Prologue: The Beginning of the End

Part One

"For the last time, I don't believe that stuff," Randall said, annoyed at the continued pressing. "I've said it fifteen times in the last hour. It's not going to change." He dabbed a wet cloth at the still-warm stain on his plain gray t-shirt. Not only was the shirt likely ruined, for he never cared to learn

how to keep a stain from setting in, but now he would have to go back out, down the street to his favorite street-side coffee vendor, to buy another cup.

His sister had him flustered, and her incessant glare didn't help any, of course.

She looked at him, eyes narrowed, clearly upset at this revelation, which was only just then apparently beginning to sink in.

"Since when?" she asked. Her gaze had a hint of menace to it, as if daring him to say anything other than what she wanted to hear.

Randall guffawed, unable to withhold his frustrations any longer.

"Since science became a thing!" he yelled sardonically. "There is no evidence for your

faith, Susan!" He threw his arms up in exasperation. "If you want to believe like all those other delusional troglodytes," he vociferated, pointing to the side at some ill-defined albeit very real

collective, out there, "that's fine by me, mostly because I know you're too thickheaded to change your mind no matter what I say or how much evidence I provide. I guess I can't say that I'm surprised..." he trailed off, waiting for a response from his now red-faced little sister.

"There is plenty of evidence for what I believe, Randall," she said. Randall winced, knowing his sister only called him that when she was angry. He loved his sister and didn't want this to be the way of things, but he couldn't pretend to believe what she and the rest of his family believed in anymore. Their family was in large part simply vacuous; taken by the mundane as if it were somehow anything more than the working out of probability.

Susan, though, was brilliant, astute, creative. He could never fathom why she fell back into the petty superstitions of their upbringing. "There is plenty of good evidence. You just refuse to look at it objectively. For such an accomplished scientist, you are far more biased than I would have thought," Susan finished with a huff.

"I'm biased?" Randall asked, incredulous. "You're the Bible-thumper here! Your entire worldview is based around a several-thousand-year-old book written by a bunch of assholes and murderers!"

"Don't you dare speak of it that way!" Susan screamed. She almost never did that, and Randall could tell that he was pushing too far. He couldn't stop, though. He was about to lose his sister...

Against his will an onslaught of emotion and memory flooded his mind. There she was, five years old, blond pigtails and all. His little sister was adorable. He was protective of her and found joy in her delight. She smiled a toothy grin, almost mischievous, as if she were plotting something in that

too-intelligent-for-her-age mind of hers. She inhaled deeply then, in one loud whoosh, she blew out all the candles on her birthday cake. A cheer erupted as she sat back, apparently proud of her accomplishment.

Was it worth it?

Fifteen years old… She walked through the front yard, joking with Randall as they made their way to his old Bronco. She was a freshman in high school, now, and he dropped her off at school on his way to his college classes each morning. He was a few years older than her, but he'd always be here for her. She was the closest of his family members, and the only one that really understood him. She walked toward the front entrance of his old high school, smiling brightly and waving to him just as her friends engulfed her in a crowd of amicable chatting.

He closed his eyes, gritted his teeth. Anguish tore through him, knowing his next words would likely end any friendship left between them. He forced himself to look at Susan's eyes. Hers were full of sorrow, and wet with tears on the verge of pouring out. He thought he saw some small ember of hope burning behind that watery veil, as if Susan couldn't or wouldn't give up on him until it was her only option left. It made his heartache nearly unbearable. He had to do this, though no matter how much he tried he couldn't look her in the eyes as he spoke.

"I love you, little sister, truly. However, I cannot and will not change my mind on this. I don't need your God or your faith or your good book. If you can't handle that then maybe you should just leave."

There it was. It was too late now. His baby sister, all of twenty-three years old, and he was breaking her heart. Once the words were out his eyes darted to hers to see her reaction, though he'd known before he uttered them what she would do. The dam broke and tears streamed from her eyes in silence as her visage grew stony.

Without saying another word, she turned and left Randall's house. His heart ached at the pain he'd caused her. What was he to do, though? Just pretend for the rest of his life? He'd known for a long time that there was no God. It was too big a burden for him to carry alone. He needed others who saw the truth, like him. He only hoped Susan would see the truth someday, too.

He wondered, feeling more alone in those moments than he ever had before, if he'd see his little sister again. They'd always been so close, and he had hated hiding his atheism from her... Now she knew, though, and he feared he'd forever regret the day's conversation. Steeling himself, he threw the dripping wash cloth that he hadn't realized he was still holding up until that moment in the sink and walked through the house to the back, where his personal lab was.

There was only one thing left to do, now. He needed to complete his project.

He'd prove to the world, to his family, to Susan, that no God was needed for humanity to obtain eternal life. He could make that for them. And he didn't even need to claim the title of deity in order to do so. He wasn't so arrogant as that. He punched in the code on the keypad next to the

heavy steel sliding door.

A moment later the entryway was open and he stepped inside. He thought then absently, as he did every time he strode into his lab, how he'd like to have updated security for the room. The thought was there and then gone in an instant as his mind immediately focused back on what was important. Susan was at the back of his mind now, and the emotions that had threatened to boil over were now subdued.

He'd show the entire world what humanity was capable of if only they'd get their heads out of their asses and put their collective knowledge and abilities to use. So much scientific advancement had been made in recent centuries...

He shook his head at how anyone could still believe in a higher power. It had been satisfactorily debunked enough times that sometimes he thought humans were just a lost cause if they couldn't even grasp the simple reality of those arguments given by atheists like him. Richard Dawkins, Sam Harris, Daniel Dennett, Christopher Hitchens...

These were men who weren't afraid of a little public backlash. Each of them had taken up the mantle of their predecessors and marched on with alacrity into the great unknown of a Godless reality.

Randall, much like these men, knew that men made their own meaning; that objective meaning and morality simply didn't exist. How could it? There was no God, after all... Everything had been accounted for. Every question and dispute successfully answered. Every piece of religious "evidence" absolutely demolished in the circles of true academics.

Science had replaced religion. Hell, it had replaced philosophy too. Yet it seemed that it was only a minority of people that saw and accepted this truth. The vast majority of the world still believed in a God, or gods... He imagined it gave them some kind of comfort, thinking that there was a great being out there somewhere, guiding the events of one of the smallest rocks in the universe. Randall had been called arrogant on more than one occasion, but he thought the opposite of himself. It seemed to him that these religious zealots were the arrogant ones. If there really was a God of some kind, why in the world would it give a damn about Earth?

He shook his head as he sat down at his computer desk, signing in with practiced keystrokes. The hubris of these people to think that an all-powerful, all-knowing being would care even one iota about them individually and personally was astounding. But not all hope was lost. He would keep working, in quiet, until his project was complete.

Then he'd unveil it to the world, and they would drop their silly religious notions by the millions - no, billions. Randall would usher the world into a new era; an era where no one needed to look to the heavens in search of some non-existent miracle wizard; an era in which people would have faith in themselves and in their fellow humans.

That was the kind of utopia that he would begin building. He was still far off, years, maybe, but someday... Someday he would take this world by storm. Not that he had any desire to rule it, of course. No, he would leave that to those who were good at that sort of thing. It would be the best ones, too. He'd make sure of it. His hands would mold the future of the planet.

Once this project was complete, he alone would decide who received it and who didn't. He wouldn't be greedy, of course, but he would absolutely have a say in the editing of the future gene pool. He smiled mischievously to himself. Someday they'd all see...

Part Two

Dust.

That's what they were made of… dust.

Filthy creatures formed from filth. It was fitting, he supposed. He didn't know if he was really a he, but didn't see any reason not to be. He didn't remember much of what had come before… this.

In fact, there was really only one or two things in his mind that were clear enough to recall at all. First and most pressing was his directive. He'd been given a mission by… someone. A leader, he thought.

His leader, whoever that was.

The second thing was his disdain for the people below him. He looked out over the thriving metropolis built up my mankind. They were weak; useless. He hated everything about them. So he felt justified when taking steps to bring the completion of his mission to fruition.

He didn't know the details, but he didn't need to know them. All he knew, all he needed to know, was what he had to do. If he was successful, he'd finally have the answers he… well… he didn't need them, but he wanted them.

It was a strange feeling, to want. Why did he want anything at all? He thought it might be better to not want; easier. But where would that leave him? Would he still be self-aware? Was it desire that was the mark of a conscious being? Or maybe the awareness of desires and the willingness to suffer to achieve them?

He had a lot of questions, and no one capable of answering them. Maybe his leader could answer some of them for him. He nodded to himself silently, his feet clanging off of the side of the building, on the edge of the roof of which he sat.

He knew not the name of the material from which this new body was created, but he liked the sounds it made against other surfaces. It was metal of some kind, he knew, but anything beyond that was a mystery to him.

Surely his leader would be able to answer all of his questions… If not, then what kind of leader was it that he would trust so much to it? If this leader was unable to answer his questions, was it really worthy of leadership?

He wished he could sigh, then. It was a very human desire, and he wasn't really sure where it had some from, but it was there all the same. His body didn't require oxygen, though, so there was no breathing, and therefore no sighing.

Then it began; that which he had been waiting for. He grinned a steely grin as the shrieks of the damned filled the city below.