.

He nods proudly in response. I don't quite know what there is to be proud about. I have never associated arrogance or ignorance to my species, but as Stygian gazes down at the photograph with disdain, there is a pinch at my ribs. Revulsion.

Don't tell him the photo isn't her, Ian says urgently, feeling the upper hand in this situation.

I swallow the lump in my throat. I won't. Biting my cheeks at my compliance, I correct myself. I don't need the Seekers. They are insufficient. I can do this on my own.

"Crystalline Glaciers," Stygian cuts in formally, the pride disappearing. "Perhaps you need more time. I presumed you would have been able to recognise Wanderer, but it seems you fell short. Not to worry."

I desire to seethe at his condescension and the elitism in his eyes, but instead hold back. "Thank you," I say once I stand up, pushing the chair neatly back under the table. "I will see you in a few days?"

Stygian clicks his tongue. His response is short, "I will arrange our next meeting." He stands up in a similar manner to what I did before walking towards the window in front of us, the sunlight incandescent on his figure. I see a gleam on the side of his body, the shining silver of a revolver settled into a duty belt.

Ian takes special notice of this and immediately there is an itch in my hands, the impulse of motion. The sensation is insidious, a crawling venom in my bones and I have to clench my fist to stop the tingle from spreading.

I can do this on my own, I reinforce with emphasis, a directness to Ian. I speed out of the room, winding through the corridors until I reach my own again. I open the door with swiftly, closing it behind me. Almost simultaneously, a wind hits my face and my back smacks against the wall.

The window is still broken. Could you do this without me? Ian demands. He throws punches of his memories, blows of the smile and touch and voice of Wanderer. The sentiment is infectious, seeping into my system and weakening me like a sickness. Without me, you have nothing.

Without me, you have nothing! I bite back, pushing myself off the door. I lean down to the floor to pick up the glass shards which still remain. Before I am aware, Ian surges through my body and braces my hands, wrapping my fingers around the glass shards. The damage is instant, the shards crushing against my skin and gushing blood.

Sobs wreck through my body and I understand it isn't the injury hurting me this much. Without her, I have nothing, Ian snaps back, his voice thick with the tears I am shedding. I already have nothing.

My immunity to Ian dissolves and the movements I make are his. I lay down onto the ground, amongst the glass shards. The sunlight from the window is warm but I only feel the penetrating cold.

Minutes later I am as hollow as the human within me.

This was interesting to write, to say the least. The chapter basically wrote itself, but I am somewhat pleased with how it came out. I wanted to outline the differences between Souls and humanity and then achieve unification by the end, with a little angst.

Thank you for such a wonderful response on my first chapter, I was more than glad with that and expected much less. To Cloudcity'sbookworm, I'm happy you thought I wrote the speech of the Souls correctly, because that's exactly what I intended! :) I appreciate the kind praise.

The lyric reference at the beginning of the chapter was Come Home by OneRepublic.