And the name of the fourth is Penemue
He showed the sons of men the bitter and the sweet
And showed them all the secrets of their wisdom
He taught men the art of writing with ink and paper
And through this many have gone astray
For man was not born for this…

– The Book of Enoch

I am not a man, though I have posed as one many times through the ages, sometimes in order to continue our work and occasionally to save my own life.

I have had to pretend many things to keep our secrets safe, to preserve humanity’s chances for survival after we were so horribly betrayed.

I am not human, either, at least not in the way you understand it. I look like you, but my genetics allow me a longer lifespan, while yours was kept artificially short to allow you to evolve more rapidly.

As I may be the last one left, the last of our ship’s crew and perhaps of our civilization, I have decided to tell our story in hopes that you, upon learning humanity’s true origin and purpose, will find renewed strength, rise up, and save yourselves.

I fear that too few are ready to hear it, that opposing forces might yet be too strong. But I am growing old. And perhaps it is time for me to bet on humanity once again. What happened to you was not your fault. Perhaps it is not too late to set things right.

My name is Penemue and I am a fallen angel.