The following piece is inspired in large part by the collective work of my past (roughly 2005-2006), and Alkaline Trio. Mostly Alkaline Trio. I know it's cliche, but their songs pulled me through the darkest time of my life, and I owe them everything for that. Melodramatic as that last bit sounds, I assure you that Alkaline Trio also taught me how to be sarcastic. Most of my early work would have made great punk rock songs. Yes, I am that vain.

I was crying out for help in poetry no one would ever read,

All the while wasting away as the devil planted his seed.

It grew a poisonous branch through my heart,

and pierced my ribcage like cupid’s dart.

I fell for a face unknown in a fictional city inside my head;

I woke from daydreams alone in my big, empty brass bed.

I wished for someone to come along and save me from myself,

so like the princess poisoned by the witch I put my dreams upon a shelf,

and fell into a coma and slept until prince charming came to my rescue.

In a horror-movie twist of fate I woke up six years later still waiting for you.

I dug myself out of the mud and the mire.

My hands worked tirelessly driven by a single desire:

I would see myself to the other side of this grave;

I would not die unto my heart a slave.

Time passed and so did the pain of losing you.

Eventually I grew up and got a clue:

If I wanted something out of life

I’d have to chase it down and murder it with my own knife.

So, I guess I’m jumping on the bandwagon because I can’t think of anything better to do right now. Shout-out to @Emily_Rose_Dreams for tagging me initially. Sure, I have a paper I should be working on and a project for a friend before she graduates on Saturday, but do I have the motivation to do the things I should do? Absolutely not. So here goes:

16 “Random” Facts About Me (could I be any more narcissistic right now? Probably).

1. First and foremost, for the new peeps, if you’ve visited my site in the last few weeks you’ve inherited a biased version of the person I really am. If you subscribed to my site during the time when I had found contentment and peace, I want you to understand right now that is not who I am 95% of the time. If you’ve been surprised by the change in tone of my work in the last 48hrs, that is why. What you’re seeing now is more who I am. I like the girl I was for a little while. She was calm, rational, coherent, but I woke up 48hrs ago and knew the crazy had come back, and now I’m trying to make it through the days feeling like a hundred different people all at once. For the last six hours I’ve been pissed off and angry, and only in the last twenty minutes, after listening to Stone Sour, have I begun to calm down. This temporary calm won’t last, I know that. My mother has been diagnosed as bi-polar. I believe I have inherited her disease.
2. I am a Hall Director (or Dorm Parent) at the university I graduated from. I’m currently working on my Masters degree at the same university. When I finish here in 2014 I will be moving on to get my Doctorates; in what, I don’t know yet. My undergraduate degree is in Communications with an Emphasis in English, and my Masters Degree is in Business Leadership (because it is the only degree they have here at this university). They do not currently have a doctoral degree so I will have to attend a different university for that. I will probably work on my doctorates in Communications, something English or Literature related. I don’t really know what I want to do with my life. The truth is this: I want to make enough money to take care of myself, my father, and my brother. I just want to make money, I don’t really care what I do. I’d like to be a published author as well known and well liked as Stephen King. I don’t foresee that happening, but a girl can dream (and this girl certainly does).
3. I was born November 1, 1989 and am currently twenty-three years old. I’ve never had a drop of alcohol in my life. Not even when my dad said I could on my twenty-first birthday. I have zero tolerance for alcohol here on campus because of this, and because of the nine months I lived alone with my bi-polar, drug addicted mother. I have zero tolerance for stupidity (which makes me very hypocritical). My brother recently turned twenty-one and he (along with the majority of my friends) continue to tell me that they wish to get me drunk someday. There are only three ways that could go, and none of them I like the idea of: 1) Violent angry Jen makes an appearance. 2) Depressed, suicidal Jen makes an appearance. 3) Giddy, no inhibitions Jen makes an appearance. In any of those scenarios my secrets are compromised, and I intent to take those secrets to my grave. I take my own drink everywhere I go, because even though I love my friends, I don’t trust anyone. A bar is the last place on earth you will find me, and if you find me there, I’m probably attempting to drink myself to death. Intervene at your own peril.
4. To say I have a strained relationship with my mother is putting it mildly. We don’t have any sort of relationship to speak of. I have recently forgiven her for the things she’s done to me, but at this current moment in time, it’s easier to write “I hate that bitch,” than to be writing anything else. I have to remind myself that I forgave her not for her own sake, but my own, because harboring hate will kill me. I know this, and still the fire of hatred feels like heaven against my skin.
5. My father and my brother are my heroes. I would do anything for them, especially step in front of the path of a bullet for them. If you attempt to hurt either of them I will take that as a personal attack and come unglued on your ass. There is no limit to the harm I will cause you on behalf of them. They are my heart, my life, and my soul. I have nothing without them. I am nothing without them. If you want to test the depth of my loyalty to them, go ahead, it’s your funeral.
6. I love stories. I love listening to people tell stories, and I love reading them. I love writing them, but I can’t keep anything going long enough to actually finish much. I write with my muse, and only when I have the inspiration to write. If I don’t feel inspired, any writing I do I hate. Forced writing is born of necessity and lacks the creative spark that makes it beautiful. The best way to get on my good side is to tell good stories, or listen to my  stories, but don’t feign interest. If you aren’t interested in what I’m saying, walk away. My stories are everything to me. Without them my heart has no substance.
7. It’s easy to make an enemy of me. I don’t tolerate much bullshit, and yet I expect everyone else to tolerate my bullshit. Hence my comment earlier about being hypocritical. If you piss me off enough I will cease communicating with you. It doesn’t take much either. Language is a powerful tool, use it carefully, because I will harbor a grudge even when I tell myself not to; especially when I tell myself not to.
8. I am pessimistic by nature and cynical by choice. I defend my beliefs stating that they are realistic. I have recently taken it upon myself to develop a more optimistic approach to life. It’s been good for my health. I need to get back to that, but this cloud lingering over my head isn’t letting up.
9. I am agnostic. I have dabbled in “Satanism.” I believe in an inner darkness and my Dark Father. He is and isn’t a figment of my imagination. He’s mostly a voice in my head when I need comfort and can’t find it anywhere or in anyone else. Hence the reason I oftentimes refer to him as my Savior of Convenience. I recently came to the conclusion that he was inspired in part by Trent Reznor, the man behind the band Nine Inch Nails. My Dark Father is a conglomeration of many things, but he is mostly an idea, and someone I wish who wasn’t just a figment of my imagination, but real.
10. I am a dog and cat person. I have a Sheltie named Buster, but he is a turd. He worships the ground on which my father walks, and in his old age he won’t listen to anyone else but my father. That is fine by me. My friends have three dogs and a cat that I have adopted as my own. I love going over to their house because I am greeted by an entire party of animals and people. It makes me feel special and loved. There is nothing that will cheer me up more than puppies and kittens. A dog running up to greet me wagging his or her tail is instant happy medicine. I also prefer my animals to be cuddly. Buster is not. He wants to be touched only when he wants it, and never any other time.
11. I struggle with my self-image. If you were to look through my collection of old MySpace photos you would think I was vain, and I concede that on occasion I am. Sometimes I love my appearance. Other times I avoid mirrors and other reflective surfaces at all costs. There are days I wake up and don’t want to get out of bed because I hate the way I look and feel. I do not exercise and I should. I am overweight, but I don’t keep a scale in my room for a reason. When the weather is nice I like to take walks. I prefer walking in the rain with my headphones in. Usually when I take a walk, however, it is because I’m stressed and need to get away from a situation for a while and clear my head. I don’t like walking with people. I take walks less for the exercise and more because I think better when I’m moving. I write a lot of poems and stories in my head as I walk. Some of them make it into print when I get back to a stationary place, but more often than not they get lost inside the cracks on the sidewalk.
12. I have a flash drive full of stupid shit I’ve written, some which Xanga has seen, but most of which Xanga will never see. If I have it my way no one will see the contents of that flash drive until I die, and even then I’m not sure I really want anyone to know the truth. My secrets are on that flash drive. I do intend to take them to my grave, even if that means taking my flash drive with me.
13. I am bisexual. This is something I’ve never really admitted before. Mostly because I’ve never had a physical relationship with either sex. I’ve never even had a first kiss. I am attracted to both sexes, however. Even if I had a sex life to speak of, I would not. I believe certain things are private and must be kept that way. I don’t have a problem with other people who want to divulge that information, but that’s not the way I would be. I’ve watched my share of porn and erotica, but you’ll notice that if there is any sex scenes in my literary work it’s clumsy and pathetic. That’s because I have no experience to write from, and even if I did, that would be more reason not to include it. I’ve said more on this topic than I intended to. Moving on now.
14. Despite popular belief, I have never self-harmed. Instead I like to write and draw on myself with pen and sharpie marker. I don’t like the sight of my own blood, and yet I use lots of blood and gore in my writing; figure that one out if you can. I have a soft spot for self-harm, however. It’s not a topic you want to discuss with me, especially if you have a narrow mind on the matter. You don’t know another person’s pain, so don’t judge them. If you judge them you can meet my knife, and I’ll teach you all about self-harm. Though I suppose they’d call that murder instead. In the same vein, suicide is my soapbox. Narrow minded people don’t want to get me on that topic either. I’ve been suicidal since I was twelve years old. Suicidal ideation is my addiction, aside from Mountain Dew.
15. The first book I ever learned to read was The Foot Book by Dr. Seuss. The first book I ever fell in love with was Puff the Uppity Ant. I related to Puff very well as a kid. After that S.E. Hinton’s The Outsiders became my favorite book until I read a very edited version of Stephen King’s novella The Body. Stephen King is without doubt my favorite author. I adore the Harry Potter series, but King takes the cake for best author in my book.
16. When I set out to do this I wrote number one with ease. It took me several minutes before I knew what to write for number two, but after I got started the rest of these just fell into place. This had killed a good hour or more of my time. It’s kept me calm and that’s most important to me right now. I need to remain calm lest I betray myself and do or say something out of anger I will regret later.

I’m sorry if you’ve read all of the above. I’m also not sorry. You made the choice, not me. Now time to tag people.

@Finity

@loner_writer

@xxbutterflyknivesxx

@ohellino

@darklylitwords

@awoolham

@ascultafili

@listenslikespring

@Dame_Delirium

@wyckdstorm

Part I:

In my ha(s)te

I slipped, and the knife

snipped

like a dog baring it’s teeth

it nipped

at my arm

and the red bled

from my vision

so that I could see clearly again.

Part II:

There is a thing

it gets under my skin

infects the circuitry

that would otherwise allow me

to behave like a rational human being

I become someone else

when this thing

crawls inside,

through the cut I accidentally made,

and I’d be lying

if I said I didn’t love who I become

when the system is no longer

under my control.

Part III:

I dream violence in ruby hues,

and I wake from those dreams

wrapped in skeleton’s arms

and sanguine sheets.

Part IV:

As dictators before me

I laugh in the face of violence,

and I revel in the tears of terror.

Let the purges begin.

Currently Vena Sera By Chevelle The Fad see related

"Laugh at the violence."

Loveless, the Morbid Queen, is back with a vengeance.

I have not escaped the clutches of the grave;

this heart and head are still depraved.

I am no longer comfortable with this feeling churning in my gut. We used to be old friends, but now we’re strangers.

He walks into a room expecting a different greeting, and when I only stare at him, waiting for him to speak, his smile falters. His arms, which were open for an embrace, fall back to his sides and he stares at me as I stare back. We stand in silence for a moment contemplating one another, and deciding what to do next. We both open our mouths at the same time and begin speaking.

“Can I hel—“

“Don’t you remem—“

We both stop speaking at the same time and I feel my face split into an awkward smile. His face mirrors my own. We’re both silent a second as we wait for the other to speak first.

“Can I help you?” I finally ask, and his grin becomes pained, as if my words have physically hurt him.

“You don’t remember me, do you?” He asks quietly.

“Not well,” I say shifting nervously from one foot to the other. “Your face is familiar.”

His gaze drops to his feet and his shoulders slump, defeated. He inhales once, sharply, and raises his head to meet my eyes and that grin is back.

“That’s okay, we’ll start over.” He says closing the distance between us and holding out his hand. My gaze drops to his smooth, pale hand and I realize there are no loveliness or lifelines cutting through it; his palm is as smooth as water-washed stone. His hand turns over so his palm is facing the floor as my gaze returns to his face. The sight of his palm makes me nervous and I’m hesitant to take his hand, but society dictates I should. I wipe my hands nervously along my jean clad thighs and make an excuse that my palms are sweaty. He drops his arm to his side but he doesn’t back up. Suddenly the distance between us isn’t enough so I back up, but there’s a wall behind me. I bump into it and he takes that as a cue to step forward. I put my hands out as if to say I’m okay and ward him away. He reaches out as if to take my hands but I drop mine quickly back to my sides. I step to the side to put more distance between us and he doesn’t move to fill in the gap. It becomes easier to breathe.

“We used to be good friends,” he says to me, his eyes pleading as if begging me to remember.

I shake my head slowly, “I’m sorry, I don’t remember you.”

He smiles good naturedly, but there’s something twisting behind that smile, something sinister. I can’t see it but I can feel it reaching between us trying to crawl inside my skin.

“I’m sure you’ll remember in time,” he says and chuckles as if he’s thought of a funny joke but forgot to share the punch line. He sees the confused look upon my face and shakes his head as a person would do when they were being forgetful.

“Time is on my side,” he says in a sing-song voice, and when I only continue to stare at him puzzled he goes on to elaborate. “It’s from a movie, well, it’s actually a song that was used in a movie; you’ve seen it, we watched it together once.”

“What movie?” I ask feigning interest. Fear is worming its way inside my guts the longer this conversation continues.

“Doesn’t matter,” he says changing the conversation quickly, catching onto my fearful vibes. “My name is Lou, by the way.” He says and begins to extend his hand again, but then remembers I won’t shake it, and it drops back to his side. Something about names being powerful pops into my head and I bite back the instinctual need to respond in kind.

“It’s been nice meeting you, again, Lou, but I really need to get back to work.” I say open ended, hoping he’ll take the hint, but knowing it’s always the people who need to take a hint that never do. His smile broadens and the worms in my stomach wiggle in response. The urge to throw up becomes almost overwhelming.

“We should get together later and catch up.” He says vibrantly, perching on the balls of his feet and gesturing with his hands.

“Yeah,” I begin before catching myself, “maybe.”

“Should we exchange numbers?” He asks and then laughs. “Y’know what, don’t worry about it. I’ll find you.” And with that he turns and walks away leaving me standing there wondering why I feel as if I’ve just met a demon from my past with a new face.

A Drifter’s Rise to Fame and Fortune:

• Scientists develop the ability to turn injured or half-dead humans into machines with human emotional and logical intellect (this also allows people to attempt to live forever). They develop a drug that boosts the integrity of a human’s muscles and organs that allows them to fight against robotic enemies for a short period of time (similar to steroids). Along with synthetic organs the scientists have created a synthetic blood that fuels both human organs and machine parts. A cyborg’s humanity is slowly erased because the synthetic blood destroys memory.
  • Cyborgs have the benefits and drawbacks of being half human and half machine: Their humanity dies slowly as the machine part of their being becomes dominant due to the erasing of their memory. They are stronger than humans and cannot be affected by the diseases humans are susceptible to, but they can have mechanic failures.
  • The Mob buys up the rights to the scientists’ work and uses the technology to create an underground fighting ring of humans, robots, and cyborgs.
  • As the underground ring develops and grows the political leaders of the U.S. find out about it and attempt to shut it down. A corrupt political leader keeps the underground fighting ring alive, while at the same time building himself an army of machines to take over the world.
  • The main character, as yet an unidentified twenty-something female drifter (Morgan? Fighter Name: The Morg?), rolls into a Midwestern town with her friend where their car breaks down outside a repair shop/gas station in the middle of nowhere Iowa. The guy running the station is a lanky red-head with what appears to be a nervous tick. He gets the girl’s car running and sends them on their way down the road, but halfway out of town the car stalls out and dies again.
  • The girls leave the car by the side of the road and walk back into town and to the gas station, but no one is there now and the sign on the door says closed. The lead character begins to feel nervous and suspicious because there’s nothing and no one else in town. The girls walk around a while looking for an open shop and a place to get help but find no one. They stop outside the front door of a bar where the door is left open ajar. The lead female pokes her head in and calls hello, but receive no answer. Her friend insists they leave it alone, but she reassures her that they have to find someone otherwise they’re walking the unknown amount of miles to the next town and its all ready hot enough in the afternoon.
  • The lead female (Morgan) enters the cool darkness of the bar and proceeds towards the back with her friend nervously walking along behind her, almost climbing up her ass. At the back of the bar another doorway is flung wide open exposing a staircase leading to the basement. The girls proceed down the stairs. About halfway down they hear noise, it sounds like fighting. At the bottom of the stairs stands a plump woman with a clipboard and an earpiece. She asks the girls their names and then scans her clipboard for a moment. She marks something off and ushers them through a wood-paneled door. (Inside is a cage match that the girls get thrown into fighting against machines and it makes the lead female feel alive after having felt dead inside for so many years).
  • She meets a guy (Matthew) after the cage match who compliments her on her fighting technique. He tells her that with a little training she could become rather well-known in the underground circuit. She asks him if he’s a trainer, and he admits he is. She parts ways with her friend who wants no part of the fighting ring and begins training at his gym. They developing a working and romantic relationship as time goes on.
  • 30 Seconds to Mars: The Fantasy
    • Matt introduces Morgan to an old friend who gets her into the fighting circuit once she’s been properly trained. The three of them travel the country getting into fights and making good money. As she wins more fights she becomes more popular until a major political figure begins asking for her to fight in Vegas. Her manager (name?) is all for it but Matt is not and he becomes angry and withdrawn from her.
    • He teaches her the truth about the world she wishes to belong in, that a crime organization takes people from hospitals, warzones, and off the streets to turn them into mechanized weapons. He shares his story with her about how he was on his first tour of duty over in Afghanistan when his platoon was engage in their first fire fight. Everything went to hell rather quickly, and before he knew it he was the only one left alive, but that didn’t last long when a grenade landed in his lap, one of his own team’s grenades. He closed his eyes and the next thing he knew he woke up under the glare of a fluorescent light and there was a dull, far-away pain in his lower half. He didn’t even believe it was his own pain. After that he woke up six months after he was dropped off for his first tour of duty in a white hospital room with no recollection of how he got there, and barely any memory of himself. He looked down at his legs and discovered his legs were gone, replaced by mechanical gears and pistons. He began screaming, trying to unplug from the system, when a man in a white lab coat came in and tried to convince him everything was fine, but resolved to inject him with a sedative.
    • He tries to explain how dead he feels since his humanity is being overrun by machinery and synthetic fluids. She insists that he should be grateful for being alive; he gets a second chance, but he tells her the second chance isn’t worth anything when he’s losing the essence of himself slowly every day. He says that the sex they have is him only remembering the logistics of how to get a woman off; it means nothing to him because there’s no emotion or connection.
    • They part ways and she continues to fight in the underground ring and build a name for herself. Her manager puts her into increasingly risky situations, and one of these fights results in her getting injured. Her arm is broken in the fight and one of her lungs is punctured. A doctor on site fixes her with a synthetic lung and a robotic arm. She becomes even more proficient at fighting with her new limb and lung. She begins using a drug that’s similar to steroids (at her manager’s suggestion) as it gives her almost super-human strength; it gives her human organs a boost for the immediate fight but slowly eats away at them so that in the end she’ll have to get more synthetic parts to stay alive.
    • Morgan meets up with Matt at a prize fight in Las Vegas. The fight is being put on for a high-ranking political figure’s birthday. Matt asks her how she likes being inhuman and she insists it’s the best thing that ever happened to her. She gets into the ring (after juicing up) and the fight is going good until the machine she’s up against cracks her across the side of the head and lays her out. Matt rushes into the ring to keep the machine from pummeling her to death. The crowd is cheering and booing when he steps into the ring and destroys the machine. He takes her out of the ring and into the heart of the city where he finds a doctor that can perform the procedure she needs. While under the knife the doctor informs him of the drug she’s been using and says that if she continues the drug use she’ll kill herself. Matt sells his human heart in exchange for the surgery and is given a synthetic instead (his heart can be sold on the black market to a wealthy family with a sick relative that needs it and is willing to pay handsomely for it). He doesn’t tell her of this when she first wakes up with a new metallic alloy for a skull. He gets a two bed motel room for them to stay in while she goes through detox.
    • After Morgan’s body is clean and clear of the drug she’s been using Matt tells her what he gave up to keep her alive; she questions why he would do that, and he tells her that despite the fact that he feels nothing he knows he loves her, and he wasn’t going to let her die in the ring. For a while they stay together as a couple and get regular dead end jobs (he’s a dishwasher and she’s a waitress) to make some money, but she’s not happy with that life and he refuses to go back to fighting. She leaves him in search of someone who can get her into a fight again. She quickly discovers that her name’s been ruined in the underground fighting circuit and no one wants to book her.
    • Morgan takes to street fighting for cash and meets a mob guy (name?) who promises her a future in fighting if she does some grunt work for him. She becomes an enforcer for the mob and each job becomes progressively more violent until she’s assigned different hits on important enemies or political figures that speak out against the mob. After a while she realizes the mob’s promises to get her back into the ring are false, and that she’s become too good at what she does and too important to the mob for them to let her go. She attempts to kill herself by shooting herself in the temple, but her metallic alloy skull saves her life. She wakes up with blood caked to the side of her face in her apartment and decides that suicide isn’t the answer to her problem. She leaves her apartment and Vegas and the mob behind. Before Morgan leaves town she stops at the diner she and Matt used to work at to see if he’s still there, but apparently he quit and left two weeks prior. She heads back to small-town Iowa, the only other place she can think he would be.
    • The mob sends men after her with the intention to drag her back or kill her if she’s unwilling to return because she knows too much. At the same time a political figure in Washington D.C. buys the technology to create his own half-human army and has a terrorist organization in a foreign country begin assembling his army with the promise of their protection in the future if they help him out. They are planning to double cross him because they don’t believe he will keep his promise. Other countries and terrorist organizations begin buying access to the technology as well and this puts the world on edge for a new type of global war.
    • With the world on the brink of warfare Morgan gets a job as a hired hand on a farm in Iowa. While she’s in town one day she runs into Matt. They catch up and he asks her if this is the world she wanted to live in. She admits that this isn’t what she wanted, not for herself or the world, and that the only thing that’s ever really mattered to her was fitting in somewhere, and the only place she ever fit in was with him. The story ends insinuating that they got back together and lived happily ever after until the world is destroyed by global war eradicating the human race and leaving behind only the robots and the cyborgs.

The Great Technology Revolution:

• After the war leaves the planet almost desolate the robots and cyborgs that remain form into tribal nations and boundaries are redrawn into new districts. The earth has been scorched and the humans are dead; they could not survive in the hostile environment, but the robots and the cyborgs that weren’t destroyed in the war remain. One particular group of robots and cyborgs has access to the NASA space station which has the technology and the rocket to go into deep space. The rocket needs repairs and a little updating which the group quickly attends to. They form a religious cult around the rocket as if it is the savior of their kind.
• Civil war breaks out between the robots and the cyborgs because the robots want to destroy the rocket’s ability to travel into space and the cyborgs insist upon leaving the planet and looking for new life elsewhere. The robots have fallen into disrepair and the programs that run them have become corrupted due to a virus planted in the system in case of total annihilation of the human population. In the end the cyborgs get the rocket off the ground and head into deep space. They enter a cryo-sleep phase as their ship travels hundreds of thousands of miles until it crash lands on an unidentified, alien planet teeming with jungle life.

Earth: Final Frontier

• The robots and cyborgs left on earth make the best of a bad situation. The robots die off due to the virus corruption in the main database. This leaves the cyborgs to inherit the earth. One group of cyborgs left enters a cave and uses the technology available to them to dig deeper into the earth where they find that the world as they knew it is still alive, only the surface is dead. They begin building an underground metropolis. The problem they face is immortality and a lack of ability to procreate.

Meanwhile, on an alien planet…

• The natives of the planet Nar discover a space ship has crashed landed in their jungle. They pull the cryo-sleep survivors out of the wreckage and take them back to their compound. The survivors wake up and begin to attempt to assimilate into the Narpopulation. Because they are not organic they are considered as lesser citizens and made to live restricted lives. Some of the Cyborgs believe their lives would have been better if they had stayed on their home planet and they begin attempting to repair their ship for departure.
  • Since they are on a foreign planet they don’t have access to the things they need to repair their ship so they begin looking for locals (Na’til) who are willing to help them escape. There is a group of locals who have been oppressed for being labeled as lesser beings than their more advanced counter-part and risk the threat of being caught (for which the punishment is death) to help in the hopes that they will get to leave the planet with their new friends.
  • During the reconstruction of the ship the Nar-ites discover what the cyborgs and the Na’til are doing and shut down the operation and take the ship to a secure location that cannot be accessed by anyone but the Nar-ites. The cyborgs are locked up in prison and the Na’til are murdered.
  • A Nar-ite prison guard disagrees with the behavior of his kind and helps the cyborgs escape (his mother was Na’til). The cyborgs escape deep into the undeveloped jungle and live in hiding for several years as they attempt to recuperate what they have lost. They develop a relationship with the jungle creatures that have been chased from their homeland (where the Nar-ites live) and wish to return. The jungle creatures help the cyborgs storm the walls of the Nar-ite kingdom and take back their ship. At the end of the battle the Nar-ites left surrender and the cyborgs are able to leave the planet Nar forever. They set a course for earth and enter cryo-sleep for the second time.

  Return to Earth: Rebirth.

• The space ship returns to earth and crashes above the underground metropolis. The cyborgs from the ship join forces with the cyborgs still living on earth. While the cyborgs from the ship had been living with the jungle creatures of Nar, a group of women had relations with some of them and never knew they were carrying children. The birth of these children is considered a miracle as the cyborgs left on earth did not believe they would be able to continue their kind. These children are half humanoid and half alien. This begins the restoration of earth as it once was.

So, what do you think?