To Kill A Conspiracy

August 17, 1852.

Humans are such stupid creatures.

He cannot understand why he even bothers with the beings; after all, he need not go out of his way to interact with them, a professional relationship (and that is an exaggeration) should suffice.

So why the extra interaction?

He sighs, wishing he knew the answer to that, wondering how he is human in the first place; he cannot possibly be the same species as these low lives.

Impossible.

No, he is not human, and has not been for a long time now, his lifespan proves this much. But it is beyond that, it is the way he thinks, the way he sees. Oh, if only these simpletons could see as he does, the glorious future of mankind, if they managed to evolve beyond this current pathetic state.

Unfortunately, the humans do not know it, they think they are finally starting to advance in science and technology, making discoveries in "uncharted" territory.

How laughable.

He has seen it before, much earlier than they. He could have stopped them or better, beaten them to it but that is not what he is after; it is minuscule in comparison.

What he seeks....

A knock on the door.

His trance of visions breaks and he remembers that he has not yet ascended. He is still very much on this wretched plane. He remembers that by human trade, he is a doctor. A renowned one at that. How inconvenient.

Johan straightens up and sets aside his tea.

"Yes, who's there?"

"Dr. Heinrich! Have you a minute to spare?"

That traitor.

He already knows this pathetic excuse for an assistant ratted on him to the authorities. A bit of cash and he sang like a canary.

Tch. Humans.

Of course, no one is kind enough to tell him this juicy bit of information; he acquires it himself. A piece of cake for his powers. Powers that are not enough. If he will truly be above all, he must ascend, he must do what his mates would not (for something as meaningless and stupidly sentimental as a conscience, much less) he must get what he is after. Which is why.....

Judas' incarnate continues to rattle at the door, spinning an intricate web of lies and deception. Johan pays his blubbering no mind; his actions will cause the plan no harm, not only because he saw this coming but also because it is insignificant, as all human actions are.

He goes over the charts again, running calculations for the last time. Everything must be perfect, even a second of inaccuracy can destroy the whole plan. It must be perfect to the nanometre.

Once he is satisfied, he packs his files, his studies; his entire life's work into a crate and sets it in the middle of the room.

He stares at it, seeking a tinge of remorse, sadness, disappointment, anything that shows humanity. He finds none.

A rough, wry laugh tears out of him, almost startling him; he has not laughed in years.

His elation is interrupted by the imbecile's continuous talking. Casting a glare in the direction of the door he considers ending his useless life. He wouldn't even have to move, it would be like breathing. Maybe.....

No, the plan Johan, the plan!

He begrudgingly ignores the fool and sits down near the box, closing his eyes. He hears the mob coming, to kill him, no doubt; he has done "unspeakable" things. All irrelevant.

The fumes of the inflammatory liquid assault his nostrils. If the people do not arrive in time to kill him, this definitely will.

He sighs, the urge to smoke his pipe rising with each passing second. That is definitely the one thing he will miss.

No matter, it is all irrelevant.

Johan strikes a match, watching the flame light up the room and warm his fingertips. He drops the match in the crate, the materials catching fire in an instant.

Laying back, he watches as the room is slowly engulfed in flames, the cottage following soon after. A smile carves itself into his face. He closes his eyes, the flames edging close to his skin.

What blissful peace.