His fevered demand for information dredged up the

worst blackness from within my being. I locked it away as

much as possible. It was a part of me I never tried to recognize

or define, merely living with it like a tumor or flaming

appendix. I didn’t want to face it now, but I had to. Something

about my sickness was his prized jewel. Inside myself I dug

for that ugly gem.

     “I--I...,” my voice faltered as I became shamed, “I must

kill.”

      “Must.”

      “Must kill. I must kill.”

      “Explain.”

      “I must! It commands me! Stronger and stronger, all

urges have overwhelmed me since... since I was younger.”

      “Tell me when!”

      “When...,” I thought intensely, “I remember. Slowly

I felt this creeping distraction crawling over my brain when...

twenty years ago. Possibly eighteen years ago. I am certain it

was not more than twenty. Twenty years at most.”

     “Half your age.”

      “Slowly. I recognized it lurking within me. It

pleaded to be more than it was. It came in from outside me,

somewhere.”

      “Describe it.”

      “It is blackness. It is... wrong. I do not like it, but it is

now me. We are one. We must kill. It tells me when. It tells

me who. It tells me where.”

      “Tell me if it knows things you do not know.”

      “It has power to see beyond what I know. It commands

me. I see things I must do; they repeat in me as the blackness

demands my obedience.”

      “Amazing.”

      “I must kill. I do not want to kill. I never wanted to

kill, but I have to kill. Only when I kill do I feel at one with

life. Only then. When I do as it says, I have peace for a small

span.”

      “Then it commands again.”

      “It always commands again. I wish it away, but I have

no power. It is me, now. It makes me be who I am.”

The old man was visibly pleased. He was leaning

forward, gripping the table tight, eyes penetrating my flesh with

a thirst for knowledge and understanding.

     “You are perfect,” he hissed, “You were made to do

what is necessary!!”

      “This is not perfect.”

      “Wrong. It is. You are what I needed. This city needs

you.”

      “Needs. You tell me this world needs me to kill.

Define how my wrong works within your commandment. This

is wrong.”

      “The commandment is for them. You are something

other than them. You are above them and below me. You are

my tool of correction.”

      “Logic as you define it: life is corrected by killing.”

      “Yes. In this case, yes.”

      “Explain.”

      “Accept your destiny. Accept that you were made

to kill others. That is your purpose within all the scope of

creation. You alone are special, and I grace you with free reign

over the lives within my world as long as you follow my plans

and the way of the world we manage.”

      “I don’t understand.”

      “You will, my son, you will,” he happily assured me,

“this city has been slowly corrupted. Births. Too many

births. There are only so many places for people to live. If we

overcrowd, all harmony will be destroyed.

     You were sent to solve the problem of unauthorized

birth by killing the established people.”

      “I don’t believe it is perfect.”

     “It was an unexpected error. I am not sure why, but I

can’t control births well any more. There are too many births.”

     “So you are Mr. God.”

      “Even I have lapses. But, you were sent to solve this

problem. You were a natural reaction of the program to solve

problems within the system.”

      “Define my necessity.”

      “Someone has to do the work,” he said. It was the

mantra of the entire Earth.

      “Perhaps I don’t want to.”

      “You have to. You admitted that you were made to

murder. You told me you see things impossible for you to

know, and that it guides you to kill intended targets. You can’t

step away from that!”

      I had no reply.

      “These murders,” the old man eagerly continued,

      “weren’t motivated by disharmony. They aren’t your wrong.

All these things you did were right, because they were

commanded by an undercurrent within the complex, intricate

programming of my creation.

      It is intrinsic to you!

      Everything is provided here. Everything. Without

enough space for people, without enough food, without enough

clothes or provisions or water, this balanced utopia will

crumble to pieces and everyone will die in fire!

      You are here to save it for me.

      I provided a world that has saved us all. I saved

humanity by encapsulating us in my universe. It serves us and

maintains us. We never need challenge, we never need at all.

Before this there was dirt and death and everyone was ill and

wrong. Everything was wrong. All people lived in misery. We

were all subject to challenge every day: weather, air, disease,

crime, sin, unhappiness. No more. Never again. Never again.

     Now perfectly attuned to my ways, all the world is at

ease and wonderful. Everyone and everything is what they

should be. There is only happiness.”

      This again was a lie. He didn’t care about my

happiness. He didn’t care about the happiness of the girl we

killed last night. There was only his own vanity being fed:

this world and everything in it was to bring him happiness.

      He even lied to himself without knowing he was deceiving

himself.

      “Oh, your unhappiness,” he continued, “it is only

caused by your belief that you are doing wrong. You aren’t

doing wrong. That is what you understand from today onward:

you are right. Be happy that you can do what you must.”

      “What I must.”

      “You must. That is your right. Your function. I

forgive you for doing what seems wrong, but it is right. I

command you to know that. You are perfect within the system

I have tenderly created.”

      “Then I will go today.”

      “Yes.”

      “I will go and kill anyone I want.”

      “...perhaps.”

      “I am free to do anything I want from here onward.”

      “No, not really.”

       “You told me I am right to do what is wrong.”

      “No. You can’t do wrong, but you can murder as

commanded by the system.”

       “I am not free to choose.”

       “You have never chosen, so you said.”

        “When I murder my first citizen today, murder out

in the street outside this building, you will protect me. I am

happy.”

       He knew I was playing with the idea to push a point

about his commandment.

       “No,” the creator lashed out, “it is still wrong.”

      “You told me it was right,” I logically explained.

     “Your right is not their right. This is still a matter

of stealth and secrecy. If others discover murder, everything

could collapse.”

        “You tell me I must continue sneaking around and

being wrong. Explain.”

      “It only seems wrong. To you, to them, to us, it seems

wrong, but you are necessary. To preserve right and wrong,

you must furtively kill.”

       “I will kill anyone I feel I must kill,” I told him.

       “Actually, I would like you to be fair about it.”

       “Fair. Define: fair.”

      “Random.”

       “Random. Random is chosen by chance.”

       “Chosen by a dispassionate third party.”

       “Another will be included in our plan. This will get

messy.”

       “Not true,” he countered, “I will provide you with the

perfect companion.”

       Slowly straightening his aged body, he wandered to

a corner of the room and snapped his fingers. From the floor,

through a swiftly opening hole, came a pillar with a device on

top. The old man took the device and brought it to me. He

placed it in my hands.

       “This slate will choose for you. For us,” he said.

        “My inner urges will want others,” I countered.

       “No. Your urges are keyed into the city, not into

something mysterious, not into another mind outside of yours.

You did what was necessary. By following a random path of

maintenance, you will solve a problem the city commanded you

to remedy by providing you with solutions for its survival.

       You were only programmed and made to murder

because a problem existed. By limiting the population before a

serious error arises, those urges will dissipate and cease.”

        “I understand.”

        “You do. You do understand. You were made to

understand this. Here is how it will work: this slate will

receive data telling you when you must eliminate overpopulation.

The red light on the sides will glow to tell you when you must

consult the pad for numbers and required time

to kill. Go to the notifications and tallies.

        Next, the other major function of this device is to

provide you all data on everyone alive. You will know who

they are, where they live, what they do, where they go, and so

forth. Adjacent to the data base is a random calculator to pull

a completely selflessly chosen individual from the millions that

exist. That will be your immediate target.”

       “I understand.”

        “You will also have maps and data of everything within

my realm. Check the files. You now have reign over my

creation to do what you were made to do, my son.”

       “I obey,” I said. It wasn’t me saying it. Someone

else said it. Something else said it. Whatever was inside me,

making me take life from people, spoke for me.

       “Good.”

       “Wait,” I controlled myself again, “explain how will I

access everything. Tell me if I require access. I must be able

to access everything. Otherwise I will have to skulk and stalk

and plan and be very lucky.”

      “You will always have to be very lucky. You must

never be seen. You must never allow the people and stewards

to believe the deaths are murders. Like last night, you must be

clever.”

       “Difficult.”

        “But possible. Don’t fear. I will give you access to

everywhere. That too must be carefully used. When you leave

here, my building will reprogram all doors and other access

points to be freely open to you. Privacy is needed by people,

but you will be the only other entity within this city to have the

right to trespass without hindrance. My city is now yours.”

       “I might be caught.”

       “You must never be caught,” he told me sternly,

       “Never. There is only so much I can do for you. If you cause

trouble, I can negate and sweep some embarrassments away by

my mere word.

       Wrong, however, is wrong. If you are wrong in the

eyes of the citizens, you will have to be terminated according to

our laws.”

        Those words, that disregard for me, made me cold. It

would still be a burdensome challenge.

       “When someone catches you,” the creator told me,

“as you access something they know you must not access,

you must default to error as an excuse. Be calm and tell them

that for some reason you were suddenly able to do what you

never could, and that you accidentally went where you weren’t

supposed to be.

       That will calm them. It does happen sometimes.

      Stewards will reset your access level. My system, controlled

from this room, will almost instantly find the command and

countermand. Seconds later you will have free access again.

       Be careful, regardless.

       Report your understanding.”

       “I understand, I obey,” came from me.

        “Excellent. You must obey.”

        “This power you gave me: it is beyond the stewards.”

       “It is.”

       “I am more powerful than any steward.”

       “Yes. You have more freedom than any single steward.

More than multiple stewards combined through imperative.”

       There was a pause as I waited to say what I knew was

obvious to me. He was an unchallenged fool, but perhaps he

was baiting me. Perhaps Mr. God was testing me as he tests

some people at his whim.

        “I can kill you. I can enter your area and become Mr.

God.”

        “No,” he jovially told me.

        “Tell me why you gave me this power. It can endanger

you as well.”

       “It cannot.”

       “Explain.”

       “I should have explained earlier. First, if you kill me,

you and everyone will die.”

       “Explain.”

        “I am God. You know I am God. This world only

exists because I allow it to exist. Without me, the world will

instantly disappear.”

        His words were simple. Regardless, they made no

sense. I knew the old man wasn’t God, but I allowed him to

keep the delusions he created to make him feel safe. Nothing

made me want to murder him; I was just curious why he would

give me the freedom to do so.

       “Second,” he told calmly, “you and I are not in the data

base.”

         “That wouldn’t stop me from killing you.”

        “Third,” he cooly explained, “think back to the pills

you just ate.”

         Yes, those pills in the bowl nearby. I ate a lot of them.

        “I commanded you to eat,” he continued.

        On my face, echoed in his features reacting to mine,

was understanding of the possibilities.

        “Correct,” he concluded, “they were all rigged. I filled

them with secret things that will now live within you. Your

body is now filled with devices I can use to track you. They

also are dangerous for you: they are explosives now nestling

within your digestion, your blood, and soon within your

muscles and fat and bones.

        If I wish, I can kill you at any moment. Your death

will be inexplicable to the world. Your body will be a

miraculous curiosity. If you attack me, my all-powerful self

will mysteriously strike you down, rip you open before me, and

I will have a reason to have done so.

        I will become even more revered within my world.

        You will be dead.”

       “L-lies,” I stuttered.

       Fear was conquering my entire body and mind. I was

sweating like I’d never done before or seen anyone sweat in my

entire life.

       “Lies,” he calmly said with a sigh, “oh, so you want

proof.”

       The old man slowly wandered away from me.

      “I could trigger them in you right now. Then you

would know.”

       “No!” blurted out of me as I was frozen in my seat.

       “Then you would be dead. Then I would never have to

worry about your malicious, perfidious ways.”

        “No,” I told him with adrenaline spiking in my veins, “I

wasn’t thinking of ever doing so.”

        “I have doubts,” he calmly said.

       “No,” I merely repeated desperately.

       He looked around the sparse room, watching over all

his domain. Eyes peered far out to where the buildings met the

sky. Then he strode slowly to me.

       “I hope not,” the elder calmly told, “because if I ever

doubt you, this is what will happen...”

       Ginger actions of one hand motioned to one of the

four minders outside the room. In a instant there was a loud,

gurgling scream from the boxy body guard; a split second later

his body was semi-disintegrated from within as if something

ripped his flesh apart to emerge from his guts. Blood splattered

the walls in his side of the glass corridor.

        Before the body hit the floor outside our glass room,

the other minders turned in horror to see their comrade collapse

in a pile of warm flesh. They ran to him and questioned their

dead friend and the curiously horrific situation.

        Mr. God watched dispassionately. When he had seen

enough and was pleased with the results, he turned to me and

leaned down into my sweating face.

CONTINUED...