[ WP ] Excerpts from an immortal person 's life through the ages of humanity

*JOURNAL ENTRY 21* 
 *15 DECEMBER, 1903* 
 *CALCUTTA, BENGAL PROVINCE, BRITISH INDIA* 
 
 *I have made the discovery of a lifetime. A young boy, not yet ten years of age, born here in Calcutta to an Irish soldier father and an Indian mother. The locals call him'Ravana', after a god of theirs said to be invulnerable to gods and mortals alike. When it comes to this child, they are not far off... * 
 
 *This child has a unique physiology. His cells grow and die extremely rapidly, causing him to heal from all wounds at astounding speeds. I would not believe it if I had not seen it with my own eyes. * 
 
 *We have tried various methods of injury. They have all been ineffective. Burns, cuts, bruises, even poison... any damage done to his body is repaired almost immediately. * 
 
 *The limits of this ability are still unknown. What physical processes this ability extends to are unknown. It is entirely possible that, given enough time, he will begin to heal even the damage of aging, rendering him completely and truly immortal. * 
 
 *More research is needed. * 
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 `` For the immense bravery and valor he exhibited in Somme and Verdun, we are proud to award the Victoria Cross to Lieutenant Salman Kent!'' 
 
 A handsome young man, with olive skin and a mess of curly black hair, took the stage, dressed in full army attire. He shook hands with the pale, overweight governor that manned the podium, and his hazel eyes briefly met the governor's blue ones. The governor recoiled. 
 
 He had seen many soldiers who had recently returned from combat. He had seen their dead, expressionless eyes -- the eyes of men who lived in sheer terror every moment of every day for months. These were not those eyes. 
 
 These were the eyes of a man without fear. 
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 `` Come on, Sal. Calm down.'' 
 
 The large German man laughed at him as he said this, turning away to grab another beer from the cooler. 
 
 `` Jimmy, I know what I saw!'' Salman protested, `` The Italians are planning a full-frontal assault on us. We have to get ready!'' 
 
 `` Please. As if anyone'd be insane enough to attack us on our own turf.'' He chuckled again. `` You know what I say? I say, let'em come. They deserve whatever they get.'' 
 
 `` Jimmy, please. There going to be here soon! Grab a gun, a knife, do *something! *'' 
 
 `` I'll tell you what, Salman.'' James, the German, replied, `` If you're so scared, take the day off. I'm sure ol' Moran will understand, your wanting to save your own skin.'' 
 `` No, I'm not afraid for me, I'm afraid for y–'' 
 
 Salman collapsed, blood and brain matter spraying from the back of his head. The one wound turned into four, then eight, before he finally fell. 
 
 James swore and reached to his left, trying to find his pistol. This was interrupted, just as Salman's speech was, by a bullet to the head, followed by a spray of bullets across the rest of him. 
 
 Peter Gusenberg was the next to go down, taking two slugs to the head and neck. His brother, Frank, looked over in horror, only to be taken down by eight shots to the chest. John May, the mechanic, was next, with a spray of bullets all across his body. 
 
 Finally, Albert Weinshank showed up, running across the park with a revolver in hand. The two Italian gunmen lost their grins when they saw his face, but they fired anyway, effectively killing the old man. 
 
 `` Shit! It was n't Moran!'' The younger of the two gunmen swore. In rage, he picked up Weinshank's revolver and unloaded all six of its rounds into Frank's dead body. The older gunman looked solemnly at Salman. 
 
 `` Do you understand what we just did?!'' The younger gunman yelled, `` We just started a fucking gang war!'' 
 
 `` This one...'' The older gunman began, kicking Salman in the ribs, `` Is he one of ours? He looks kind of Italian.'' 
 
 `` I do n't think so.'' The younger gunman said, anxiously running his hands through his hair. He flinched visibly when the older gunman shot Salman in the back of the neck. 
 
 `` He did n't quite seem dead.'' The older gunman said dryly. 
 
 `` So,'' the younger gunman muttered, `` What do you propose we do?'' 
 
 `` We'll just have to tell Capone...'' The older one said, grabbing the younger and forcing him to walk with him, ``... and hope he forgives us.'' 
 
 The moment they were out of earshot, Salman sat up. Several bullets fell to the blood-soaked concrete around him, making a quiet metallic clinging sound. He tasted blood, so he spit it out onto the ground next to him. He was sore -- he always was after a big regeneration. However, he was more concerned about his gang mates, the seven men who had been gunned down with him. 
 
 He heard a groan, and looked over at its source. Frank Gusenberg was staring at him in horror, fully conscious despite his many bullet wounds. 
 
 `` Frank!'' Salman yelled, running over to the only other survivor. He cradled the man in his arms, holding him upright to try to keep him from chocking on his own blood. 
 
 `` Frank, are you alright?'' The immortal yelled. 
 
 `` You... died.'' Frank wheezed out, `` I... I saw you.'' 
 
 `` I do n't go down easy.'' Salman chuckled, `` I never have. Back in India, they called me Ravana -- the invincible one. I can heal from anything.'' 
 
 `` Sounds... a lot like... a gift from God...'' Frank said, half chuckle and half wheeze. 
 
 `` Sometimes.'' Salman confessed, `` Other times, it feels more like a curse.'' 
 
 `` I... ca n't see why...'' Frank mused, before loudly coughing up a puddle of blood. 
 
 `` Do n't you get it?'' Salman said, angrily, `` I'm going to have to leave Chicago now! If the Italians see me alive, this whole situation will turn out worse -- for everyone.'' 
 
 He looked Frank in the eyes, peering deep into the man's dark brown orbs. There was n't much life left in them, but he'd definitely be alive when the police arrived. 
 
 `` That's why... that's why you ca n't tell anyone. Not the police, not the paramedics, nobody. Not a word about this to anybody, understand?'' 
 
 Frank nodded, and Salman put him down. The immortal turned and ran, ducking into an alleyway just in earshot right as the police arrived. 
 
 `` Who did this?'' An officer asked Frank as he was loaded onto a stretcher, `` Who shot you?!'' 
 
 Frank grinned, and a trail of blood dripped down his chin. He turned to the officer, and took a shaky breath inwards. 
 
 `` Nobody shot me.'' 
 
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