changehistory: (Brooding)
I have no doubt that we will be successful in harnessing the sun's energy.... If sunbeams were weapons of war, we would have had solar energy centuries ago. ~Sir George Porter, quoted in The Observer, 26 August 1973

Never a truer statement, and not just in this day and age. Nearly every major technological innovation has come from research for military applications first. Now, yes, this at the end of the day benefits us all, but couldn't it be nicer if we just funded scientists to do things that would benefit humanity instead of having the whole "let's find better ways to kill each other" rigmarole first?

But that's how it has always been. The country with the strongest military force has the most power, and humanity as a whole craves power. So we race to arms, we race to get nuclear missles, we race to get to space, we build better satellites, bigger bombs, more secure intelligence...all in the name of "defense" because if we don't do it, the other guy will, and then he'll walk all over us, and we'll lose our way of life.

Things like green energy, environmentally sound practices, conserving instead of wasting--it's still the talk of the radicals though more and more people are giving lip service to it. But for all the recycled cartons we buy, and hybrid cars we decide to drive, it still serves no military purpose anyone can see, and so the research lags behind.

The day someone discovers how to make a bomb run on sunlight, that's the day solar energy will start to be widely available for everyone.
changehistory: (BW close up pretty eyes)
Dear Bria,

I am a villain, if you have forgotten. I tried to destroy the world, then rebuild it in my own image and set myself up as God. I used Peter, tricked him, manipulated him. I murdered Hiro's father. I had Maury attack Angela. I released Victoria just so she would pick up the gun and aim it at Peter, and I could kill her in front of him and justify it as saving his life.

I tried to release a virus to kill everyone slowly, not once, but twice. I pretty much ordered Peter to kill Hiro if there was no other way to stop him.

I am still planning on doing very bad things to Bob before he dies.

I think Sylar is really cool, so long as he leaves me off of his killing spree. He can have Claire to get his immortality, and we can be friends.

See? Evil.

Maybe I have the best of fucked up intentions. Perhaps I really do want to build a better world. Possibly I'm completely insane from 30 years of torture or being buried alive. But, whatever the reason, it does not negate the fact that I am a cold, manipulative, wicked bastard.

But you have me adopting kittens from shelters, working to reform myself to be worthy (excuse me? Who said I wasn't more than worthy already?) of the hero's love, contemplating taking over the Company--not for evil schemes but to really do good, and buying cute Slayers Batmobiles just to make them smile.

I do not need to reform. I am beyond fine, just as I am. I do not need to apologize for my actions repeatedly.

Before you know it, you'll have me turned into a genuine hero, and that, my love, is a terrifying thought.

Get over it.

Now.

I'm the bad guy. If you want me to play nice and make everyone around me think that I am not, fine.

But, for god's sake--don't you forget it, too.

Persistently scheming new dark schemes,
Adam
changehistory: (Waiting for you to realize)
For years, centuries, he believed this thing inside of him was a gift from God, a singling out in some way, and if he was not the only one, the rarity with which he encountered others supported the idea that they were special. Chosen by an intelligent being for some purpose they had yet to grasp. He rebelled, of course, striking out in darker ways against the cruel edge of his gift, the fact that everything has a price, even immortality. Perhaps, especially immortality.

Science was in its infancy, having not yet recovered from the strides made by some before the Dark Ages claimed Europe, but he watched it with a sort of curiosity. When Darwin published his theories on evolution and the world flew into an outrage, he, instead, froze, then found the book and refused to put it down until he was done. Evolution. The word Hiro had used which made no sense to him then and had failed to become clear for centuries, until that moment as he delved into a treatise that shifted some of his thinking.

His battle with the Divine had grown, tearing him further from religion, even as part of him whispered that it was impossible to be so angry at a God he did not believe existed. But this opened a new door--perhaps what he was came from this. Science. Evolution. Not a gift at all, and if it was not a Divine gift, then perhaps there was no Divine, but only men, men set apart as the next step forward, men destined to become great by the very advancement of their genetic code.

He followed evolutionary research carefully, finding himself caught in the debate--created or evolved, chosen or scientifically advanced, a step forward or a mere mutation? There were still signs, though, marks, things that followed him that he could not shake merely as science, and the fight inside of him continued as much as it did in the schoolroom and the political and scientific forums. But then there was the Company, and there was their research, the things they discovered all those who were special shared in common. And a virus that could strip them of their power. A plague, proven by science, that could render them normal and then send them hurtling toward destruction.

When he emerged, when he discovered Dr. Suresh's mapping, the way he could trace them, find who they were by genetic patterns, something chilled more in him. So many, so varied, and all of them traceable by scientific principles that called the very foundations of religious fervor into question, because what if they were--what if he was--an accident of nature? If they were, then did any of them have a destiny? Or had God used this scientifically traceable phenomenon to choose them, single them out? Was mankind itself moving closer to being gods, growing in His image? Or was it all chance?

But they found each other. They were drawn together. Their lives were all intertwined, and if much of that was his doing for throwing a generation together and tying the strands of their lives into complicated knots, it still meant something that things came to a head, that a future could be predicted, then averted, that warnings were given, that the world was changing.

In the end, he hushed the debate, locking up the voice that whispered of salvation, and embraced the science, vowing to learn more, to not rely on others solely, but to study it himself. Perhaps they were a happy accident of nature. It was possible there was no God for him to rail at. But somewhere in the halls of academia and the research labs full of test tubes and rats lay the answer, the secret, the Holy Grail. If they were not chosen by God, then he would find a way to choose them himself.

Science was not God, but Adam was certain it could be used to create Him.
changehistory: (Jack -- almost kiss)
It's not anything I have ever considered, to be honest. I've loved. I've married. I've been left alone every time. It was a fact, simple, straightforward, that I accepted. There are no happily ever afters for someone who lives forever, because no matter how much you love, no matter how perfect the relationship, the fact remains that you do not age and they do, you do not die and they do. It has been a defining parameter of my life, and one I cannot deny.

Until now.

He doesn't age, or barely ages, at least. He cannot die. He is a fact, apparently. Immovable and impossible. He has seen the universe, has traveled through time, comes from a future I can barely imagine, and is still here, now. He knows what it is to love and to lose the person to the ravages of time. He knows what it means to walk through the centuries, watching all of the change as you do not change along with it. He is as much outsider as I am, but like I did once, he has carved a place for himself, made a family and a home.

And he is mine.

He knows what I am, the things I have done. There are no secrets I've kept back. He knew, before I even went to Odessa what I might mean to do, and he let me go. He knows I'm still not convinced I was wrong, knows that I might very well try again some day. He doesn't approve, but neither does he leave. I like to think it's not solely because he has some notion in his head of saving me from myself. Perhaps, instead, it is that we can save each other.

I don't like to believe in fairytale notions. The world doesn't work that way. It is full of sharp edges and cruelty no Disney movie has ever considered, but. At night, when he's sleeping and I lie there and watch him breathing, in the stillness of moonlight, with a purring kitten pushing her way between us -- then, sometimes, just a tiny sliver of my heart dreams and thinks maybe, just this once, happily ever after is possible.
changehistory: (Mercenary)
[ooc: Based on this pic.]

It was a different kind of war. The change started with some of the wars in the 19th century, and the bombing that hit in WWI was different. Trenches and explosions and things that even with the advent of gunpowder I had never seen before. But the Second World War was a new sort of horror for the world. Air battles meant destruction could be reigned on civilians in ways we'd never witnessed before unless an army invaded. But with the distance planes gave...who was safe? Pearl Harbor was at least a military target, but the bombing of London, of other cities...no one had to invade, and the only way to stop it, truly, was to take to the air, and the bullets fired that didn't hit planes had to fall somewhere, and if you shot a plane out of the sky, it fell as well, and there was no way to judge where. Children were orphaned, families torn apart, men and boys died in numbers we'd never imagined.

Then Hiroshima. Nagasaki. The display of the power of the atom bomb over a country that had become my enemy but had, twice, been my home. Tens of thousands dead, brutally, and the survivors likely wishing they'd been killed. I wasn't there, but I saw the pictures after. I knew our allies had done it.

The beach, Normandy...I was there. It was bad enough. We count it a victory, but the carnage was like nothing I had seen in 300 years. Crawling over the bodies of the dead, just to die, to be a bridge for the next wave. All those lives, cut off, stopped, ended, on both sides. When we got through, as the war wound down and we went to find survivors, we had to sort through the camps. We heard the stories the survivors told, saw the horror that lingered, that would always linger. And we had to ask why. I had to ask why.

It's continued. The 20th century was a century of amazing technological advancement, and the sheer amount of that which has gone to finding new and creative ways to kill each other astounds. We have such a chance to live in a world so different than what came before, but mankind just keeps trying to destroy itself, destroy neighbors, friends, enemies--do the lines really matter? War. Famine. Disease. It cycles back around and around and nothing ever changes. We are heading toward our own destruction, our own damnation. If things do not change, drastically, it's not a matter of if, it is a matter of when and how. That's all.

Things should change, people should learn to be better, learn to rise up and say "no more" and work together to change the world, to heal it.

But they don't.

They persecute those who come bearing that message: stone them, crucify them, shoot them, exile them. No one wants to hear. We, as a collective, do not want to change. It's too hard. It's too frightening to be that voice in the wilderness that no one will listen to, because history proves to us that they won't. The masses won't rise up and demand change, especially now. They have their TV and their internet and their iPods and around the world, people die every day, and more rise up to keep the wars going. Our children come home shattered from war, PTSD--something no one even thought of before the last century, something I never witnessed before those wars--consuming their lives and they have to wait a year to even be seen by the veteran's hospitals. And we do nothing.

It will consume us in the end, and at this rate, we won't even notice when the end comes.
changehistory: (Stranger danger)
Forgive your enemies, but never forget their names. -- John F. Kennedy

He couldn't write it on the walls. He tried, once, in the tenth year, no eleventh, maybe twelfth. Without a calendar it blurred and only Bob in a ridiculous Santa hat let him count where they were, sometimes. Twelve times the hat, so the which meant the beginning of the twelfth year, and in the spring he wrote it out in blood smeared across the walls. Twelve names. One for each year. It had an odd sense of symmetry and it made him smile.

Bob was not amused. They hauled him out and after a particularly brutal "testing" session they returned him to freshly painted walls that weren't quite white, because nothing could be that pure in here.

He tried to carve them once with a scalpel he palmed, sure that once he scratched them into the walls, not even paint would take them off, but somehow he found himself trying to carve the names into Bob's skin, and they took the scalpel and a syringe both and made the names go away with them, healed and cleansed by the blood, which only got him ranting about washing away sins with blood until Bob ordered him gagged and fed intravenously.

So, he was forced to form a litany of Proper Nouns, always capitalized, a list, lovers, friends, disciples, betrayers, each and every one. He tried to scratch them into his skin, but they only healed, and so it was back to names in his head.

Angela. Arthur. Daniel. Maury. Bob. Victoria. Carlos. Paula. Harry. Charles. Suzanne. Kaito. Always Kaito, which led him all the way back to Hiro, and a swirling morass of names remembered and if he could lay curses it would be on those houses, he thought. "A plague on both your houses," he muttered anyway, eyes closing. Petrelli. Nakamura. A plague. The vengeance of the Lord on Egypt, for betraying His people, enslaving them in darkness and refusing to let them go.

It came and went the moments of madness and moments of lucidity, and as he held to the list, the names, the purpose, the lucid moments ran longer and they smiled in relief that perhaps he would be of use again. But when he stepped into the free air, and looked at the list in his mind, only five remained. One quickly aligned with him, the sniveling coward, but he had his use for now. Two died, hard and brutal, may peace rest with their souls. Another returned, and was forgiven, and only one remained unshriven. But he knew that even when the final battle finished the list would remain, and he would never forget.
changehistory: (Lips of Adam)
1974

"So am I next?" The voice, which struggled to sound coolly amused, brought Adam's eyes up from where he was studying his wine to meet the other pair of blue ones across the table.

"Pardon?" Wine the color of blood, deep and ruby, caught the candle light in the crystal.

"They're gone," Daniel pointed out with a small curve of his lips. "Off with the boy, and who knows for sure when they'll be back, and here we are with our wine and our fire and your inviting me alone is a heretofore unprecedented event..."

"God, you've been spending far too much time with Arthur if you're actually using 'heretofore unprecedented' in everyday conversation," Adam said, giving him a disbelieving look.

"Which doesn't answer the question."

Adam tilted his head and studied Daniel for a moment, then glanced back at his wine for a long moment before taking a slow sip. "I haven't decided yet."

Absolute silence reigned in the room between them, broken only by the crackle of the fire in the fireplace. When Adam glanced up again, he found Daniel just staring at him. One eyebrow lifted in inquiry and he held the other man's eyes until Daniel was forced to look away.

"My god, she was right. You are a bastard."

Adam smiled without a trace of humor. "You want to be next."

"I'm not so sure of that..." Daniel set his wine glass down and stood.

"Yes, you are," Adam said, sprawling back more in contrast, tilting his head back to study Daniel. "You wouldn't be here if you weren't. You've been watching me from the start, from the day Arthur brought you to meet me."

"Arthur..." Daniel started.

"Married Angela. Angela married Arthur. They have a beautiful bouncing boy. And here we are, you and I, and you've never stopped watching me, in all these years."

"All you want is to upset Arthur," Daniel said, with a flash of temper.

"That's not all I want," Adam said, voice almost a purr now.

Daniel swallowed. "I should go."

"That's not what you want."

"How would you know?" Daniel finally snapped, and Adam stood, moving around the table to lean against it, not quite in Daniel's space, but near enough.

"I've been watching, too."

Daniel rocked--a step back, and then he moved forward, forcing Adam to shift his legs to make room for him. Hands braced on the table on either side of Adam, Daniel pressed close until the only thing separating them was their clothing.

"What do you want?" he growled, something fierce in his eyes. "To take what's Arthur's, because he took Angela? To hurt her for leaving? To bend each of us until we break, so you can reshape us as you will?"

Adam lifted one hand, slowly, long fingers slowly tracing down Daniel's cheek, and his lips curved slowly, eyes lighting up with something bright that might have been triumph. "Yes." Daniel's eyes widened in something like shock, and Adam kept up his slow caress along bone and flesh, his thumb tracing the curve of Daniel's lips as he met his eyes again. "Yes," he repeated, his voice little more than a breath over the other man's lips as he leaned in until they were a whisper apart. "I want."

Daniel gave.
changehistory: (The masks we all wear)
The two-room cabin was cold, but a fire in both the fireplace and the wood stove slowly warmed it, though, either way, Adam barely felt it. He’d tossed his backpack down on the bed in one corner of the room, lit several candles and built the fires, then settled on the rug in front of the fireplace to stare into the flames. It wasn’t hard to imagine what they’d feel like, licking up his body, over skin, burning it away, before it healed right back up again. He’d felt it, more than once. It was a familiar pain, that, but one that went back to the heart of everything.

A hand extended. A curse. An explosion. Pain, physical and mental. A girl, and then another, and another as he ran across continents to escape the shadow of the man he had been and the outstretched arm of the one he could have been. A hero. A villain. A merchant. A sailor. A mercenary. A soldier. A courtier. A hunter. A leader. An assassin. A rum runner. A gambler. A bank robber. A mob boss. A decorated war hero. He had been so many things, so many names, so many lives, tried on, worn for a while, then tossed aside.

They said they wanted him, but they didn’t even know who he was, who he had been. Did they want Takezo Kensei, mythical hero of Japan? Richard Sanders, reckless charlatan with the charming smile? Adam Monroe, leader and visionary who dreamed of a world reborn? James Maddox, the boy from the streets who watched his mother and sister burn, not knowing he had an ability that could save them, and his beloved, his brother fall with no way to know how to heal his wounds?

His lips curved in a cold smile, fingers curling into his palm as nails bit through skin. The Company got Adam, all the way. Cold, ruthless, hard, with a shell around his soul, his heart, that they could not break through. Oh, they cracked it a time or two. They made him scream. They even made him beg to die, but he’d done that before. Always, he pulled it back around him, the façade, the person they saw, with ice blue eyes that mocked their cameras and took what he wanted from under their noses, giving nothing back—no remorse, no repentance, no answers to questions only he could.

But three pairs of brown eyes had burned through that, looking at him, needing something he did not know if he could give. )
changehistory: (Uncertainty)
Immortal hero of legend and savior of Japan seeks disciples with vision and fortitude to help save the world and create a new world order where the weak are protected, those with abilities are respected, and children can grow up safe and loved and be nurtured to fulfill their potential. Educated in the highest courts of Europe, cultured, well-traveled, able to make the right person his world for centuries, with a good sense of humor and mischief, a need to spoil and pamper those closest to him, and blood that can heal any wound or illness that may afflict you. Has a interest in history, U2, BDSM, whiskey, politics, revolution and anarchy. Is a fabulous swordsman and a passionate pianist. Seeking those who are willing to work hard and make sacrifices for the greater good, all of which will be amply rewarded. Loyalty is an absolute must, as betrayal will not be tolerated. Dreamers, visionaries, and idealists encouraged to make contact. On a more personal note, seeking a special someone to stand by my side through this endeavor. Must be loyal and devoted, and willing to commit to being mine and mine alone. Should be willing to accept possessiveness and jealousy and bouts of moodiness, and not need to be in control. Please have a thorough understanding of the phrase: "Just love me, fear me, do as I say, and I will be your slave."

Profile

changehistory: (Default)
Adam Monroe

February 2014

S M T W T F S
      1
234 5678
9101112131415
16171819202122
232425262728 

Syndicate

RSS Atom

Style Credit

Expand Cut Tags

No cut tags
Page generated Sep. 25th, 2017 02:32 am
Powered by Dreamwidth Studios