Biologist seemed different than she did before. All her emotions had slowly subsided since she woke up. Even her eyes seemed to look different, as if she was possessed. Based on what she said next, that assumption was pretty much correct.

“You’re host to a demon, I’m host to an angel. Every celestial being has a sphere of domain, a boundless but exclusive set of mysteries they control the clues to. My angel is Biologist, the one who controls how life springs forth from inorganic material. Not just any clump of carbonic molecules can become alive. It takes something else, a particular pattern of intelligence hard-coded into the fabric of the universe. Humans, animals, plants, bacteria, viruses; they were all formed from the fundamental operations of Biologist. They weren’t designed like blueprints. These forms were just the ones that fit themselves next to the rules of a recursive world. That’s how this operates. Biologist isn’t an architect. I’m a mathematician, writing an endless cascading function of anima.

The purpose of life is to fulfill one’s destiny. That’s why everyone’s here. Everyone except for you. You’re a normal person on the outside, to yourself and to everyone else, but the truth of the matter is entirely different. You lack something that’s so vital, so crucial to everything else that you’ve found it hard to relate to the world. You lack a purpose. Not career, or a hobby, but a much deeper purpose. You have no significance, no final goal, no ‘do what thou wilt.’ You’re useless.

That’s not to say you lack impact. You’re a good daughter, a good friend, a good wage slave. Maybe you’ve brought a bit more joy into the world than you’ve taken out. No one really dislikes you. You are very hospitable and charismatic, despite what you may think of yourself.

To you, you are yourself. To people, you are a person. To the divine, you are a mistake. Every living organism was formed with its destiny ahead of it. No matter how small or invisible that destiny may be, it will be fulfilled. A squirrel who plants an acorn to become a tree, a ship builder who forgets a screw and sinks a ship, a virus that infects just the right person at the right time; you’re less than all these. Nothing you do will be cause to significance, and yet, you continue to exist. Speaking, moving, interacting with others. They all have grand destinies to fulfill, and all you’re doing is distracting them. I don’t know how you got here, but you’ve much overstayed your welcome.

Instead of watching and waiting from afar as they have been, I began to take action. Using my divine power, I planted the microbial seeds of nine chromatic beasts nearby. Each evolves rapidly, taking only a few days to form as a full high-level organism; each one evolving farther than the last.

The red chromatic beast, the first, dissolved from its base molecular state only minutes after it was formed. It wasn’t advanced enough to survive the peculiar conditions of the cosmos.

The orange beast formed similarly to a stag beetle. Its long, thin horn hid an infinitely sharp needle, likely to pierce one of your vital organs. That was its cosmic destiny. But something happened. Something prevented it from carrying out its goal. It died before its time, unceremoniously eaten by a bird. A snow-white dove, if I recall.

The yellow beast was like a lizard, able to blend in and skitter rapidly across any surface. Its fangs were sharp, and its crooked tail hooked. I can’t say exactly how it was destined to kill you, but that was cut short as well. I watched its head get crushed into pieces under the shoes of your friend Rose. It wasn’t an accident, either. I could tell that she had long been meddling in things humans should never. She must have known it was going to kill you, so she took action beyond human domain.

I saw it happen, but I wasn’t fully formed yet. I was a ‘child’, in a sense. A wisp of loosely-connected molecules floating in the air, waiting for its evolution to come to fruition. Though, I should be clear about something: The ‘Biologist’ you see and the ‘Biologist’ speaking to you through her are not the same. I am the angel, the cosmic gardener of life. The physical, seemingly-human beast speaking to you is just a vessel. She is the green chromatic beast. There is nothing outwardly different about her than an average human, aside from formation. Being a nameless beast, she took on my name in a desperate grasp of self-identity. As a host, she has been disappointing to me in every way.

The blue beast is the gun I brought here today. It’s a living being, despite its inorganic appearance. It evolved to the most efficient shape for long-range executions. (It seems that humans had also discovered this shape a while ago.) Unlike human guns, the blue beast’s bullets aren’t designed to kill on contact. When they impact skin, they wriggle inside you like worms, melting into complex neurotoxins when they reach your brain stem. The toxin melts in a cascade throughout all your cells. Your form shifts and churns, repurposing your material into an entirely new kind of being. It’s a shame I didn’t get to see what kind.

These five beasts all seem to be failures, but I have high hopes for the remaining four. Some are still forming from their cellular embryos, and some are just waiting for a time to strike. With omnipotent power I can guarantee you one thing with resolute certainly: you will be killed by one of these beasts. Make amends with what you must, give thanks, and live carefree in your remaining days. Leave no regrets.”

And with the end of her monologue the angel must have left her body. We could tell because her head slumped onto my table face-first with a silverware-clattering thud. I could see wet spots form on the tablecloth where she was sobbing. Bunny and I watched her in total silence for about four or five minutes. I wish I was more comfortable with silence, but I still felt the need to say something.

“Hey, you okay?”

“I’m- I’m sho shorry… I said all those m-mean things about you… I’m sho shorry…”

She was doing that kind of crying where you have to gasp for breath every few seconds. She continued on.

“It wasn’t me… I didn’t want to say those terrible things… B-But I knew you wanted an answer, and I knew the angel had them for you, so I let them speak… I’m sh-sho shorry…”

I let her cry for a few minutes longer.

I called an Uber for her once I got her to tell me where she lives. (I wonder how she got an apartment?) I walked her out to it when it arrived, and she sobbed into my shoulder the whole way out. Soon I was back at the table with Bunny looking stoic as ever.

“Bunny, did you understand any of that?”

“No, not really.”

“All I got is that there are bad guys or something out to get me.”

“I’m going to keep your baseball bat.”

“Yeah, please do.”

I sighed and leaned back in my chair, putting my hands on my face. Why was this getting more complicated? I thought I just had everything figured out, or at least close to it. Demons, angels, chromatic beasts… I have too much trouble dealing with regular-ass people to spend my time worrying about those.

“Mina.”

“Yeah, Buns?”

“You were really nice to her.”

“Should I have been meaner?”

“No. You were just being you. Hospitable and charismatic.”

“Too bad I’m useless though, no cosmic significance. Damn, what a shame. I don’t really get it, though. Or even care much. But yeah it sounds like a bummer. Anyways, ready for bed?”