#prometheus.

If it were not for Remus parading around as if he were every species under the sun, Lilith may have decided against the little event. For something told her it would hardly be as exciting as the previous year. When that mangy one ripped out a heart and ate it in front of all the faces of horror. But Lilith supposed, that if an event were to be held, she would intend to treat it like Coachella. For if she did not, how else would these poor individuals know how to dress for the occasion? Prometheus seemed to be one of them, for what in Hells was he wearing? "You should call me before the next event," she mused, after she had sauntered closer, fingers plucking at the shirt he had donned for the day.

PROMETHEUS ⋅𖥔⋅ 28, NB ⋅𖥔⋅ LEADERSHIP

You come from prey stock. Livestock, really. Vulnerable, insensate, numb with fear. Ground down by deprivation, humiliation, the injustices of daily life for some of the poorest of your world. Your father had told you, when you were small — if you’d had been born a wolf, you’d have been a very good wolf. But you’re not. You’re a sheep. You have to learn to survive as a good sheep. You didn’t understand what that meant when you were young, and he never explained it. You were separated from him when you were old enough to be put to work. You know now that he died not long after, of humiliation and a broken heart.

It took being lost for you to learn to be a good sheep. You were forced to join the herd. You followed your father’s advice, kept your head down, never asked anything of anyone — and you would’ve died for it, had it not been for the Lover taking you under her wing. She was your saving grace; worldly and brilliant and unafraid. It was her that showed you the value of strength in numbers, when they sent you more mouths than ration chits and she organized a strike. You joined the Party, and it saved your life.

The Divide changed everything. Overnight, your already-ugly home was made an uglier place, skeletal and gutted, filled with hopeless, terrified wretches. But the Party was prepared — you, most of all, who would have made a very good wolf, but was stupid enough as a sheep to go to the mat with wolves anyways. And you did, over and over, scrapping dirty with the bosses, wringing every drop from the charity-minded S.O.B.s, unapologetically. When they abandoned you completely, you embraced free-fall as opportunity; your people proved to themselves they didn’t need the hogs at S-Corp to survive. They’d always done it on their own — now nobody else was taking a cut.

This was a step too far for them, and you were all punished for it severely. The day the drones came, they blanketed the sky like the meanest monsoon you’d ever seen, just waiting to pour. Over and over, you rebuild the factories they destroy, repair homes from bombed-out husks, send squadrons of young, passionate comrades to their deaths — you mourn the Lover all the while, one of the earliest casualties — and the world burns, low and cold, all around you. You will guide the herd through this storm to safety, rely in collective wisdom to see yourselves through. You will seize a future for the most of you. You have to, there’s no other choice. There’s no peace, in life or in death, until you do.

WELCOME TO PROJECT ORPHEUS, JULES! YOU HAVE BEEN ACCEPTED AS PROMETHEUS

"In the perfect world, the one you indulge in the quiet moments – the late night, alone in bed moments, where it’s just you and your ghosts and the hum of drones outside your cement-thick plex – your work is done. There’s another side. The future is secure. Humanity is flourishing, and you can lay your head down once and for all, your body in state – resting next to the Lover.

Fuck killing God. Fuck becoming God. You want to be the God that kills Himself, that hands over the reins once and for all. (You know, maybe better than anyone, how little what you want matters in the end.)"

So much of this story is about power. BUT WHO TRULY HOLDS IT? Jules, you are completely accurate in your analysis that the S Corp heirs are nothing but empty inheritors, and Prometheus is thoughtful foil to the concept to the concept, as a whole. They give voice to those that have been silenced by capitalism's strangulation; they give recognition for a group that has been rendered faceless. They don't ask — they demand. Whereas others may sit idly, they stand up. They recognize the reality of the world, and they'll do anything to change it. It's not an impulse — it's wisdom gleamed from a set of eyes that have seen too much; that knows loss and unfairness; that holds it like a flame burning within their chest. I'm quite excited to watch their reckoning.

ABOUT

Name: Prometheus Klymene. Suggested Occupations: Assistant to Zeus, the family’s legal consultant. Age: 33. Gender & Pronouns: Non-binary & they/he. FC Suggestions: OK Taecyeon. Can be seen: Monopolizing the office’s holographic scanner, gently discouraging Dionysus’ newest venture, welded to a coffee thermos, receiving extended advice from Zeus, turning down tequila tastings with Orpheus, shredding documents, hacking Tala accounts, playing the long con.

STATS

Influence  ★ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ Charisma  ★ ★ ☆ ☆ ☆ Protection  ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ Information ★ ★ ☆ ☆ ☆ Experience ★ ★ ☆ ☆ ☆

CODEX

Arcadians know how to hold themselves to a standard like no other, and over the years that stubbornness has paid off in many ways. It was from this obstinate, insulated metropolis that Prometheus emerged. He grew up on the outskirts of the city, tucked into the cool shadow of the labyrinthine hills, in an area that was neither well-heeled nor poor. His father was the son of a literati, thrust into the narrow destiny of a bureaucrat. He poured his frustrations as the Lethe floods the banks, and filled the boy’s head with tales on ethics and history. Of course, he only served him the palatable version - the thorns sanded off, the complexities eradicated. In his mind, the world was a thing of two dimensions: the old, which is good and safe, and the new, which is a dangerous morb at worst, and a distraction at best. See, his father was afflicted with that famed Arcadian malady: believing tradition is superior to progress.

One cannot fault Prometheus for believing it. After all, who doubt their father’s wisdom? Braver men than him have clung to it until it led them to perdition. Look no further than the Rheas - though perhaps they got the better end of this fable. And I wouldn’t wish to discount the power in holding on to old faiths. There’s a practicality to it, after all - it’s what kept Arcadia safe in its seat for millennia, while city-state after city-state around them crumbled under their own weight. Why change a strategy that’s won every hand dealt to it? 

In school, it was only more of the same. As the boy’s intellect grew, so did his distance from reality. When he secured a scholarship to one of Arcadia’s academies, he was shuffled to advanced classes and specialty tutors, his days mired in outdated facts. Around him there were only youths similarly accustomed to their own brilliance, fed on the knowledge that they alone could keep Arcadia prosperous and safe. They were pillars of the future, the present and the past, tasked with the mission of imparting them on all of Gaia - after their own city’s interests were secured, of course. The only duty above charity is loyalty, as the saying goes.

But loyalty is a two-pronged thing. At the end of his schooldays, Prometheus only did was what inevitable, I believe: he stepped outside. He saw the real Arcadia: a world of vice and hypocrisy, with contraband from reviled Tartarus moving between the city’s labyrinths - and payslips from Olympe gracing pockets in the council.  A world of neither heroes nor villains, but people who grew too many to seize the opportunities of the past. People whose lives would be bettered by neither tradition nor progress, but a careful union of the two.

When Prometheus secured a position as a legal aide in the Quorum, he was brilliant and bright-eyed and destined for ruin. He left it the same month. As far as I can tell, he never went back since, but hired his talents as a personal consultant. Each man must understand two things before their time is over: how wrong they were, and how right they can still become. Prometheus saw how the Rheas’ and their influence seeped through Arcadian politics. Like roots under a temple, like fissures in a structure already to old to bear its weight, their wills and their laws and their crimes undercut all of Gaia.

The problems in Arcadia couldn’t be solved from within the city, not when they’d begun outside - to fix it would be like patching holes in a sinking ship. Prometheus chose to infiltrate the source of the corruption itself: a time-honored strategy, though as dangerous for the sympathizer as it is for the snake. He buried his soul somewhere deep, where he couldn’t hear it. Made his way up the ladder like that  scorpion of nursery rhymes, the one they called the fire-flint. He lied and demurred until he reached Olympe. He was seated on the perch of Zeus’ sponsorship, one of his many pet projects. This was just after Hephaestus’ departure. Ever since, Prometheus has been overseeing the family’s documents - and consulting them on each choice they make. All this while, he is gathering  material for ruination: recordings, holo copies, secret Tala conversations. He is bidding his time. As once dreamed in childhood, Poseidon reached the heights. And it is there he’ll set his fire.

CONNECTIONS

Familial connections: None.

Professional connections: Zeus (employer, sponsor, target to uproot). Hera (former employer; maintains useful access to her files). Athena (superior or collaborator, depending on how Zeus’ mood turns). Apollo (works to manage their assets; if he had to guess, he’d say envy). Artemis (opposition to Zeus; if only she knew how closely their values align). Hermes (they collaborate on agreements with Pontius; a friend, a possible agent to be activated). Dionysus (to kind to ever be turned, but kindness is its own tool).

Social connections: Orpheus (a culture above the likes of Olympe; a broken creature, but one that can be used). Icarus (Arcadian colleague; once thought him a sympathizer to the cause, now believes their soul is lost). Hephaestus (the betrayal that haunts Xenion; wishes he could buy the bastard a pint). Ares (constant threat; the pair of eyes at the back of his head). Theseus, Ariadne & Mino (a quarrel back in Arcaida, back when he still thought honesty was an asset; wishes he could lead them to a better fate).

❝ introducing one of elysium’s resident titans …

FULL NAME: charlie hawkins. AGE: fifty-one years old. GENDER: cis male. PRONOUNS: he/him. ENTITY TYPE: titan. ALTERNATE IDENTITY: prometheus, titan god of forethought and crafty counsel. OCCUPATION: history and literature instructor at athens. FACE CLAIM: ben mendelsohn.

delve deeper 

ARCHETYPE: the martyr. at its core, this archetype is about doing the right thing. the word ‘ martyr ’ is derived from the greek word, ‘ witness ’ and it is synonymous with a willingness to proceed because of a higher cause or truth despite the risk of injury or sacrifice. martyrs know that they have the strength to endure where others may not and so, they willingly step into that role with humility and integrity. however, martyrs also have the tendency to forget about themselves, giving away too much and spreading themselves out too thin. GENRE OF CHOICE: tragedy, because charlie believes they force us to confront the less appealing aspects of life, normalizing it as it should be. AESTHETIC: the sound of crashing waves, a wry smile, rolled up sleeves, the smell of old books, an overflowing cup, the comfort of a rare hug, messy handwriting, tired eyes, dog-eared pages, reheated coffee. STRENGTHS: bold, compassionate, selfless, FLAWS: stoic, withdrawn, obstinate. PLAYLIST: space junk by wang chung, lovely by twoplusfour, sigh no more by mumford and sons.

network 

FULL NAME: tba. FULL NAME: tba. FULL NAME: tba.