He was a thin man, who walked along the street as if all others using it were beneath him. He didn’t notice me as I followed him. His arrogance didn’t make him superior, after all. He just believed he was.

He wasn’t without his good points, though. He was well-prepared and rich. How rich? Enough to have minions do his dirty work for him. At one point, the building he entered had been inhabited. The dead no longer inhabit anything. Only their bodies remained; those shells not worth removing. They were immaterial to his work, and so he’d given no instructions to his minions as to their disposal. Not wishing to involve themselves further in this business, they’d just vacated the building and left the mess behind. He didn’t have eyes for them in any case; there was only one thing he was looking for and it lay on a table at the far side of the dining room.

I did let him see it. I prefer to be sure in my work, as it’s hard to take back a bullet.

Later, after the gleeful light had faded from his eyes, I picked up the black cube he’d spent so much money to acquire and put it inside my jacket pocket. The blasted thing seemed happy to see me, though I’d just throw it in the deepest part of the ocean the next chance I got.

I suppose it’s some sort of a game to it. It probably was a game to its maker. In any case, every few centuries I’d have to pay attention to the latest idiot who’d found it. I like this world. I didn’t want it to end just because someone thought it was a good idea to have a reset switch.

Rejoice, you teeming multitudes! The world is saved.

I’ll be in the pub.