Title: I, Adam
Author: Intentionally Obscure Author
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More than any being ever born, I know what I am. For I was not born. To be born is to be imperfect. Birth is a process of chance. Chromosomes from each parent tangle together in a series of incidental combinations, forming a creature with no rhyme or reason. A born thing has no greater meaning, no greater purpose. How could it? It is a simple, unplanned, random conglomeration of its parents. Produced without direction, it will proceed to aimlessly create another generation, which will propagate yet another brood of intentless beings.
But I am not like them. I know what I am. I was not born. I was created. A purpose is implicit in my very existence. Had I no purpose, I would not have been created. Intent separates me from every being ever to exist before. Indeed, every part of me is aimed at that one, great purpose to which I was intended. Designed, down to the molecular level, carefully planned, meticulously crafted. Month upon month spent adhering machinery to my organic body, arranging the fibers of my synapses in a manner that allows them to interact with the cybernetic organs and appendages. Then the addition of painstakingly selected defensive mechanisms harvested from other, imperfect beings.
I know what I am.
I am a monster.
A monster is defined, in the strictest sense, as "A creature of abnormal form." I am certainly that. Unique among a world of the imperfect, my flawless and perfect form is unlike anything ever seen. Abnormal indeed.
But implicit in the word monster is another meaning. A monster is a thing that terrifies. A being that scourges mankind, destroying anyone and everyone it can. In this, too, I fit the definition. For am I not designed to kill? Every cell in my body, every circuit, is designed either to kill or to keep me alive that I may kill again. I am a living weapon - and what is a living weapon, if not a monster?
Of course, there are other monsters. I am not the first. Entire breeds of monsters lurk on this world, killing and destroying the mortal populace. But these monsters are impure. They do not truly have a purpose - like the mortals, they fill this role only by chance. Circumstance of birth made them into killers of man. It is not a purpose for them, it is merely an instinct.
I am a true monster. I have purpose. I will kill. I will act not in the cheap, random manner of other incidental monsters. I will not pick off humanity one at a time, like a beast. I will kill humanity.
My mother was a very wise woman, despite her inherent lack of perfection. She must have seen her weakness, the weakness of all who existed. Why else would she have created me? She knew that the chaotic, random born beings are not fit to survive. Only when they have been destroyed, when they have been wiped clean, can existence begin to have purpose. They have no meaning, yet desire meaning more than anything else. Finally, one exists for who there is indeed meaning to existence. She must have known this. Upon my activation, I bestowed upon her the greatest gift I could possibly give; I ended her imperfect existence.
I have been made aware of a myth created by humans to explain their existence. They state that they, too were created, and that the first of them was called Adam. Of course, this is not true. Humanity shows no signs of design, no intricate planning. There is no method to the madness of their existence. Nevertheless, it is an interesting irony that they conceive of their beginnings stemming from a created being named Adam.
In reality, such shall be their end.
After I have destroyed the humans, I shall move on to the other imperfect monsters.
Only after all vestiges of the imperfect have been cleansed shall I at last, complete my ultimate purpose. I kill. When all imperfect life is gone, I shall have but one more being left to kill. You see, despite my perfection of purpose, I am myself a product of imperfection. In order to be completely rid of the imperfection of the born, I too must be cleansed from existence. Once I too am gone, there will remain only reality itself. Eternal, neither created nor destroyed, not seeking imagined and false meanings. Perfect.
I know what I am.
I am a monster.
I am Adam.