I always liked riding the train. The faint glow of lonely compartments always made me feel at peace. What a joke to consider peace inside my broken battlefield. The delicate quiet of the night is no match for the thunderous power of machinery. But there I sat in the confines of an empty railcar, the soft rattle of the train keeping me company. Outside I see the fading remains of hundreds of years of existence pass by. “We will be arriving in fifteen minutes.”
Yet, something about the certainty of the destination always makes me uneasy. It isn’t the destination, but rather that once you’ve started you can’t escape the destination. The driver knows my name- He knows all our names.
Provided for your consideration is “Heavy Rain”, an audio documentation of Nem’s eventual descent into brokenness and despair. This excerpt from Phase One of the Divinity Transmissions series helps tell the story of what would perhaps be Nem’s most significant murder to date. The murder that would finally sever Nem’s very soul…[a mother stands clutching her child]. But then, is the sacrifice of one young human life for the cultivation of common good something to so easily dismiss as evil?
———- torgo.bandcamp.com ———-
Nem was the most feared gunslinger of his time.
Even after his passing, his name was held in awed reverence by the sons of the living for far longer than his body held against the savage teeth of the earth. So much so, in fact, that many eventually began to question whether his passing was merely death, or if it were the work of some divine plan beyond their present. Perhaps they knew no man stood even the slightest chance of killing him, or maybe they simply chose to deny that the closest thing to a deity they’d ever known could in fact expire. Nobody even remembered the burial. Skeptics said they had chosen to forget out of some perverted sense of denial, while others insisted his body must have rotted before any could move it. As time passed, their suspicions of his divine abduction turned to myths, which turned to legends. Their suspicions, strangely enough, would ultimately prove to be not far from the truth.
While Nem was not necessarily an evil man, he could hardly be called good. True, he did purge the world of some of the most evil killers of his time, but many feared what they believed to be a man nourished by his own hate. The truth is, the only thing he ever really hated was the idea of fate. It was his cold apathy towards the living that made him such a prime candidate for hire so many millennia later.
Thus follows the Writings of Nem:
You don’t know how lucky you are. If only you knew what would become of your children’s descendants you would likely tear at the stem of your own heart. But you shouldn’t worry- as dismal as it may seem for you, they are happy. They are content to live without ambition. If you could, you might too. But you can’t.
I have lived among your children’s children as an equal. We, that is, Torgo, have seen the great wonders that pride births, but we have seen the frustration at the hands of progress’ curse. Our mission is to relay to you this condensed telling of the future, much as one might study the history of his ancestors. This history, paradoxically, is under dictation of its student. My purpose is not to take sides, although you may find that you yourself cannot help but do so.
Remember: Everybody has a motive.