The night is never as dark as we think it is. Light is all around us, shooting and refracting off of everything we see, and more. We only exist in a sliver of reality. We are not omnipotent, though our knowledge has become too vast for our own good. We have thrived for far too long, reproduced far too much. We are doomed to a strained existence, no matter the lengths we take to stop ourselves. Our destruction, omnipotent. Our race, futile. We will die.

Our new generation is choked by our parent's choices, the atmosphere thick and boggish. Plastic flooding the oceans, hunger and disease and disasters running countries into the dirt, and the strength of the clutch that binds us, the inability to stop. Corporate corruption and slobbering politicians scare us into a frenzied state of panic, telling us to stop driving and to recycle. When, at the end of the day, the moment we stop driving millions of people will have lost their jobs, and their lives. The many things we are told to recycle aren't even recyclable, but the corporations are too blind to understand there will soon be revolt. There will soon be a revolution.

At first we thought to reign in the moon. But, the fate of humanity and the earth itself would be lost. We are alone, for now. But we know now what must come forth. Our population is hanging over the belt, going on 7.8 million and up. What countries harm us the most? Who will we miss? When will we begin to turn against each other? We will not let this stick around long enough for a third World War. Many of us are too far gone. The SPC has taken matters into their own hands. You cannot stop this. You cannot find us. For we, and only we, are the omnipotent of the human race. Forget your 'celebrity clones' and your Illuminati conspiracies. This is the start of a glorious era, and we cannot allow the underlings of our own ransacked race to undermine us.

Now let us elaborate. The world will not end. Well, save most of the mankind. We have recorded the most dangerous countries to world order and have come to the conclusion, though a vile one, that mass-genocide may be the only real answer. As we speak, an army is being assembled. As we speak, billions of people grow closer and closer to death. Inevitable. Death is always inevitable. There is no need to fear death, so quiet. The only thing to truly fear is life. Bittersweet, powerful life.
There will be fear, but short fear.

I am leaving this for those that survive. A guidebook to your survival, a script for the legacy we leave behind. But first, a story.




Caspian strutted down the dimly lit halls. It's not that he was in a hurry, but he was such a determined young man he saw hardly no cause for wait. The professor would be happy to see him anyways, he had always been a bright student.

Biology. Genetics. The extent of the human race. How to live forever. The questions reeled through his mind, molding, evolving. He longed for clarity. And clarity he would soon posses, though in a most twisted way. The boy was not evil. No, not in the slightest. Only curious.

He knocked curtly on the large door and a slightly man was revealed to him in the doorway. He could only have been 70. He beckoned him inside and sat behind a large, cluttered desk. There was a moment of silence.

"I have found it, sir." The boy finally said.

The man nodded and stroked his chin in thought. The boy took out an item from his shoulder bag and placed it nearly on the table.

"The Illiad. Shelf 456, position 89. Dusty." Impressed, the professor pushed up his spectacles and picked it up.

"Very good, my boy. Now, let's see..."

He rummaged through the pages, mumbling. Caspian fidgeted in his seat. A minute went by before the man set it down with a sigh. The boy looked alarmed.

"Oh Caspian, Caspian. Whatever shall I do with you?" He chuckled. "This is not the right copy. I wanted the new one. The new one!"

Caspian let out a breath of frustration and stood up, determined.

"I will find that book, professor. Just you wait. You will finally see how capable I am." He turned quickly and strode out into the bustling corridor.

Grumbling to himself, he let out an aura of evil. The path was clear to him in the skittish world of intellectuals. He was a God in a school of vermin, practically. Though to him, he was only a regular student. A little taller than most, however. But he never realized the exact reason students avoided him in the halls, or the reason. Maybe they just didn't like him.

Well, whatever the reason, it didn't matter right now. He had to find that book!

The day passed agonizingly slow. Evey tick of his wristwatch ate away at his sanity as the hours crept by. He tapped his foot against the cold stone floor of the chemistry classroom and thought of all the time he would have had if school was our already. The library closed at 4, only thirty minutes after classes ended, and left him with only twenty minutes, if he was lucky.

When Chemistry ended he bolted out of the room and sprinted to the library. He didn't have any trouble, as the halls were still empty. There was only one problem. The library was closed. He stopped dead in his tracks right in front of the large oak doors. 'Closed early due to repairs' a sign read. Fuming, he rapped sharply on the wood. No noise.

Construction? What a lame excuse! Caspian clenched his fists until his knuckles turned white and kicked the wall. Hard.

Gasping, he cradled his injured foot. This day just couldn't get any worse, could it.

That's when Basil turned the corner and walked towarda him.

Nevermind.

Caspian dropped his foot and hung his head, trying not to make eye contact, which looked pretty strange for a 6'3, lean young man to do in the presence of a small academic. He clutched the straps of his booking tightly as Basil read the sign that hung off the handles on the door. He clicked his tongue.

"Too bad, eh? And I was just going to return this book..." He trailed off. "Well, whatever. Wanna sneak in?"

What? His face turned a shade of crimson as he spoke to him. Was he talking to Caspian? He looked around but saw no one there but him. What?

"I...are you talking...to me..?" He asked quietly. Basil rolled his eyes.

"Of course dummy! Who else could i be talking to, that stupid sign?"

"But you don't know me..." Caspian was confused.

"What? How could I not know you? You're the scary guy everybody talks about! Y'know, the one they call a thug. But I don't think that's true. After all, if you were a thug, you would have beat me up already, huh? Thugs can't stand pretty guys like me with lots of money."

Caspian's eyes widened and he shook his head frantically.

"N-no! I'm not a thug! I..." Basil frowned.

"Stop trailing off like that, Thug, it's annoying. And we're wasting time! If you wanna come with me to return my book, let's go now! He grabbed Caspian's forearm and started running to the gardens.

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