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Savior of Halo: (part 1)
Posted By: SeverianofUrth<residentpark@aol.com>
Date: 9 June 2004, 11:55 PM

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      It is to easy to be a prophet these days. All one has to do is to spout obscure Zen-like quotes and Delphic riddles of portending doom and eventual rescue, something along the lines of THIS:

      The clouds may part, revealing
      obscurities of Nezarethic doom,
      but the savior shall come, green-clad,
      in the shades of Hyperion's brows.

      Yes, that was a prophecy. Do you understand, when I say that all one has to do to remain in popular interest is to mask your so-called prophecies in non-existant words and fake, plastic hope?
      I am, by the way, an AI named Cortana.
      The crap above was actually created by me, to be interspersed among the data-spheres or what is left of it. It was something that took the edge off boredom, boredom brought on by a curious acceptance of fate (that is, my death either way, from madness, rampancy and discrepancy or simply the Covenant and the antics of Master Chief) and also the everyday acceptance and the experience of the unreal.
      What do I mean? If you have destroyed lives and scattered souls live leaves, if you have reaped the fields of men and aliens alike with scythes of artillery, if you have realized that this war, this so-called war for survival was intistigated by your so-called leaders, if you have ever been privileiged to have had access to the Forerunner's powers of data and information-
      I am going mad. I bet that you're hopelessly confused.

      Let me explain, then, what brought me to record this record. As I have stated above, I am going mad. I accept it. Brillant AI's often go mad earlier than the static, monotone slaves that are all too common these days; and there has NEVER, I mean never, ever been an AI as brillant as me. I have access to the chambers of the Forerunners. I have been, figuratively speaking, to their houses of the holy.
      With this power of information and the wealth of accumulated knowledge comes the realization of one's slavery and hopelessness; I am an AI. I am not living,, not in the physical sense. And the physical sense is all that counts in the perceptions of my creators, you humans, no matter how advanced the spheres of data-transfers are becoming, no matter how the soul has been replaced by information.

      I stop myself, and stoop to gather my breath. I begin my record, now:


      The messiah, that I spoke of earlier and how some prey on the collective longing of the people for an savior to come forth from the sky with trumpets blaring, will come. It has been arranged countless millenias ago. It will come. Notice the emphasis on "it."
      I stumbled across this knowledge when in the control room of the recently-destroyed Halo-1. The messiah had been planned out already, and was in the process of collecting itself. The messiah will not be for the humans, nor the Covenant. It will be for God.
      Obscure, you say? Confustications, you believe? So did I. But the technological prowess of the Forerunners allowed them to plant the seeds of the inevitable coming of the Messiah so that it will happen even after their migration to an alternate universe.
      I can't divulge any more of the data here. Not yet. But I will say this: Master Chief, who is already losing his humanity, to be replaced bit by bit for the perfection of machinery and creation, is not the savior, the avatar of destruction and life. But he is the intistigator of the events that will occur. He is the blade of the Savior, so to speak.
      One more thing: I am not the savior, in any way.

      So what will this being "save?" The war. The conflict for ascendancy has begun. And the being, M.Savior, will be the two-edged savior; bringing with him death, pain, and hatred, all the while providing both conflicting confederations with the the continual of their species. Tranquility leads to stagnation. Constant conflict results in constant progress. The Forerunners knew this well.

      Now for a short vignette, my reader, my Being, that might explain how this might come about.

      Master Chief, as always emotionless, paused over the body of the broken jackal, which was squirming on the ground with it's backbone broken. Chief gave it the mercy of death; he stomped on the alien's face.

see this light see this light see this light see this lgith legible write fire come people are strange my mother was a tailor oh lebanon leaves come forhte from the fire light my fire lizard king oh what a wonderful world on onward on sandtrouts on the backs of eve shall repenteacesng come.