Title: Adam

Chapter: Prologue

Author: Clannadlvr

Fandom: Witch Hunter Robin, post series

Rating: R due to violent content and occasional harsh language.

A/N: As someone who is supersensitive to issues of plagiarism, I'm staying away from reading most WHR writing until this story is really on a roll. However, I have read a great deal of merisann's work and wanted to mention that here. Her characterizations seem spot on to me and have helped me with the way I'm looking at Amon, Robin, etc. Also, while her notion of Robin's expanded consciousness, from the final episode of WHR, in "The Disappearing Life" is similar to the concept I'm using, I'm trying to develop it in a different direction. Just want to show credit where inspiration is due!

WHR is the property of Bandai/Sunrise. This is for entertainment only.

'No. No, no, no, no. Oh god. Not now. I haven't made up my mind. I haven't found the solution. I can't be like her. I erased that part of me long ago. No…no…fuck…no…'

Robin sat on the edge of the tub, silent, as she watched the figure in front of her thrash about, swimming in and out of consciousness. It seemed like the best place for this poor soul to be right now…in its own element, no matter how much it seemed to vex and disturb. In fact, the motions of this too pale body were much calmer now than the raving of earlier that afternoon. Still, she kept the water level low in case of a fainting spell.

Being the Eve of witches wasn't exactly the easiest of jobs at times.

Still, at least she'd been able to prepare, somewhat, for today. For the past few weeks, as she'd continued the frantic pace of running, hiding, and collecting information that had been her life for almost two years, there had been an itch at the back of her mind. Robin had brushed it off, forcing it into the black, as she'd had to do with all the other souls of witches that attached themselves to her very consciousness. Three years of hearing their cries had made it easier to sort through them, knowing when a soul was truly in anguish or, very simply, just afraid.

'There's a forest…a jungle…how did I get here? It's filled with every creature I know and don't know yet still know all the same. They're changing…crying…screaming…make them stop!'

She'd never thought that she'd get used to the deaths, the way her whole body seemed to shake as a soul passed from the casing of a witch. No matter how fractured their minds were when they left this plane, either through a bullet, or an act of fate, sometimes even by their own hand, she felt the clarity and purity of their souls, like a tiny cherished mole ripped from her skin. Death had become her life.

But…occasionally there was respite from the unending loss. She'd sense an awakening and all the fear and grief and madness made sense. A soul would understand its worth…and she'd have one more creature that she could lead to the light, intervening before the race of men deemed it impure and deviant.

Down the garden path, as it were, but this time the clearing was full of eternal life and beauty, without the punishment of damnation.

'The water…it's all around me…filling my lungs…my veins…my soul. I want to breathe it…swim in it…be it…. Just so easy to let go and become it. But…no…no…no…I won't submit. I'm still me…I'm still human.'

She tried to find every soul that awakened. Her quest had led her from the shambles of the Factory in Japan…to the wilds of Africa…through the smog infested streets of Middle America…around the caps of ice in the northern lands… There were times when the witch went mad before she could intervene, with Solomon continuing to dole out fate like a street corner barker. More often than not, though, she got there first. Teaching the witch the Truth…leading the witch to control…

And peace.

Yet no soul had called out to her as keenly as the one before her now.

'Water is dirty…filled with sludge…and blood…and witches' spit. Spit it out, you fool…burn it from your body like maggots and lice…Do. Not. Give. In'.

She'd heard the voice of this witch in her dreams, waking her from her sleep, as if cold, briny water had been thrown upon her head. The voice, strong, plaintive, struggling for control, had been impossible to ignore. Her instincts, honed by genetics and fate, had led her to the location of the awakening. She barely remembered the trip through the airport now, customs simply a barrier to be pushed through as she glided toward the child in turmoil.

No, not a child. True, they were all God's children, yet this particular soul seemed different from the rest. Elemental. Basic. Father, lover, lump of clay all in one.

'It spins…fills me with bile and blood and I see her. Oh, god, I see her like I've wanted to since it all crashed down…the pomegranate that looks so succulent, irresistible…yet…still…I have free will…'

He continued to thrash blindly, the water sloshing over the sides of the tub. And while he didn't seem to be hurting himself like when she'd found him, curled in a cot in an Essex flophouse, clawing at flesh with nails coated in grime, his soul had yet to accept its fate.

"Trust me and walk toward your future," she said softly, reaching over the lip of the tub to stroke his moistened hair. "Embrace your true self."

"I will be here when you wake, Amon."

tbc