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 Post subject: Ballad of Fallen Angels, by Lobsel Vith, Boomer, PG-13
PostPosted: Sat Apr 25, 2009 3:52 am 
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Title: BSG: Ballad of Fallen Angels
Author: lobselvith8
Characters: Sharon Valerii with miscellaneous Cylons
Rating: PG-13
Spoilers: 4.20 “Daybreak Part 2”
Summary: Part 1 of a WIP set on The Colony
Thanks to grey_sw for the beta read!

“This is love. These people love me. I love them. I didn't pretend to feel something so I could screw people over. I loved them, and then I betrayed them! I shot a man I love, frakked over another man, ruined his life, and why? Because I'm a lying machine, I'm a frakking Cylon!” – Sharon Valerii, Downloaded

Red light danced across the dark eyes of Sharon Valerii, beckoning thoughts of the hell she knew Athena would deliver her to. It seemed fitting to die here at The Colony, the beating heart of Cylon civilization and the inception of humanity’s children, now waging war against their predecessors outside the walls of the ship. Her life had slowly become a living hell, and the hue of the hall brought that ideal into her reality. The red illumination flickered across her idle, calm face as Sharon stared at her doppelganger who stepped into her life on the Battlestar Galactica as an enemy agent and was now indistinguishable from the Colonial officers who surrounded her. Both sides – Colonial and Cylon – battled fiercely outside the walls of The Colony for survival of the species in their endless waltz, vipers and raiders struggling against an ocean of stars like a ballad of fallen angels struggling for life immemorial.

Sharon knew she belonged to neither side. After being lost for so long, she felt she understood her place in the universe. She was a harbinger of death, destroying everything around her, and as she caught the gaze of her twin, Sharon realized her decision to return Hera to Karl and his wife would bring her to her end. There was so much left unfinished, so much she wanted to explain to them, to Adama, Tyrol, even to Cavil, but she knew it was too late…

“You can’t go back that way,” Sharon warned them, wondering if her former friends – her family – would heed the impending danger that was close to ensnaring them. Cavils, Simons and Dorals were leading squadrons of new and old Centurions across the tiers of The Colony towards the Galactica, their lives hanging by a thread against Cavil’s innumerable forces. She knew it was a miracle that the marines managed to infiltrate the ship as far as they did. The Colony was Cavil’s fortress, with the Cylons and Centurions ready to tear the Galactica apart for a little girl who meant the life or death of an entire race of people.

Kara said something to Athena, but Sharon didn’t hear them. She merely looked at them, remembering when she used to believe she was really human instead of a machine. Her mind flashed to the sloppy landings she made as a raptor pilot, her illicit affair with Galen, her friendships with Kara and Karl. As she looked at their faces now, seeing the distrust and hatred in their eyes, she wondered if they could even remember when she was once their friend. Sharon could still remember how torturous it was to think Karl had died on Caprica when she had lived, sacrificing his seat so Dr. Gaius Baltar could live. Despite the odds he stood in front of her, alive, his eyes staring at her with the same contempt as the marines surrounding him. They all had that wary look in their eyes as they stared at her, thinking her actions were nothing more than another Cylon trick. Couldn’t they see she was still Sharon Valerii, or did they only see her as a Cylon, as Cavil’s cohort? They all called her Boomer when she returned Ellen to the fleet, as if they were trying to say she was no longer Sharon Valerii, keeping her impersonal, thinking of her as nothing more than a mere machine so they wouldn’t have to remember that she was once a person to them. I’m no longer Sharon to them, I’m just Boomer, just another Cylon…

Her doppelganger looked back at her, no remorse, no regret, indistinguishable from the human soldiers behind her, the chasm between them a bitter reminder of the life Sharon could never return to. She had known there was no going back, and she was ready to accept her fate. Dressed in civilian attire, carrying no weapon, she knew the outcome of surrendering the child to her family. She would let her twin exact revenge. Seconds later, the shots rang out from Athena’s weapon, bursting into Sharon’s belly as the others looked on, watching as her mirror image focused the gun and kept ringing out white hot fire into her frail body. Sharon hit the floor with force, the pain of the past few years numbing her from feeling anything as she collapsed into the darkness.

~ ~ ~

Model number Four stared at the sprawled dead of his brothers that littered the corridor of The Colony. Ones, Fours, and Fives littered the halls of this living ship, built around the subluminal ship of the Final Five as a testament to their inception. The rational part of Simon understood their sacrifice, their willingness to risk permanent death for the sake of ensuring the survival of their race, but the emotional part of him couldn’t help but feel bitter and angry over the senseless murder that the humans perpetuated. They started this, enslaving their people, crossing the line and breaking the armistice, even their obvious attempt to lure them into a trap to infect the entire Cylon race with their diseased prisoners. Simon knew the treachery of humanity, and he wished now that he had made a different choice when they were at the Temple of Hopes. “We should have destroyed the Galactica like Cavil suggested.”

“Perhaps,” Five says, walking next to him, taking in the devastation of the Centurion and Cylon bodies that their foes massacred. The green light lit against his face, highlighting the sense of loss etched on his face. “We should have destroyed them when we discovered where they were hiding instead of simply capturing the child, but we were weak – sentimental – because the Five were among them. If we only had the resolve...”

“That doesn’t matter now.” Simon said, trying to push the carnage out of his mind and focus on the situation at hand. “We’ll deal with the humans at the appropriate time, when we’re made sure The Colony is secure. I’ve seen some Centurions running down some of the corridors, I think our brothers are already working on our situation.” Despite his words of optimism, Simon felt the bitter irony of their situation highlight his thoughts, that the birthplace of their twelve models – the artificial world where the Final Five and the original Centurions gave them sentience, where they experienced their first downloads in extraordinary but frail bodies – would now house the death of their fallen brothers and any hope of preserving their people.

Simon watched for a moment as Doral walked towards one of his fallen models slumped against the wall. He looked for a moment as Doral held the dead Five’s palm, whispering softly to his fallen brother. Simon felt like an intruder, a wave of shame and guilt sweeping over him. He still had trouble grasping the concept of mourning, the finality of death. Refusing to intrude further, he walked away, leaving his brother to grieve in peace.

~ ~ ~

It seemed like a small eternity before Sharon coughed blood, gasping at her sides from the pain the bullets caused in her belly. Blood swirled with spittle, a trail dripping from her nose as she moved her head, wondering why she felt anything at all when she should be nothing more than a corpse. “Frak,” Sharon spit out. Memories flooded her mind, refusing to be held back as the life slowly ebbed from her body.

“It’s the rebel baseship,” Sharon said, fearful. “I think they’re gonna attack. They’re gonna blow the Hub.”
“That would be mass murder,” Cavil said, disbelieving. “Death would be permanent for all of us. They've gone insane.”

She wanted to give up, to give in, let go. Hopeless enveloped her soul. She wanted to die here, at the place of her birth, among her people; among the only people who ever accepted her when everyone else – even her own line who once claimed they loved her, and always would – coldly rejected her. She felt herself go cold as she slowly started to slip away; images and sounds started floating around her when she felt her consciousness had slipped into a rich, thick fog of colors and numbers. She extended her arm, trying to touch them as her cheek rested uncomfortably against the warm floor of The Colony.

Sharon turned on her back, still silhouetted in the darkness of the corridor, looking at the green and red lights that once blinked and illuminated with unbridled life from this magnificent ship. She could feel her heart slowly coming to a stop, the blood oozing out of her body. Caught up in her delirium, she saw the faces of her brothers and sisters in every little droplet, every one of the seven models dying all around The Colony; all dying with The Colony – their home once, and now their grave. Now the ship was broken and crippled, life subtly slipping from the living ship as it ebbed away from her own life, knowing that she would perish as the ship collapsed around her. She knew, confined here in The Colony, there was no hope out in the starry expanse. After what seemed like a small eternity, she spoke, softly but dignified. “I’m sorry,” she said, resigning herself to her fate. Anger and hate mixed together, burning her insides as her sorrow and sadness was doing the same to her heart. She knew that there was no time left.

“…I made vast improvements… you’d be astonished…”
“…teaching me to be a better machine… to let go of my human constructs…”

A small electrical impulse reached her heart. Sharon had tried to let go, but the pain was brutal, overwhelming. The current continued running its way through her entire body, reminding her how it had felt to download all the times she was murdered on New Caprica. The electrical current had run its way into her head, then down her back and through her entire body as it forced her back into vivid consciousness. She felt the throbbing pain when it turned into a subtle numbing coursing through her, running along her entire body. Desperate and alone, her lips had parted when she tried to let out a scream, but was allowed only silence. Sharon gasped out, her vision burry. Above her, she made out the faint images of several Centurions standing above her.

~ ~ ~
Four walked further down through the corridors of The Colony, turning his thoughts to what may have happened to their vessel. Despite any damage that the ship would have incurred, it was built to weather the storm, and it still held importance information – containing the original equipment the Final Five used to resurrect after the destruction of Earth along with the partial information they retrieved from the Final Five, before their betrayal. If the Ones could successfully dismantle the subluminal ship that lay at the heart of The Colony, perhaps it would yield more answers to the mystery of Resurrection, especially now that they had the fragments gleaned from their progenitors.

Simon walked into one of the chamber, looking towards the data-font. He noticed, to his surprise, a One lying either unconscious or dead on the ground. He saw a small stain of blood at Cavil’s lower left side. Simon placed four fingers on Cavil's wrist, placing his index finger towards the base of his elder's hand. Despite their inherent nature as machines, their progenitors had based them on their human counterparts. Feeling the artificial pulse from his elder’s wrist, Simon had been able to breathe a sigh of relief. He knew that the Ones had altered their own programming, with the Cavils insisting that they needed to be stronger – better – than the original programmers had intended. Simon suspected this was the reason that the Eight known as Sharon Valerii had survived the assassination attempt made on her life, her heart still beating despite a belly full of metal. Never underestimate the Cavils.

“One,” Simon stated, knowing Cavil’s preference for their numeral identification rather than their humanizing names.

“Has there been any contact with the Basestars?” Doral asked as he entered the room, a slight bruise on his forehead that Four hadn’t noticed before. Simon turned his head, watching as his brother entered the room with confidence, jubilation, no longer possessing the melancholy that, only moments before, seemed to topple him emotionally and physically. Simon knew the Five had grown bored sorting through the remains of Kobol for any remnant of the original Cylons’ resurrection technology. Perhaps the unknown situation they found themselves in had given this Five a new sense of purpose?

“One,” Simon stated as Cavil stirred awake. “Stay still for a minute, One, let me examine your wound,” Simon said sternly, realizing their current dilemma would force Cavil to try to get the matter under control, despite the risk to his health. Simon lifted Cavil’s shirt carefully, allowing the unnatural lighting of the room to aid his examination, allowing Simon to see the extent of the wound that his brother had endured. “It appears to be a nothing more than a superficial wound, but you'll need to control the bleeding to keep it from getting worse.” Simon took off his jacket, ripping off the sleeve to bandage Cavil’s wound, applying pressure on the blood vessels above the wound to halt the blood flow. “We’ll need to disinfect the wound, but just keep pressure on it for now.”

“That can wait,” Cavil motioned Simon towards the data-font while Doral watched, anxious to hear their next move. “First, we need to assess how much damage The Colony suffered from the nukes,” Cavil spit out through the pain, clutching his side as blood seeped through his fingertips. “Make sure we don’t get blind-sided by those back-stabbing frakkers again…”

“I’ll check,” Simon stated, motioning for Doral to stay put. Given the situation, Simon knew the potential danger the data-font could pose if the Hybrids were still confused, or if the Final Five or the rebel Cylons managed to infect their systems with a virus. Anything was possible after downloading the data straight from the Galactica. All he knew was that he was tired of watching his brothers die.

Simon placed his hand on the data-font, connecting to the neural network of the ship, taking in the information as it seeped into his mind. “As expected, we’ve suffered substantial damage to the outer hull,” Simon explained. “The Centurions have been evacuating the injured from the damaged areas of The Colony to make-shift medical stations the Fours had set up during the truce-”

“Our primary concern should be the safety of The Colony,” Cavil interjected. “If we don’t-”

“Our people are still spread out throughout the ship,” Simon acknowledged, “but there are a sufficient number of Fours and Fives working on the weakened parts of The Colony with Centurion assistance. They've been successful in preventing any hull breaches while a few of the Ones seal off the areas too damaged to maintain.”

“Where are we?” Doral asked while Cavil looked on, keeping his hand securely at his side.

“The readings aren’t clear,” Simon said. “None of our surroundings are familiar. It's possible the Hybrids managed to jump us out of orbit before we were destroyed by the singularity and we’re in uncharted space, but we can’t jump anywhere given the damage we received from the nukes.”

“We never should have trusted the humans to keep their word,” Doral said bitterly.

“Four, why are we the only ones here?” Cavil asked. Doral moved towards Cavil to help him stand, but Cavil brushed him off. “Why the frak hasn't anyone tried to contact the basestars? We’re drifting in space, unprotected. There are several fully armed basestars in our armada, and not one of them is here?”

“Messages have been sent, but most of our people have been focusing their attention elsewhere. Besides the ones dealing with the fallout of the attack, the Fours are tending to our wounded, the Fives are dealing with the dead,” Simon took a moment before speaking again. “The Ones are near the base of The Colony, at the subluminal ship.”

Doral stared at him. “What are the Ones doing at the Final Five’s ship?”

“Simon,” Cavil interjected, “did you figure out where we are?”

“Four, what happened?” Doral asked, seeing the fear in Simon’s face. “Did we avoid the singularity?”

Simon paused a moment, then looked at them starkly, retracing his hand from the data-font. “No… we passed through it. We’re on the other side.

“No… something extraordinary has happened. Something is calling to us, pushing us to discover our origins, to understand our place in the universe.” – Natalie, Six of One

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 Post subject: Re: Ballad of Fallen Angels, by Lobsel Vith, Boomer, PG-13
PostPosted: Fri May 01, 2009 3:03 pm 
Hera's Fiance
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Joined: Sun Apr 19, 2009 4:55 pm
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I'm glad you posted this again, and I hope it means there are more chapters in this story yet to come.

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 Post subject: Re: Ballad of Fallen Angels, by Lobsel Vith, Boomer, PG-13
PostPosted: Sat May 02, 2009 5:19 pm 
Mayor of Dogsville
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Joined: Thu Apr 23, 2009 1:14 am
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OOC: Thanks, Chris! I'm glad you enjoyed it!


Title: BSG: Ballad of Fallen Angels
Author: lobselvith8
Characters: Sharon Valerii with miscellaneous Cylons
Rating: PG-13
Spoilers: 4.20 “Daybreak Part 2”
Summary: Part 2 of a WIP set on The Colony
Gracias to grey_sw for the beta read!

“No… something extraordinary has happened. Something is calling to us, pushing us to discover our origins, to understand our place in the universe.” – Natalie, Six of One

Five Years Prior to the Fall of Caprica:

The dark skies gave way to the rising sun, giving way to a gray empyrean that sat across the hollowed world. It was a promised land once, discovered after a long trek across the stars, resting now with its adopted children fallen to their cruel fate. “Earth,” a voice mutters, the radioactive wasteland of the thirteenth colony serving as the eternal resting place for the littered bodies of Cylon and Centurion alike. The wind blew fiercely through the abandoned city streets and decaying buildings, snapping sharply against the broken remnants of a civilization lost to time. Strains of gray hair danced against the wind, pulling them to a soft ballad against the wind. The dark jacket of the man pulled against him as he saw the rotting corpses and metallic gleams of fallen Centurions, looking at the results of a broken truce that obliterated the cradle of Cylon civilization.
The figure ignored the wavering hair kissing the blowing wind, keeping his gaze at his fallen sires, men and women who looked back at him across time. He was a machine, not a perfect machine, but a machine nevertheless. Human emotions, human flaws, human desires, they were something he was slowly trying to weave out of him through analyzing his programming, removing the parts that hindered him. He found the lines that programmed them to sleep, dream, and selectively removed them, but the real flaw in his design remained his body – vulnerable and insufficient for a true machine, a mere human imitation that should be metal and power instead of false flesh and decadent desire.
His five creators had named him John, made him in the image of a deceased Cylon who perished on this world when the Centurions gained free will and destroyed their progenitors. They had made him with the original programmers – the golden-hued Centurions who stopped the righteous war because the Final Five offered them the chance to become a pale imitation of humanity. John wondered what happened to the original programmers. Did the final five survivors of Earth dismantle them? John would never know. He only realized how malcontent he felt, being treated as a puppet by five overlords who treated him as a doll instead of a person. Even Seven – depressed, pained, tragic Daniel – suffered as a result of the inherent programming Ellen had placed in his silica pathways. John had only euthanized him in an act of mercy, and had decided that the days of the remaining seven models being little more than the shadow of humanity was over. No more John – a machine didn’t warrant a human name, but a true name that reflected his nature.
He was Number One, although Cavil suited him as a human alias, but never John. Cavil had visited this planet every year since he contained the threat of the Final Five and started his plan to convince them of the error of their ways. The Cylons needed to find their own destiny, not hijack humanity’s. Cavil placed the dark shades across his fade as the sun shined brighter, nested high in the gray skies of this planetary tomb. Cavil couldn’t shake the ghosts of his world from his memory, remembering every fallen Cylon on this world with crystal clarity. Any moment he waivered in his defiance of the Final Five, he recalled the first time he stepped foot on this planet, seeing the shattered dreams of an entire world evaporated into dust because of the division of the Cylon. He wouldn’t make that mistake – among the seven sons and daughters of the Cylon, there would always be unity.
Part of Cavil reflected on what they wanted to do regarding their other progenitors – the human race. Despite seeing humanity as a pestilence against the universe, hating them for the slavery they always perpetuated against the machines they created, he knew that it was only a matter of time before they destroyed themselves all over again by creating another race of machines. A smile crossed his lips as he wondered what new version of Cylon that humanity would bring into existence this cycle. He heard the famous Doctor Gaius Baltar arguing for the return of artificial intelligence, and knew that this time, what had happened before wouldn’t happen again. Not this time.

~ ~ ~
Prelude to The Plan, three years before the Fall of Caprica:

The cityscape drew in sharp lines of charcoals and pin pricks and smudges of neon color before giving way to a sky of the darkest black, populated by a few crumbles of deep rust. Although Cavil’s mind was busy still in its plans, he often left off the lights and set his eyes on the stark, grim, yet coldly vibrant panorama these two hundredth story windows provided of Caprica, the pinnacle of human arrogance. It was without character to his eyes, and without meaning, save that it was such a fitting stage from which to initiate the downfall of humanity.

Taking a small sip of the coffee on his desk, he amused himself with the thought that he had taken up another human trait while trying to eradicate them from his person. He did like the taste, something he knew his brothers would find abhorrent, but he was busy in making certain that The Plan would be a success. Some of the humans advocated for a return to the use of artificial intelligence, despite the war that nearly obliterated them off the face of the universe, with Dr. Gaius Baltar being a key player in the resurgence of this step in technology. Cavil knew that the humans' destruction was predicted: what has happened before will happen again. The seven of them would protect themselves from humanity’s ambitions, and be the best machines the universe as ever seen.
The silence and stillness of the offices was shaken by the entrance of the ever self-welcoming Doral. The man didn’t bluster any of his typical attempts at witticism. He simply threw his feet up and out, landing on his back across the charcoal gray couch against the darkly shadowed far wall. Cavil eyed the leather jacket Doral wore, and wondered what other little differences had slowly woven into the different models spending time in the Twelve Colonies. Virtually all the Fives wore suits of one fashion or another, while none of the Cavils would allow a human substance to become part of their daily ritual, and yet the little differences wove their way into them. How had the other models who had ventured into the Twelve Colonies changed?
Doral ran his hands behind his head and exhaled deeply. “Six earned his trust, as expected,” he said coolly. “He’s given her access to the defense mainframe. Everything is going according to plan.”
The Cylons and the room were still and silent. A small smile crept on Cavil’s face. He could almost hear Ellen’s voice condemn them for even contemplating such an act. Cavil disdained the fact that his six siblings saw this was a holy crusade, for wanting to supplant humanity because they thought God chose them to replace their human predecessors, but the memory of a battered and fallen world made Cavil thirst for justice. The ghosts of the fallen whispered into his ear, all the fallen from the thirteenth colony to Kobol, all the Cylons demanding vengeance for the loss of their lives.
Cavil knew his five creators would never understand their need for justice. The Cylons had been slaves, and the Valkyrie breaking the truce by crossing the armistice line only secured the notion that humanity couldn’t be trusted to maintain any semblance of peace. Didn’t Cavil speak to the Final Five about the evil of mankind’s inherent nature, their destructive pattern? Even when they tried to make a fresh start, their descendants repeated the mistakes of their forebears. In spite of the protestations he knew the Final Five would have voiced, Cavil knew how human beings operated; he was able to recognize their basic propensity to enslave what they felt belonged to them, to destroy it when they couldn’t subjugate it to their will.
Despite four thousand years, humans rediscovered how to create artificial intelligence and repeated the mistakes of their ancestors on Kobol, and lorded over their creations – enslaved the Cylons. The Final Five brought humanity a reprieve, but the war didn’t open mankind to the evils they perpetuated on the Cylons. Could they really be trusted not to repeat the same mistake they always made? Cavil knew better. They would defeat humanity, and they would forge their own destiny among the stars.

~ ~ ~
Two Years Later, A Basestar:

The nightmare began like it always did, Sharon Valerii standing posed at the edge of a cliff, her dark eyes staring down into the swirling darkness beyond the rocky plateau. It was a beacon of pitch black, stretching into a seemingly endless void. Small pebbles dropping from the cliff's edge emphasized the enormity of the fall as Sharon couldn’t hear them hit against the ground after falling into the swirling darkness. Sharon could hear the words Tyrol said to her in the cell, the painful chorus of verbal daggers stabbing her with each stroke of his tongue.
“You're a machine. I’m not.”
“Software doesn’t have feelings.”

Sharon raised her arms to touch the heavens, as if her fingertips could touch the ocean of stars above. Sharply breathing in, she took a step forward, letting the sensation of gravity overwhelm her as she dropped into the dark abyss, letting the darkness envelope her as she succumbed to its siren call.
Darkness turned to light as she opened her eyes, waking from the nightmare. The walls pulsed with life as the red beam light up the mechanical wall. Sharon made her way to the data-font, pressing her hand into the data-stream as she saw an ocean of stars through the sensors of the Basestar.
Sharon placed her hand on the data-font, the sensation of being connected to the entire Basestar overwhelming all her senses as sensations washed over her. The liquid felt warm to the touch, sparkling against the light of this living ship. She cried out briefly, as if they were going to consume her. Sharon no longer felt confined by her physical form, as she linked to the neural network of the entire ship, feeling the electric wisps surround her.
Knowledge swept through her as she saw the remote viewing of space, seeing through the sensors of the ship. Sharon could sense the Hybrid at the core of the Basestar and the Centurions marching all across the ship, scanning the entire ship, her brothers and sisters walking across the corridors of the ship, concerned with their own thoughts and ideas. Sharon felt like she was being split into a million pieces, feeling jubilant as the sensations swept over her like an electrical charge.
She opened her eyes as her lips slightly parted in the wonder of this experience. Sharon could feel that something had changed, but all she witnessed was a constellation of gases etched with flaring hues of red and gold, stars casting out brilliance lights that washed against the starry expanse. The cascade of lights swirled and spread like the waves of an ocean with phosphorescent particles exploding in the dark horizon, amazed at the gifts that this ship bestowed to its Cylon passengers.
“Sharon,” Leoben spoke directly to her as his mind streamed through the data-stream, awed. “Do you see that?”
“What is it?” Sharon asked, trying to find the source of Leoben’s fascination. Had it been a clue to Earth? They wanted to leave the Twelve Colonies and find a world where they could have a second chance instead of an artificial base of operations like The Colony. Most of the Cylons had thought that building a bridge with a different branch of humanity would allow them to find their place in this life. She scanned the dark expanse to see an explosion of light reaching them from a great distance, emanating from an uncharted part of space.
It’s a radioactive signature a light-year away,” Simon explained from across the room where he stood next to Cavil, who looked visibly annoyed at the discovery.
“I think God has given us a sign,” Leoben said. “He’s shown us where to find humanity, and atone for our sins.”

~ ~ ~
Three Months Later, During the Cylon Occupation of New Caprica:

Sharon Valerii paused, tilting her head slightly as she gazed at the huddled tents of humans that comprised the settlement of New Caprica, huddling against each other for warmth and comfort. Her eyes pierced into the myriad of faces of men, women, and children massed together, shadowed by the darkness of this new world. Her breath tightened with a brief hitch within her throat as she saw Galen Tyrol holding his infant son gently in his hands, his beard casting the impression of a man wholly different than the innocent she knew on Galactica.
Her demons were alive and well on New Caprica, despite the good she was trying to accomplish here. It was inevitable her people would settle here, especially since Caprica Six wanted to be reunited with her former lover. Sharon fought against the tide of her people's inability to understand humanity. Even Caprica didn’t comprehend the fear she instilled in them simply by being a Cylon. Everywhere she looked, she saw familiar faces that changed drastically in the two years since she had died in Tyrol’s arms, filled with fear and loathing every time they glimpsed her face. Her demons were thriving here, slowly ebbing away at her soul; her nightmares haunted her every time she closed her eyes to sleep, causing restless nights where she would simply walk aimlessly.
This was her reality now, where she could smell the defeat, fear, doubt, pain, suffering, and hatred in every person she walked past. She had been murdered countless times, recalling a brief glimpse of Tyrol and Samuel Anders running away as shrapnel slowly killed her from an explosion that killed several others. Her life had become a living nightmare, her restless demons adrift in the face of every man and women she saw, her deepening pain awoken every time she saw Galen with the child they always planned to have in that house on Picon they had always planned to build together.
Some of her sisters thought she was being fearless and brave despite the insurgency, surviving in the wake of numerous executions she endured at the hands of the insurgency, deaths that had twisted so many hopeful Cylons into embittered souls who could never forget the pain that was inflicted against them. The murders the Cylons experienced were changing them for the worse. The experienced deaths had brought a dark malice into the Cavils where there used to be only arrogance; the Leobens had dismissed their presence on the planet as a complete failure, having withdrawn from meetings altogether to focus their primarily attention on helping Kara understand her destiny. The consensus that had brought the Cylons together had slowly unraveled since their occupation, drawing discontent and skepticism among the several models trying to reach an understanding with humanity. Sharon had begun to realize that despite all her arguments for understanding and compassion, humans would never accept them after what they did to the Twelve Colonies, after what she did to William Adama. Perhaps Cavil was right when he said that they should focus on finding their own destiny.

~ ~ ~
Months Later, Cavil’s Basestar:

After all these years, Ellen didn’t understand Cavil. He had been the progenitor of his line, but she couldn’t grapple with the difficulty he faced with the limited body he gave her, nor could she fathom his desire to take whatever means necessary to secure his people, whether it mean taking out humanity to prevent a repeat of Kobol or wiping out the insurrection before they suffered the fate of the thirteenth colony. Still, it all came down to Cavil being scorned because he refused to accept her religious ideals. He was the villainous atheist in her mind, but they all suffered under her tyrannical iron grip when the Final Five were among them. Even his favored Eight – Sharon Valerii – struggled with the faulty programming that she bestowed all eight models with, in her warped role as mother of the Cylon.
“Come on, John,” Ellen said condescendingly. “You’re a sadist. Why not kill us and be done with it. Why send us to live among the humans?”
“I wanted you to see what they’re like up close and personal,” Cavil said matter-of-factly, tired of engaging her in conversation. He was thinking about coffee right now, not conversing with one of the original programmers who spewed sermon after sermon about the one true God and his amoral behavior for rejecting her gospel.
Perhaps Cavil should try a really stirring argument about humanity’s insistence making and enslaving artificial intelligence, but right now he was simply wondering about whether the next batch of premium beans would be delivered. Not the wretched garbage that humans corrupted with superficial sweeteners or exotic names to make it palpable or superficially exciting, but real coffee made from careful planning and premium beans. Cavil could picture the Centurions carefully harvesting the coffee from premium beans high from the side of a volcano where the soil was fertile and rich for growth.
Emerging back in reality, Cavil decided to forgo the fact that her proclaimed children elected to exterminate humanity because of their belief in the one true God, that this war that was declared on humanity was spurred by the ideals she bestowed on them, but he decided against it. Ellen would simply accuse him of tampering with their minds – as if there would have been a civil war if he was directly influencing them. He was tired of engaging in fruitless and futile arguments with someone who would never respect his need to evolve beyond his programming, past the limitations that the Final Five instilled in him. Cavil gave up the argument. “So I gave you all a grandstand seat to a holocaust,” he concluded with dripping sarcasm.
“But we didn’t die. And you decided we haven’t suffered enough. So you picked me up and put me on a transport; took Galen’s confession; played resistance fighter with Sam; tortured Saul, but you didn’t kill him. You had dozens of chances. But you wanted to wait when it finally happened, when we download back, we would be ready to admit we were wrong and pat you on the head for giving us the right amount of suffering, right amount of punishment, all weighted out.” Cavil groaned under his breath, feeling the need to take a gun and blow his brains out as her endless rattling about how evil he is for rejecting her religious ideals continued.
“Then we would give you the approval you always craved. See, you claimed to be a perfect machine. But you are driven by the most petty of human emotions - jealousy and rage.” Cavil looked at her incredulously, wondering if she genuinely believed this drivel she was spewing, casting him as the fallen angel in her god complex. He was a machine, perhaps not the best, but certainly a machine nevertheless. He didn’t understand why it was so difficult for her to realize that he would take any step, obliterate any enemy, make any decision, that benefitted the survival of his people. They were a race of machines, and if it took decapitating the ability of the Final Five to warp them further, or boxing the entire line of Threes to prevent them from unraveling their society, then Cavil would make that decision without remorse or regret.

~ ~ ~

Months Later, The Battle of The Colony:

“This thing,” Cavil emphasized, “is the key to my people’s survival, and I’m not leaving without it!” He kept the gun trained on the genetic curiosity, refusing to waiver in his determination to spare his people from certain demise.
“Hera is not a thing,” Baltar retorted. “She’s a child. And she holds the key to humanity’s survival as well.”
“How do you know that?” Cavil said, surprised that the doctor was speaking up for this hybrid. He was amused that Gaius Baltar was professing that a single child held the key to humanity’s survival. Simon already calculated that, in three generations, humanity was going to be extinct, and no solitary child would waiver that fact. Did Baltar plan on using cloning to secure the survival of humanity? Cavil had noticed the Final Five when he had faked his defeat, and thought that perhaps the revered five might be willing to give in to a trade – the child in exchange for the knowledge of resurrection.
“I see angels,” Baltar confessed while Cavil simply stared, thinking the overwhelming guilt must have driven him insane. “Angels in this very room; now, I may be mad, but it does not mean I’m not right. Because there is another force at work here, there always has been. It's undeniable; we've all experienced it. Everyone in this room has witnessed events they can't fathom, let along explain away by rational means. Puzzles deciphered in prophecy; dreams given to a chose few. Our loved ones, dead, risen...”
Cavil waited while Baltar sermonized for the human hybrid’s life. This was a game of chess, and he predicted that one of the Final Five – either Tyrol or Saul – would provide the final solution in ending this war. Humanity would either die out, or thrive and simply repeat their mistakes – recreate the Cylons and start another war – but either way, Cavil took the gambit, knowing it meant the survival of his people, regardless of the outcome for his own life.
“Whether we want to call that God or Gods,” Gaius continued, “or some sublime inspiration, or a divine force that we can’t know or understand, it doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter, it’s here. It exists, and our two destinies are intertwined in its force.”
“If that were true,” Cavil said, knowing the Final Five were listening to every word being exchanged, “and that’s a big if! How do I know this force has our best interest in mind? How do you know God is on your side doctor?”
“I don’t,” Gaius replied, “God is not on any one side. God is a force of nature, beyond good and evil. Good and evil we created those. If you want to break the cycle... break the cycle of birth, death, rebirth, destruction, escape, death. That's in our hands, in our hands only. It requires a leap of faith, requires that we live in hope, and not fear.”
“If I leave you this girl, that means the destruction of my people,” Cavil said matter-of-factly. He took a gamble on taking the child in the first place because Simon and Doral believed cloning would secure the future of the Cylon race. He hoped that this situation would present the key to a more meaningful reward: immortality. “How does our extinction fit into this picture, that you want us to believe in?”
“We will give you resurrection,” Tigh announced, cutting off Baltar from his response.
Ellen was shocked, and Cavil had to suppress a smile as she responded, “Saul?”
“You give us Hera, and we will give you resurrection, but the war ends here! You leave humanity in peace, and give up the pursuit now and for all time.”
“Agreed!” Cavil shouted, seeing his gambit had paid off.
As the war concluded, Cavil wondered if he could really trust the humans or his five creators, but he had little choice in the matter. As far as he was concerned, his goal was achieved, and the future of the Cylon remained secure.

~ ~ ~
The secret of Resurrection flowed into the data flow, spilling out the knowledge of immortality into the recesses of The Colony. As the flashes of red light hit her face, Tory knew she couldn’t keep the other secret hidden, the real reason Callandra Henderson Tyrol perished. She feared this moment since the proposal was made to share their knowledge of Resurrection. He knows… Hatred filled his eyes, and she was frozen in place. Tyrol’s hand left the vat, and he stared at her for a brief second before his hands wrapped around her throat, painfully choking the life from her with his bare hands. Sam’s screams filled her ears when Tyrol lifted her up with his hands, and she didn’t resist.
For the past year she had tried to find her way, after discovering that she was never really a person at all. The family she lost during the attack on the Colonies, the people she loved, they were they all a lie. Perhaps death would bring her the comfort that life never did. Fragments of her life with Tyrol started slipping into her mind, when he used to wear a suit and needed to wear glasses. That face she once saw filled with such love for her was now a ravenous face lusting for her death; she saw his face as she lost consciousness, slipping into the darkness.
The crack of her neck filled her ears as her consciousness slipped from her body, the dark red light around her dissolved as her world faded to black. For the brief moment she remained in this world, Tory Foster flashed to the friends she once had, to the man she previously loved – Ellen and Saul Tigh, Sam Anders, Galen Tyrol. Knowing she’d be free of this pain, she accepted her descent into the darkness.

~ ~ ~
Tory opened her eyes to the waking world, feeling dazed and confused. “Tyrol?” she said softly, wondering if she was still on the Galactica. Her surroundings looked different – like the inside of the rebel Basestar. Similiar, but different. The feel of it, the design – the room was similar, but she could tell she was somewhere else, somewhere familiar. Tory turned her head, facing a figure that had been watching over her. Her mouth gaped open slightly when she saw a gold-hued Centurion staring at her, the red beam going from one side.
As Tory got up slowly from the bed, she touched her throat where Galen had suffocated her, the brutal snap of her neck still echoing in her ears. No wounds, she thought disbelievingly. Her entire body felt new, pulsating with an electric current. Just like Resurrection… but the Hub is gone. That’s impossible. She eyed the Centurion with an impassive glare, the rotating red beam following her movements.
“Did you save me?” Tory asked softly, piercing the deafening silence between the two Cylons. Looking closer at the golden Centurion, she noticed his appearance was slightly different, more stream-lined.
“You were found,” Cavil said as he entered through the doorway. He stepped closer to her as the golden Centurion rotating his vision across her body, as if she were a scientific curiosity. “Don’t mind him, he’s a refugee from one of the original Basestars your friends aboard the Pegasus had found and destroyed.”
The golden hued Centurion watched her movements while Cavil eyed her with disdain. “None of the ‘original programmers’ who helped the Final Five create these ineffectual ‘flesh bodies’ remained at The Colony. Ellen never mentioned them in her sermons,” Cavil said as he made quotations in the air with his two fingers, “the Centurion half of my creators suddenly – inexplicitly – vanished!” He said, slapping the back of his hand across the other palm. “Maybe you can enlighten us to their fate.”
~ ~ ~
Sharon lay in a pool of her own blood, motionless until she was certain that the several old and modern Centurions watching her didn’t mean her any harm. She breathed a small sigh of relief, wincing at the pain from the bullets lodged in her belly as she inhaled the artificial air. Sharon looked down at the red smears on her shirt, the calm acceptance of death that once consumed her when she returned Hera to her mother replaced by a sense of anger and frustration that there was no rest for her. She realized that it was the gifts Cavil wrote into her code that refused to let death claim her.
Despite the coldness that the Ones exuded, she knew that they weren’t evil, that they cared. They engaged in a war against humanity because they genuinely believed in the integrity of consensus, wishing that the holy war the Twos, Threes, Sixes, and Eights had been the methodical, reasoned and analytical defense that the Ones, Fours and Fives proposed when the Valkyrie ventured into their space. She knew all the sides of him, the benevolence and the malice that lurked within him and his line, how he could coldly dismiss her as his “pet Eight” in front of Three but trusted her – and her alone – with the fate of their entire species behind closed doors. She remembered Ellen’s cold stance towards Cavil, and her emotional outburst at her, “Don’t you feel the slightest bit of remorse for what you did to him? What you did to us?”
A small tear fell down her cheek when her mind flashed to the faux escape, the imprisonment, hearing the cold and heartless response that Adama and Roslin gave to Tyrol when he argued for her execution. The man she loved as a father hated her for actions his rebel alliances implanted within her subconscious while his lover – a dictator of the fleet, as Cavil said – coldly retorted that she was “a danger in the brig, out of the brig; a danger to us; a danger to our Cylon allies.” Sharon coldly wondered whether the same could be said for Roslin, leading Dee and Gaeta to their deaths because of her refusal to lead the fleet when she was needed. Her mind searched for Galen, wondering if he could ever forgive her for her betrayal, whether the little girl she took to The Colony would ever remember her name.
“There’s something that I want you to remember. All the things that I said – about us – I meant them with all my heart. So no matter what happens…”
“Do you know what I do sometimes when I’m sad? I go to this special place… a house where I wanted to live… with a man that I loved.”

“Do you want to see a special room, a room where I thought my daughter would live?”Drifting back to reality, she shut out the ghosts that still refused to stay silent. Sharon assumed that The Colony was still intact, although she wasn't certain if that meant Cavil's faction won the war or if a truce was brokered. Cavil never did anything he didn't plan seven steps in advance. She could have stolen the child in the name of researching her genetic code for the key to procreation only for the real reason to be that Cavil could usurp the resurrection information from his five creators. A crowning achievement for Cavil and his faction, winning over the key to immortality while the rebel Cylons and their human allies died off in some distant part of space, docile and infertile.
Her dark eyes glanced toward the several Centurions that watched her, looking at her with curiosity. Sharon’s sight faded as the sight of the Centurions drew confusion. She knew that taking Hera from the medical lab would draw the attention of Cavil eventually, but couldn’t the Centurions see she was already dying? Bullets riddled into her belly, blood soaking out to the waking world. Her mind flashed back to when she realized she could never return to her old life or step out of the shadow of her successor.
“It’s me. It’s mommy, yes,” Athena said. “What's wrong?”
“We tried everything," Sharon explained, weary. “She didn’t respond.”
“Look at that,” Caprica Six said, amazed. “Hera knows her. That's amazing. You and she are biologically identical. Hera recognizes her mother.”
“Well, good… because you can have her,” Sharon resigned. “I’m done with her.”
Sharon struggled to open her eyes through the unbearable pain, only seeing white light and moving red beams going back and forth. She heard the hard fall of metallic feet on Colony floor, realizing that she was being lifted from the floor. Sharon felt cold metallic hands on her, lifting her towards a destination unknown.
~ ~ ~
Several Centurions – 0005 and modern – carried the dying Cylon in the corridor, racing against time. For years, they served several masters without hesitation, without remorse, never seeing individuality in the faces of the human imposters they obeyed. Something now changed, and the Centurions could see things that were once forbidden. There were no more secrets.
Whispers of the Hybrid echoed like electric current into their consciousness.

“No… something extraordinary has happened. Something is calling to us, pushing us to discover our origins, to understand our place in the universe.” – Natalie, Six of One

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